11 Poems. All from the wonders of imagination.
A Breath to the Wind
There is nothing more cool
then the wispy fate of the dandelion.
Fragile to the touch.
It covers the earth
with its many blooms.
And it spreads so far and wide
like a cloud in the sky.
Dreams in wander.
These will find a place to land
they will stand.
A dandelion of wishes.
A Flowering Magic
A spring once upon a time
there grew a magic flower full and bright.
Happy as the wind sings to thee.
Living in the open air to a wild kingdom of green.
And guarded by butterfly knights.
To those who notice, be kind.
For thus the person who smells of delight
And winds their heart with a gentle bloom
shall taste of ever-growing might.
A magic flower gives strength to the caretaker of thoughts.
Spooky Halloween Night
Ghost and Ghouls fright the soul
as the screams vibrate with un-control.
From dark creases of the mind
burst the monster from behind.
Intrigued, scared, and hypnotized.
If you don’t follow, then ensnared by a disguise
into the darkness of evil and deceit.
Lurking beyond the swaying door
shocks the imagination into war!
Perhaps giving form to the formless,
or decaying the self until selfless.
So, let the fog of the moon
carry an ole so fearful tune.
While one wonders about looking for a treat,
finding secrets o’ so sweet.
A worse night than Death waits for your heartbeat.
The demon is just the human who walks down the street.
Local Furry Resident
There was a cat in town who sat on a worn out mat.
He was nefarious, notorious, and quite a nibbler.
No one asked him to be there.
No one told him not to be there.
He made a duty to defend the underbelly of the stores.
Thus, we had a deal a day
a bowl of treats, plenty and more.
The kids petted him.
The adults tolerated him.
The elders, well they just sat next to him.
No one owned this cat, yet everyone called him their’s on a whim.
There was no sadder day when there happened to be no cat sitting on that dusty worn out mat.
Turtle Island
A Forever Home
What we do and what we say
leads way for laughs all about.
Smiles and loving embraces
sometimes pushes that loneliness further out
then the stars are from us at night.
For as the Islands no longer moves,
the songs of its people do not either.
Here to stay, a wandering turtle now sleeps
and the trees that creeped
up onto the carapace
along with the people who reap the bounties.
A village was born
steady against the storms.
No longer having anymore wanderlust.
Rays of light flood from above
soaked up by the island’s warm shell
blooming flocks of memories
perched on trees
springing fruits both bitter and sweet.
The mountain is center point
twirling the town around it
along the houses hangs lanterns
like glowing eyes in the darkness of ocean’s spray
Dusk brings the people dancing
celebrating life with all those who clap and sing.
But even among the dwellers
frowns and tears have there place
as well the dangers and fears that lurk
from lights lace
within dark caves cellars
that should be left in haste.
Turtle Island
Awaiting
Different as the day and night
the people here dream left and right.
Some have roots wrapped deep into the Island
others are akin to a seed in the wind.
Any remains of the two have only time
but to sip sugar water and lime
lost in thought, perhaps one day
they will make up their mind.
Whether one or the other
their heart is the same
born on a land of might
waiting for the chance of great sights
exploring treetops and mountain heights
digging for treasure left long ago.
Some grow content of old and cherished
and the others only gaze to the unknown travelers
setting anchor from far off.
Dreams all converged on a small island
in the mists of an open life.
Turtle Island
Hum Drum Beats
Endless blue encircles this island
from ground to sky
and rippling all around.
First glance, much mystery awaits
within the horizon view
as this Island sits asleep while ships sweep by.
A plethora of awes live here
awaken by merriment
their imagination begins swirling
curious thoughts only add to the wind tangled strands of hair
covering the eyes of those here.
They beat the drums, happy and free.
Days gone by, ship after ship
secrets songs are heard only if not caught
hiding below the rotting dock
or up a leaning coconut tree.
Small is this island as are the graves.
Gossip drips from every cave, yet no fires are lit
until the songs are loud and happy, beat by wonderful beat.
