I woke the howling wake to see where it would take me,
Down upon the river's edge where the moon rose on a night such as this,
I spoke to the voices of the past that sat there silent,
Waiting for my arrival as so they could exist,
Things of the night we don't speak of transpire,
As thought to say remember when?

Stirred to movement the wake plays with the mind,
Shadowy figures dance the night away by the river's edge,
Trickery or Tomfoolery my minds' exposed,
As the river's edge hangs on forever.

Adrift on the night air a feather falters,

Bison

I hold my dishes, sins,
dark briefcases, teas—
hue of old pennies or

horsehair sheen. All should be abandoned
to see bison. Bottle-
neck of pines and sunniness

like a calligraphed writ.
Take the green and yellow cadence
of leniency? Clemency?

Brown sacerdotal fur
over fifteen unseen ribs. I learn
to disrobe and desire more. Majestic

how they swim, hang their creature heads
to graze and browse. They
bow me.

First appeared in Plath Poetry Project

This morning when I went to work, I heard people talking about Valentines day,

I saw chocolates and perfumes wrapped as gifts and roses smelling beautiful on my way,

Young and old all seemed happy while walking with each other hand in hand on a working day,

Someone came to me and asked me if I wanted to buy a present to celebrate Valentines day,

I smiled at him and said to him “I am celebrating this day by loving myself”,

Beneath the comer, she lay there
Love was the gift wrapped with fear
Gone were the days smiles were rocking
Now and then his fist did the talking
Each scar told a story
Nights when pain took glory
She fell for every apology he fed her
Tears from the tricky eyes of care
“I love you” she always told him
She wanted love’s symphony
Everything she did was for love 
She fed him lust when he starved
Love was so deep that she drowns
Brown beaten by pain she was the clown
“You will die this day” her heart said
As he suite her with the hands of death

A granite wall,
stout bulwark against the world.
Built high and strong over years,
and in a fortnight.
A loving heart tears them down,
whisks them aside;
mortar crumbled, stones tossed like pebbles.
A sharp tongue cures concrete.
Like a dervish, building in a whirlwind.

It was a cool Winter.
There were a few people outside.
All at a sudden it became cooler.
Snow fell but not to slide.

That is a good picture.
Drops of snow flakes were falling.
This is nearly the end for sure.
You can seat and stay for hours watching.

I just read “Meditations in an Emergency” for the first time in a while (I am forty), and at last I think I understand it!  But why would I have to unlock my heart for you to gawk at it?  It’s been revolving around us like the moon, in fact… all the phases, the moods, and fancies… all the trouble and the glee (the poor man), he was in pain but always unutterably in stride… I know what it’s like to feel hurt—the kick to the stomach by the Kung Fu heart… the days of being unaware—it’s like a nerve being ignorant of the next because its already too drunk on itself… What could the gods p

an opaque stone
hangs low
in an azure sky

as a chilly wind
scatters grarled branches
of the barren oak trees

as night creatures
creep through the underbrush
as winter's glow hangs

from the scattered stars
like ice crystals
in a cocktail glass.

El invierno pasado fue muy duro.
Habia frio y no se podia andar afuera.
Esto es muy caro
Hay que hacer esfuerzos para la guapa.

Hay inviernos con mas actividades.
En el pasado invierno no hubo ninguna.
Solamente fuemos actores.
El invierno proximo se puede cambiar.

L'hiver est une saison froide.
Il faut donc se rechauffer.
C'est une saison rude.
Il faut bien s'habiller.

L'hiver est longue.
Il faut un peu d'eau.
Les Lacs se remplissent a la longue.
Ca sera bientot le printemps.