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White is the absence of color visually, but is all colors in the light spectrum. Black is all colors visually, and the absence of light on the spectrum. This poem explores metaphorically, as well as the actual impact color, or lack of, has on our perceptions. PS- Sara, if you're reading this, stop. Get back to work. You don't need another "distraction."

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With Valentine's Day upon us and its celebration mercilessly becoming more and more a senseless exercise in commercialism, I thought it perhaps appropriate to lay out some questioning ideas relative to its supposed theme...romance.

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Tales of the morning

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Thinking about a friend of mine evoked this personal and short free verse on what must go through the minds and hearts of certain beings less fortunate than others. But, who knows. As history has suggested: Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

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Those looking for a sarcastic or critical poem may be disappointed here. My kinder, gentler self took over for a little while. Comments always welcome.

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Having explored some gravesites this past week with my trusty camera in hand, a fresh eye gave me a small epiphany regarding the power of a poem’s title. Back in November I posted a poem addressing mausoleums, “ Light Ever Dark.” I’ve decided the poem also serves another premise, and thus a new title. Walls, as another of my word exercises reminded me, serves to keep out, as well as to keep in. This supports one of the maxims of my personal philosophy: we have no empirical evidence that death ends all, only that it takes away life… as we know it. Thus, for the skeptical, existence and death become yet another possible paradox.

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I wrote this some time ago for my fiance. Hope you enjoy reading it.

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Lessons learned have their own timetables at times. Teaching’s closure can linger, be that of relationships, business, or personal study.

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Whether family, spousal, or companion origin, unanswered love can haunt dreams incessantly, even when time and space has made one’s conscious days void of such impact. Lest me forget, hope does indeed reign supreme.

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to show how very important seeing, smelling, tasting, hearing and feeling are............

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Two poems, "Dumpstered" by Odin Roark and "Wedding Song" by David Lehman (partially quoted below), sent me on a path of thinking about the same subject. This poem is at least a partial result of that process. Comments always welcome.

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Many would argue greatness is without fame. When will intelligence rise above the clutter and recognize the malaise of celebrity addiction?

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This is something I wrote for my father when my mother passed away, well it was for me to practice as well. comments are welcome

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no...not a picto...just a plain old ordinary poem!

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Fortunately having weathered several marital storms, I know of the “Until…” lessons-learned-respite. Never let it be said that relationships “need” be bad, however. Like fine wine, they just require proper aging, and then allowed to “breathe” to be fully enjoyed. Of course, lest we forget, soda pop needs little ceremony or care to enjoy.

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Here is another "Ode" style poem, this one written as if I'm greeting a butterfly. Same hill, same trail, same morning as in "To A Trail." But this poem is much simpler - almost Emily-simple. In case you've never seen one, a California Sister is a small butterfly with orange spots on a black wing, along with a row of white spots. Vaguely like a mini-Red Admiral. They sometimes "irrupt" and migrate in large groups, but it's kind of early and I only saw this solitary one.

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There are many reasons for writing poetry. This may be one of the more common. Comments welcome.

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Oh just sharing really I wrote this a few years back. Just goofing off hope some get some amusement out of it.

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For whatever reason, I started thinking this morning about "The Little Engine That Could." That, for some inexplicable reason spawned this poem. ----- Safety in numbers may not mean anything anymore. Innocence of heart risks annihilation. A tiny red button, pushed by any number of wanton countries could forever change the way we see things.

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I went to a nature poetry workshop yesterday and wrote this pretty much "in place". Kind of like plein-air painting, I guess! It feels pretty rough. Look it over and see if you can find some places where I could smooth it out. Thanks!

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Just a way of expressing thoughts and feelings.All reviews welcomed

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Thoughts about a complex and often misunderstood condition. Review and comments appreciated.

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been having a tough time so not been here much of late...but hey, i'm back, with a PICTOPOEM but of course! had a bit of trouble with the formatting, the original draft was 'rounder'...maybe i'm out of practice but think it's some technical reason i don't understand! never mind, i'm sure you'll get the gist...

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This is dedicated to fellow S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder) sufferers. Winters just seem to grow longer every year. * Sigh * Damn you, Punxsutawney Phil!

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I was once a mentor to a young woman who later shocked me when she announced she was hanging in the "wrong crowd" and even doing drugs. Like many young people, she did not listen to caution. So I decided on one final appeal to her, in verse. I don't know whether or not she ever quit that crowd, or the hard stuff.

