The Eternal NonConformist | An Original Poem

Time; the eternal non-conformist.

No matter how you will it, it always does exactly the opposite.

Its food determines its speed.

A steady diet of joy, excitement, and desire for eternity stimulates it and causes the hands to turn rapidly, pulling those precious moments out from under you like a rug, leaving you stunned, wondering where they went.

As the complete paradox, a helping of apprehension, nervousness and fear can cause time to drag on monotonously, like a horse run too hard, slowly trudging forward, losing momentum, until it collapses to move no more.

No matter how you will it, Time always does exactly the opposite.

The God of non-conformity.

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I Will Never Forget | An Original Poem

I will never forget
Your strong, intense eyes;
Clearer than diamonds,
And bluer than skies.

I will never forget
Your passionate smile,
Wild and exotic,
Yet timid and mild.

I will never forget
The touch of your hand.
So warm and gentle,
Like walking on sand.

I will never forget
Your true, warm embrace,
Together so close
Our two hearts do race.

I will never forget
The brush of your kiss
Soft, exhilarating,
So passionate this.

I will never forget
The depth of your love,
Much truer than life,
A gift from above.

I will never forget
How I feel for you.
I know nothing else
Could be so true.

Yet time rusts all things
And we’ve grown apart.
We went different ways,
Both with broken hearts.

As the years fly away
I look back on our time.
In remembrance of passion
I reflect with this rhyme.

Alone we both are
Yet even though love fled
The memories of our romance
Are still not quite dead.

Until the day I retire
To that eternal repose
My feelings for you
Are ones that I chose.

And you, I will never forget…

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The Voice of a Colour | An Original Poem

Oh silver, you glitter, glimmer, and shine,
But still quite the same in a different light.

You boast of your proud strength;
The solid frames that hold up buildings,
The sturdy shields that guard us from harm.

And yet at the same time,
You sing of your own sweet beauty;
The sparkling rings we adorn with jewels,
The majestic tiaras we rest on our queens.

Yet then you whisper about control and pain;
Those steely blades that cut and injure,
The heavy bars that contain and hold.

So silver, you glitter, glimmer, and shine,
But perhaps not the same in such different light.

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Two Birds, One Stone | An Original Poem

I sit in my window and look to outside,
Where a pair of red robins flutter and glide.

I’ve always wondered, two birds with one stone.
How to take out birds two with one rock alone.

My big brother bets that it can’t be done,
And the ten dollar bribe got me out in the sun.

They chatter and bounce and jitter and pop.
It does seem unreal their heads I could bop.

I finger the pebble I’ve scooped from the ground,
A coarse chunk of earth that’s not even round.

I know my task is fruitless and even quite folly,
For this chip could not kill those birds near the holly.

With a half hearted move, I toss it away.
A better weapon is needed to battle this prey.

The targets have lighted where I’ve spread out the seed,
In a spot of warm grass and dandelion weed.

As I start t’ward the place where the little birds jump,
I find my great power beside a tree stump.

I pick up my tool, a wide and flat rock,
And its scarred visage resembles a clock.

How fitting an end to the birds’ happy rhyme,
A ruthless demise ‘neath the forces of time.

In a movement so quick you could call it a fling,
I hurl the villainous, treacherous thing.

The birds just keep eating the seeds from the treads
Despite the disc sailing t’ward their downy heads.

With a crunch and a thud, a grind and a splat,
Two birds with one stone; well, I guess that is that.

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The Ballad of the Starfruit

When closing time comes
At the grocery stores
The employees all leave
And lock up the doors.

What we humans don’t know
Is that every night,
The produce awakens when
We turn out the light.

In these hours of darkness
Grew the story I tell
Of the epic romance
‘Tween Pam and Lyell.

From the same family of Citrus
But different sides of the name,
Their love was forbidden
Yet grew just the same.

Lyell, Prince of Lemons,
With skin yellow bright.
And Pam the Pineapple,
Spiked top a bold sight.

In a dark hidden corner
Of their family produce cart,
They met in love secret
To feed the other’s heart.

Lyell’s refined nature
Tempted Pam’s mind,
And her wild spirit
Seduced him in kind.

In the nature of such things,
Love proved its grand worth
When dear Pam discovered
She was to give birth.

Born in quiet secret
And then christened Star,
This new unique fruit
Came across as bizarre.

Her mother’s pointed skin
She did proudly wear
But Lyell’s sour taste
Did she also share.

When the humans returned
They found a surprise.
‘Tween lemon and pineapple
A starfruit did lie.

So ends the grand tale
Of a romance divine,
And the creation of starfruit,
Surely one of a kind.

English: Ripe Carambolas, or starfruit, the fr...

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Scars | An Original Poem

Isn’t there something so profound about a scar?

To the creative mind it is a mark full of promise,

Its knotted length bloated with symbolism and meanings.

An enduring sign of infinity,


Remaining beyond the stretch of memory.

Every person has a scar someplace,

Most of us more than one, I would guess.

As for myself, I lost count after eighty.

There is one on my wrist from a chain link fence.

A shiny white patch gleams on my calf,

A memento of the dreaded chicken pox.

As for the countless more, they tell of nothing

Except that I am a klutz.

All but the one;

A shallow line on my cheek

That heralds of something much more.

A tragedy.

Brought on not by a tripping of feet

But by the terrible thirst of a man.

I will not say

For I’m sure you can imagine

What comes of a man, a small girl, and a knife.

With the blade on my cheek

He partook of his wants

And it was never spoken of again.

He went his way with something I could not regain,

And I went mine with my scar.

Oh what a glorious thing, a scar;

So ripe with colorful metaphors.

The tribute to eternity that always reminds

Of which the mind wishes it had forgotten.

Addicted | An Original Poem

It’s been days since I last saw you.

Last heard you.

Last held you.

Without you by my side I am lost.

In a daze.


Like a drug you slipped into my system and I can’t cleanse myself of you.

I want you.

I need you.

I breathe you.

I feel you.

I am addicted.

The moment you leave I crave your return.

I crave your voice.

Your touch.

Your kiss.

Your embrace.

I long to feel the brush of your breath on my skin.

The sweet taste of your lips.

Your mere presence I crave like oxygen.

Without you I am drowning.

Losing my breath.

Sinking out of control.

I want you.

I need you.

I breathe you.

I feel you.

I am addicted.