Surroundings

Quagmire
appeared to be solid ground
yet not quite holding me
as I stepped in and found
a devil behind every rock
an evil mud trap
strange haunting sounds
sunk under thinly twisted roots
only when I got out I saw
it was just a bunch of dirt 
and water laying around
with no such thoughts or words
in fact itself trapped down
lounging lonesomely
and I strolled in
of my own accord

Clickish

Clicks

carry all the weight today

of all the things

that should have been said

not saying

Block

like there’s no tomorrow

click back

like it’s all okay

withholding hugs and voices

It’s so easy now tapped into

cyber life, my electronic friends

click, I love you, click, get out

yet a tad inconvenient

for my beating heart

Are you online?

Cause I’m laying it on the line

and not that we should stop electric vibes

but I don’t only want to join

your digitized tribes

I want dirt and sweat and smiles warm

and blood and tears and hugs 3D

else, what did we even come here for?

I don't want flowers

I don’t want flowers

except if you bring me to them

I don’t want chocolate

unless we are sharing it

I don’t want kisses

from someone a lot like you

I don’t want any kind of love

if it doesn’t come from you

Forsaken

If you turn your back on me

and look elsewhere

I will also turn the other way

and dance across the circle

of the earth

until we are one again

face to face

nose to nose

and I am 

unrecognizable

unto the reunion

of our eyes

and you no longer know

who I am

but that we are

family

and all the hearsay

that lived between us

dies

things we really need

I don’t want you 

to come back

because you forgot some stuff 

at my place 

I want you to walk away freely 

with your stuff

and return remembering 
you found the space

to be free

in my heart

Love is strange

Love is strange, 

love breaks my heart, 

and asks me to smile. 

It pulls out hopes and poems, 

it pushes through me in tears 

and children. 

Love goes from me 

in different directions 

and comes to me 

from more 

unexpected places. 

Love is the little things, 

over and over, 

and over again. 

The little things 

we think have died,

in fruits that rotted 

long ago, 

the little seeds that sprout 

long after hope’s 

gone long forgotten