Hyacinth Poetry

Maybe I am just A sticky note poem Brief, Up for interpretation Blown away with the wind Maybe I am Some little wildflower Pretty for a week Or two, An absence you Don't particularly notice Maybe I am A summer breeze Impossible to hold, Always moving Fleeting in it's peace Maybe you are A rainbow in grey skies A pillar when The shoddy walls start falling Maybe there is only an End in sight if you close your Eyes and take no further action.

Onwards We move Onwards All we can do As much as ever Soft smiles and working hands Build, chosen Days spent in Sweet company Cherished loves Knowing forever Could never be enough Onwards We move Every sweetheart Smile, Pair of gemstone eyes Cherished for mere moments Slipping into the folds Of time We carved each other Like statues Built on summertime, wine and mountain air Never too brief To hold a seat at the table To pull the clouds from the sky Dedicated to every new fri

Choke to death On the pen I set between my teeth Fill my Lungs with Writers ink - Drown in thoughts From an Overfull Head All the best artists Only get loved Long after they Are dead - An untrue sentiment Made to keep you Thrashing around in bed, When all is written And I am old and frail and Breathing my last breath Let me choke on paintbrushes And swirl around in pencil lead.

Do not grieve Saying chivalry is dead And all the good men Are taken I may not be a man But men are overrated, Anyway And I am far more a gentleman (humble, too). I will walk you To your door, Should you please And kiss your hand Soft and sweet- Do not mind the lip gloss left behind. I will write you Devastating love letters Of your profound beauty And unmatched wit, Your daring adventures Every song you sing. Any bouquet you dream of, The flowers I would grow With my own Dir

Continuously I am reminded Of the Sun The way you bring light Which reflects glorious Colours Off everything Around us I see citrus visions Like Italian summers, Lemonade stands, Peeling an orange For you and Getting the juice All over my hands You taste of Golden honey The most precious resource I know Meant to be spooned into Green tea And drizzled over pastries- I cherish every drop.

Some things Never change Only in a Sea swirling, Always moving Kind of way. Quiet evenings Hot air When I see Contentment Within reach. Watching clouds Caress a picturesque Mountain view Asking if they need Light As much as We do. Things do not Stay the same, But rather I have been here Ten thousand Times before Among Forest paisley, Ocean houndstooth.

I was not aware Poison Oak Was so severe. I remember Being a child In the lush Green Fields Of Wales. And crying over Stinging Nettle. It's barbed leaves Prickling my Untouched skin. But much like A scraped knee, With time comes The ability to Frown a little And walk on. Naively, I assumed Poison Oak Would be another Stinging Nettle in a life Of scraped knees. Until the moss carpeted, Secret keeping, Coastal forests Taught me To Heed their Poison warnings, From scar tissue, A

I was not a werewolf Until I met you You met me, bit me Tended to the bloodied wounds You gave me I heard you say look at that Red full moon Look at that red full moon Red full moon Red full moon Until all I could do was Look at that red full moon And when I came to you with matted fur You said it's just A lovers curse And when I grew claws You told me we would Make it work My teeth grew sharp Just like my words You said, "I see it hurts, it hurts; Just try a little harder To

I am always Falling For another Soul And should I be less Infatuate - Able? Perhaps, But in the fluttering Of hearts Is a beauty That remarks On the purpose we give To the world And fret not upon unrequited Daydreams, Pining does not take away from the flowing streams Colours shine a little brighter Even when I'm weak At the knees And I may be Too much for some Lacking dreams of others I may not be what you want, But I love the trees The pond, the bumblebees And my wants Shou

Yellow buttons in the field, I pour my heart onto paper, Vulnerable ink, worthless words, I make wishes on ancient streams, Never bold, only brave Who writes love letters these days? I only get so many words per day And I must put them all on the page- Unless I am to speak foolish thoughts to your face Dandelions are only weeds to sad suburban families Who don't climb trees Who writes love letters these days? "Your eyes bring me visions of the sea and sky, When your lips brus

Do you smell the redwood trees? Darling, love, baby, Take me to the beach Watch the sun set Rest your tired feet. Darling, love, baby, I am not whole anymore Live with me a little wounded And I will give you more and more. Darling, lover, baby, Inspiration comes in many forms I'm a painter, I'm a poet Who painted you so beautiful? Darling, lover, baby, They say the river heals all wounds I never say what I a thinking Unless only the forest listens. Darling, lover, baby, We kn

Close your eyes, Listen To your heartbeat I do not expect you to tune out your thoughts I think that is impossible, Or I would not write so much. Eyes closed I see A hearth, Old fashioned, The center of A well loved cottage. Stone mantle. Plaster walls. Leaded windows, You know, the ones with The pattern That forms diamonds? The fire In the hearth Burns hot, A home. Maybe it is peacefully quiet. Maybe music plays From the Thrifted Record player. Something old, Before our time