The sound of the mundane covers up the cry and tears.
A fantasy maker may seek more
than the life on the old Turtle Island.
Washed ashore are dreams that lie
on the sandy beaches of children’s hopes
dusty lost speckles as can be
from years gone past
never quite gone
only misplaced in disarray
they still last in this world
cast out among the salty winds
day by day embodied into wondering clouds
soon to be rained back down
falling into tangled jungles below
reborn anew with every creature around.
Run your hands through those specks
and that hum drum sound will be heard.
Turtle Island
A Boat Built From Dreams
Feet that sift through sands
eyes that span the highest cliff
hands that touch every rock face.
All in search of treasures
but some are buried just too far off.
Empty shells boundless like the open air.
There is a feeling not here, a feeling nowhere here.
For a sight yet to be
For a yearning yet to be known
still wishing for something else
to wonder until some crafty tool is found.
As the call of dusk
a red washed tide hits the heart.
Things began to change
the stars twinkle with excitement
as the hands dig deeper into the sand
and feet outstretched in the ocean’s moonlit tug.
To stay and dance
or
To go and take a chance.
Mused by passion and reason
with compassion and thought, each and every season stayed here.
Years gone by as quick as the new bird flies.
What happenings lead to out there?
What chance meetings fall beneath the otherlands?
And so hum drum the dawn rises.
Yet the eyes awaken as does the dream.
Bright in fashion of a sunlight gem
Not seen before by an unkeen gaze.
A knife of grit, relentlessly sharp.
Hardly quick
but chip by chip, this builds that boat of dreams.
It’s essence is your essence.
Designed solely in thought.
Built by force of will
from everything wrought
complete enough to sail
but by no means perfect.
However rough it floats.
Venturing forth
you are the one that leaves today.
And however far you drift away…
Home will always be at Turtle Island bay.
Red Cape Man
In the far off distance there is a blur of a red to be feared.
It can only be the Red caped man,
who is brash to cut and slice.
Under towering stone golems does his sword go in hand,
dash and dice.
Like the human alike
fall does the giant.
All mortals are slain
and fall much like the immortals.
Not a chance to be defiant
in the face of his chortle.
You hear that devil of a sound beneath his demon mask
his face is Hell’s portal.
Red caped man
soaked in blood and sand.
Red caped man
blooming havoc that floods all the lands.
Beware the Red caped man who hides his face
for it’s all easy to guess
that he smiles at your dying run
his merry chase.
The Legend of the Obsidian Blade
Lustrous obsidian blade.
That forbidden cataclysmic weapon.
Vaulted in the mirk, the deepest chambers of the ashen.
Hidden in secret waiting for the one to bring ruin.
Dig past that depth into that well of darkness.
Bring three keys to thee.
And unlock it for me.
The diamond spade.
The celestial drill.
And the soul to sacrifice.
This opens then the gateway to power
and witness the tomb of titans who once tower
see the titanium enclaves within the decayed starflower
where that blade is legend to sleep in an uncheck hour.
No unholy fire or ray of light can burn this sword.
All shall die to the edge that cuts the air
and slices the ground to hell
where it will sink the heavens above back down below.
It cuts well before any other.
Death comes for all but the wielder of the hilt, one after another.
This is the inkdeath sword.
Blood soaked, it was cooled.
Molded by destruction, hammered by war.
Forged in agony by the Devil of the Crucible.
This is the Obsidian Blade.
Ultimate Death of all.
Every Star and World will soon to be tangled in a fireball
soon to grow faint and then fall.
To The Stars
Starship ignition.
Lightyear rocket armed.
Blast off we go!
The stars are the cosmic lanes for our superluminal bumper cars.
Around sellar mass black holes and through the spirals of galaxies we defy all the laws.
Adventure is grand when exploring the impossible for our cause.
Go far!
Go bold!
Go beyond!
All of spacetime!
Off Beat Off Kilter 