River

The river flows dark and cold

memories dance

down this viscous highway

sparkling eyes of a young girl

dreaming of her lover

across on the other shore

a lone bell rings

echoing across the valley

reminding her of loss

the river flows deep and muddy

where bones lie quiet

and catfish roam

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Late Summer

Summers heat lingers

leaves turn rusty brown

mere wisps of their selves

once alive and green

now hanging limply

no bright colors to be seen

we have made sure of that

with toxic air that withers

so that the trees are unsure

whether they should live

or go down to the dust

Lesson learned writing Poetry

The febrile writer

stands within walls

struggles with words

lobbed like boulders

his attempts futile

trying to look the part

without living the part

writing the words

not reading those words

lost in his own fear

of being cast out

exposing hypocrisy

Birth of a Poem

Turn off the noise

settle back

listen to the quiet,

there it is,

that poem,

so long buried

one I’ve overlooked

now I write

not perfect,

it has lain dormant

buried deep

that I know

it is messy

but in this silence

sipping my coffee

words

burst forth

my fingers type

and this natal poem

takes it’s first

breath