On that day, all will hunt
looking everywhere, high and low
seeking that, which seems good
treats the last, only a day
will any think, do any know
why they look, on that day
what is lost, what is found
old is replaced, new is had
symbols of what,  we named not
where is he, on this day
he is lost, he’s not found

I know you're out there,
somewhere in the darken mind,
a long way from home,
I know you're scared.
I see you running away,
from the empty memories that haunt your soul,
you stopped crying a long time ago,
for the pain took everything.
The paddle you hold is now broken,
and in the middle of the lake you now sit,
the canoe drifts aimlessly,
until it bottoms out.

So far from home in that darkened mind,
unjust reasoning results nil,
touch the waters one last time,
taste the tear that longs for home.
Leave your memories in the past,

Upon a cabin in the woods I came,
Across a man thus likely insane,
For high upon the ferns of green,
He sat in a window barely seen.

The tap of thoughts slayed the paper of white,
From his tiny window he peered in the night,
As tho to see that what cannot be said,
The trickling of madness seeped from his head.

For was it on paper fled his thought's device,
Long lost ideas stole in the night,
Or was it upon the wake did he hear the wolf howl,
To see the blank pages from his own mind's cowl.

Never again the trickling thoughts convey,

Upon a cabin in the woods I came,
Across a man thus likely insane,
For high upon the ferns of green,
He sat in a window barely seen.

The tap of thoughts slayed the paper of white,
From his tiny window he peered in the night,
As tho to see that what cannot be said,
The trickling of madness seeped from his head.

For was it on paper fled his thought's device,
Long lost ideas stole in the night,
Or was it upon the wake did he hear the wolf howl,
To see the blank pages from his own mind's cowl.

Never again the trickling thoughts convey,

Whose fragile heart is painted to look like the boundless plains and towering mountains Whose fingernails are coated by dreams with a thick polish of shyness The moon is like water, the flowers like fire, reflecting a plane of sereneness Who wasn't lost and wandering during their youthful period You often dream of how you used to be That ignorant girl, stubborn and full of energy The road to heaven is tedious The searing marks of love and hate, unable to be faded Let us pocket the heartbreaks, let our palms grasp the moments That youthful dare to take on the sky, thousands of years of emotio

19 lines where only 13 are needed,
teaching villanelles - A1 to A2 -
making a feast out of fish:

serving up miracles to multitudes.
hocus pocus to defy physics,
19 lines where only 13 are needed -

such unlucky superstition overlaid
on a cruel form for vegetarians
at a feast of only fish.

a bucket of sea water evaporated
until only crystals remain:
19 lines where only 13 are needed.

how do you teach landlocked students
to write something fresh,
to make a feast out of fish

wriggling on the dock - eviscerate it,

A pretty woman visits me. Don't know her name. She used to have wild, tangled hair the color of a Nebraskan hay field in the summer, strands blowing in wave formations to the whims of any breeze. It's now pale moonlight reflecting off virgin snow. I'm sure I've kissed her before.

Come close enough and see Now I am completely immune to your nature; To your poetry, to your savagery For all that I have been The likes of hobos you see in documentary films Weary, walked I a furlong in despair Covered another one in grace But never ran out, my ernest will With all the youthful intentions sowed Little weird, little strange Like the clear rainbow after a treacherous rain O how I wonder, if we share an affinity for solitude To throw our little monologues to each other In the dead still of the night As the moon shines with grace while the sun sleeps That bondage of mutual