My love was a checkbox

My love was a checkbox
It sat on a hanger
But when I found self-love
You turned into anger

Denying simple joys
Chorus after chorus
Void of all happiness
It leaves nothing for us

Where does love wash ashore

Where does love wash ashore
Where does it land in storms
And flourish in fertile
Soil and fair weather norms

My hands embracing yours
Trust what each sees as true
Reject the troika dolls
Be a color, not hue

Out in the far extreme

Out in the far extreme
Beyond discovery
Even before the egg
Inside the ovary

In the nothing, the void
The original thought
All else derivative
From a ripple of naught

This poetry is not

This poetry is not
Some form of reflection
It's more a diary
Of moment selection

It's the day's concluding
A snapshot of my change
An analysis of
The fluctuating range

Splinters in our feelings

Splinters in our feelings
Sensitive to small touch
But in the end it does
Not matter to us much

Nothing broken, nothing
Is sprained or in a sling
We exercise freedom
Lift our voices and sing

I'm here to break pencils

I'm here to break pencils
Turn the kaleidoscope
Lose my childhood pain and
Embrace myself and hope

From hereonin beyond
With push pins on a fact
Find my own emotion
Simplified and abstract

In these moments of change

In these moments of change
Still counting what's been earned
While racing towards a
School of dreams to be learned

In the blur, the fury
We maintain a fixed gaze
Our hands are touching as
We navigate the maze

The future without you

The future without you
Our time together will
Not be an anchor that
Leaves me tethered and still

Let your Life propel me
All my love Aunt Gerry
When I remember us
I'll always be merry

Two bonsai transplanted

Two bonsai transplanted
Wires on our limbs removed
Here in the open field
Our future well improved

Bravery and logic
We're being our true selves
Natural and weathered
Not paraded then shelved

The ribbons of roadways

The ribbons of roadways
Hawks like chess queens that wait
The sun tapping earth
Saying it's getting late

Over our should today
Is passing, letting go
Into dusty archives
Unless someone should blow

I'm not bluffing these words

I'm not bluffing these words
Are truly a lesson
Art can be found in an
Intelligent session

Where thoughts and ideas
Are expressed with finesse
With noses so high up
They can't smell the BS

Carrots becoming clubs

Carrots becoming clubs
For the frustrated mules
Overthrowing the cart
And then brandishing tools

Less hate more educate
We can't brand the donkey
Invite and gain incite
Avoid going wonky

Poet not performer

Poet not performer
Landscape the only stage
No operatic voice
Words silent on a page

Movement and music thrive
Behind internal walls
Forty-eight syllables
And then the curtain falls

Looking forward to the

Looking forward to the
True greatness of nothing
An oblivion of
Everything and something

An inhale and exhale
Slow movement of the heart
Crossing the finish line
Without another start