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Some argue the writer is merely the conduit through which the “already” flows.

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One of my reviewers wondered if I ever just post an iteration, without rewrites. Taking the challenge, and letting Leonard Cohen's 75th birthday CD influence me, I plunged. Careful what you ask for. Here ya go. ------ Ever feel like your life just wants to… be, just needing to nudge sanity sometimes?

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OKAY.. Hit me hard as Shakespeare did visit and this is what poured out and I mean poured out! It is a ten minute or less write and I haven't a clue from where it came... Maybe I should begin to entertain the belief in muses even if they might be old rusty ones??? Do not ask me to remove the 'woe' or any old fashion term as Willy might get pissed. Only kidding..

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Stretching a bit so let me know feelings etc. I tend not to so am a bit guarded but this is what one must do in order to grow or produced the same old thing over and over.. This past twelve months have been full of loss for so many.. I was reminded of that and remember an early morning a couple of days ago that I found very healing for me. I hope this is in a way a healing type of poem.

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For some of us, visits to a nursing home present more than vacuous eyes and impaired bodies.

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A sports limerick, any feedback OK

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Regarding the precarious future, youth of our country have much to be concerned about. A NYT op-ed by Brooks sheds much needed light on the subject. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/31/opinion/brooks-the-great-divorce.html?_r=1&hp

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Very short so understand if no one wants to leave a review. :) This is deeper than the title ... it is about life and living.. and of course the inescapable It is also a reminder that springs come with new life and living.

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The process of grief. How I see it. Not only for those who have lost partners to death but also happiness to depression and well being to strife. Dedicated to JHawk, Michelle, and Folio and all others who have dealt with death of a loved one. To those who have come through the valley into the light. Hopefully offering a glimmer of what I believe lies ahead. Have traveled this road more than once. I believe these words. Any and all feedback

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The circus backdrop of Newley’s “Stop the World, I Want to Get Off” doesn’t do it for many. For others, the suggestion of a Taoist proverb might provide some solace. “We cannot see our reflection in running water. It is only in still water that we can see.” For the creative spirit, there might only be an answer remaining out of reach.

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From the archives.

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An observation made while on a recent journey. Traveling somehow sharpens my attention to the world around me. Miss Emily's line came to me as this episode concluded. Comments welcome.

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This is just a funny little piece I wrote, really out of the norm for me. just this day needed to break the ice and back away from the sorrow tpye poems. A CHANGE OF THE TIMES FOR SURE

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Like most, struggling with sorrow brings on unique awareness, even after resolve has been met. Still, to have been there and survived is to grow and respect reality as a sometimes harsh teacher.

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Everyone needs an angel, even if it be to fream of one.

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A little girl gets her father to go dance with her at the Twirly Whirly Ball. The Twirly Whirly Ball is a father daughter dance at Harper's Hall. Little did they know this occasion would lead to an unbreakable Father-Daughter bond. Any feedback welcomed! Thanks!

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Because this is about a very much loved relative I would prefer the poem to speak for itself.

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One of the hardest things in life for me has been learning that I must choose who I have in my life in order to improve my life experience. It can be very painful lesson when applied to the people to whom we are indebted for an upbringing. Regardless of what they may be like as human beings, its a tough call to free yourself from abuse, or pain when it involves letting go of someone who was present in your life as a child, or even as an adult. Blood relation or not, separating yourself from someone who mistreats you can be the hardest bond to break, emotionally, socially, or ethically. This piece explores the painful realities of a parental relationship that required a severing of bonds to recover from. Tell me what you think, and forgive me if its rather harsh, The struggle to survive that home was challenging, and it took years for me to release the person in question. This piece is about ten years old, but I pulled it out, reworked it, and now here it is for your consideration.

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Tragedy affects us all, some more than others. Words running together intended. Our emotional thoughts are often expressed in phrases.

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"If there is love, there is hope that one may have real families, real brotherhood, real equanimity, real peace. If the love within your mind is lost and you see other beings as enemies, then no matter how much knowledge or education or material comfort you have, only suffering and confusion will ensue" His Holiness the Dalai Lama from 'The little book of Buddhism' ----- Trying to simplify the meaning of love promotes many an exploration. This is but one.

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