My toe on the surface of the sea,

My little piece of the dream. A poem of hope.

What is beauty?

As i close my eyes, i contemplate what underlies

I had a wet dream last night

Time remains frozen.

You may know him as Mr. Mojo Risin, the psychedelic rock god of The Doors or you may know him as just a disturbing and strange artist who joined the famed 27 Club with his death on July 3, 1971. Both accounts would be true. Love him or hate him, James Douglas Morrison created a counter culture movement of rage that filled the 60s in stark opposition to the positive message of love from contemporaries John Lennon. Instead, Morrison tapped into the collective conscious of a generation enraged and disturbed by its wars and conspiracies and failures. Its betrayals.

When it comes to writing, words usually come pretty easy. As true as this statement may be everyone gets hit with cinder blocks that may prevent them from creating a masterpiece.

how does one describe

~

How would it feel to float

Readers discretion please be advised - This poem's nature and language might cause upset or trigger.

I had a wet dream last night

That day you looked into my eyes

As the sun disappeared into the horizon

My toe on the surface of the sea,

What is beauty?

If you look closely, you can see right through

As i close my eyes, i contemplate what underlies

Moonlight kissing my skin

In this place – the room that is at

straighten the spine

Day three on the farm. Or maybe day four. Pretty quickly you stopped counting, because it doesn't really matter. You're picking gooseberries again. The scratches from the thorns are like badges of honor, or perhaps they are the start of a sentence that might reveal some deeper truth to you one day, if you dig deeply enough-- and repeatedly-- into the momentarily painful bramble at the center of the bush: where the fruit still somehow flourishes, right at its heart.

Life is beautiful, just like the Bougainvillea flower. Simple, full of life, bright colors, never alone, always with company. We do not need to have a lot to enjoy being alive.

Time remains frozen.

I walk down this lonely, barren road, not knowing what I’ll find. No trees or mountains in the distance, just a vast empty space of nothingness.

A woman I love and admire once said

If it were all to find where the cheese is at

We continue to speak,

The girl, the lady, the woman, the crone:

When I was 16

Often I have thought

My little piece of the dream. A poem of hope.

God of tricks, hear me please

Remembrance Born

What was so magical way back then

Small white pebble

Pondering past treasures gained