Even the most darling rose
is a work in progress.
Be the rose.
How beautiful
that she will show you the way
to freedom.

Even the most darling rose
is a work in progress.
Be the rose.
How beautiful
that she will show you the way
to freedom.
When there is,
in this soft heart,
a tear for sweet love departed,
a tender wave of grief upon the shore;
where do these small hands go?
How do I hold
and kiss
and whisper
each precious ache
into wholeness, once more?
There is an apricot sun in the distance.
There is a mighty perfection
twinkling in the eye.
And so it is,
the ache shall be
here
and I shall know her.
Until I have known her eternal home.
Of all the labels I reject
‘a poet’
is the one golden cage
ringing true to my soul.
It holds my heart,
this stamp that tells me-
not who I am,
but what I do in the world
and how these depths consume me.
And though a label
is but a boundary with imaginary walls
in a universe unending,
a poet
I am
in words
and heart.
A poet I am,
I am.
In the shadow of love
is the aching
of fear.
And I hold you,
love.
I hold you
and your beautiful tears.
As if
to fall asleep in the arms of another
could be anything less than a gift
to be cherished.
Life and her beautiful pages;
how precious she is,
indeed,
for the sweetness of it.
I see nothing but darling
and delight
in all things.
For the aches are there
to be held
by the beauty
that is love.
And the joys
rocket to the sky
on wings of their own.
Is this not heaven where I lie?
What sweeter perfection
might the illusion
of some other day
bring?
As the ice drips
from this frozen heart,
here grows the beauty
of feelings gone by.
How I remember you,
dear echo of friendship.
How clear it has become that
kindness
was the angel there.
Let me tell you
how the small things you do
are beautiful.
Let me show you this mirror,
let you reach for it in wonder.
This shine belongs to you,
do you see?
Do you see?
Yes,
you see.
Hush, dear soul,
there is no need to question
the aching sorrows.
For they are there,
as is the joy;
two faithful companions
on the road to somewhere
and nowhere.
Oh, dear soul.
It is true there are questions
unanswered,
doors left unclosed.
Listen to the wind and you will see
there are no doors
truly
to close.
Only the ever drifting whispers
of impermanent life.
Always moving.
Never arriving.
My, dear soul.
Yes, we are weary.
Yes, we shall row into the sunset
as one.
Woman.
Professional woman.
Single professional woman.
Blonde single professional woman.
Old blonde single professional woman.
Sweet old blonde single professional woman.
Joyful sweet old blonde single professional woman.
Australian sweet old blonde single professional woman.
Human.
Man.
Unemployed man.
Married unemployed man.
Blonde married unemployed man.
Middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.
Funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.
Sad funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.
American sad funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.
Human.