Sunday Afternoon

I found true love on a warm Sunday afternoon.

Sitting on your bed wearing only
my bra and
your boxers

playfully strumming your guitar while
singing to you of
bones and
bedframes and
whatever else.

And you watched with a smile and
you listened without a word and

I sang to you for hours

on a warm Sunday afternoon.

Sadness Personified

Sometimes I fear I will lose my words...

that they'll just stop coming and I'll be left
with nothing but a blank page.

I'll look out into the landscape and
instead of poetry I'll simply see

a tree

a cloud

a fence

For what am I if not a poet...

and can I still write with a quiet mind
and a calmed soul if I am no longer

sadness personified

but just simply and perfectly myself

Forever Purple Skies

Forever purple skies...
and red blades over rolling hills.

Falling asleep in soft yellow laughter
and waking to blue morning dreams.

Your pink evening whisper and
soft green caress.

They sing to me of orange tear drops and
forever purple skies...

A Poet

The girl in the line in front of me
cannot understand how her friend
could love a man like him.

"It's all words", she says.

And the friend desperately tries to explain.

But I know what it is to love
a poet

Seduced by the writer inside of him.

So I smile knowingly and stare
into the distance.

The Choo

I left my misery somewhere between
the Mara and Narok.

Stopped to use the washroom -
a cement room with a hole in the ground
crouched down hugging my knees
trying not to piss on my shoes.

I think perhaps it fell down
into the dark abyss in the earth
while I was pulling my pants up and
trying not to breathe too deep.

If only they sold therapy like that
for $70 per session back home where
they put you in an outhouse for 30 minutes and
had you scream your affliction into the toilet.

Perchance I'd have discarded my misery
long ago.