The king of the sprawl in my fuzzy embrace,
Submerged within the cushions as if a comfy armchair mace.
Chips at my side,
Remote as my guide,
I rule the pixels and snacks and have at last found my place.
Tag: Poet
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Youtube stutters, a symphony of “maybes,”
Each video a question, every beat a doubt.
A thousand choruses, a million melodies,
Yet none quite capture what our love’s about.From soaring anthems to whispered serenades,
Each lyric hints at what we can’t express.
Can waltzes hold the joy of whispered shades,
Or punk rock anthems our foreverness?Will trumpets blare the triumph of our vows,
Or a slow ballad paint the tear-filled scene?
Will upbeat tempos chase away the hows,
Or folk songs soothe where shadows intervene?But maybe music, in its grand design,
Is just a canvas, awaiting our touch.
The notes, but mere whispers of yours and mine,
The space between them, filled with so much.For when your hand finds mine, and eyes entwine,
No chord, no verse, can hold the light we share.
Our dance, a rhythm only love can define,
A melody born in hearts beyond compare. -
Once, mirrors were Medusa’s stare,
Turning smiles to petrified fear,
Every wrinkle, freckle, a flaw to bear,
Whispering whispers in my ear.Tightly woven shrouds of “not enough,”
Draped upon my trembling form,
Yearning for the perfect bluff,
A borrowed beauty in the storm.But days grew softer, light turned kind,
Sunbeams kissed my hesitant behind,
A whisper, “This is where you’ll find
The masterpiece yet to understand.”Now, skin’s a map of laughter’s lines,
Of stardust sprinkled in my eyes,
A symphony of flaws combined,
My own fierce anthem to the sky.So, love yourself before it’s late,
Unfurl your phoenix from the ash,
Let every scar and freckle say,
“I bloom, I breathe, I rise, I crash.” -
Crimson leaves ablaze,
Whispering secrets to the wind,
Nature’s fiery kiss. -
Old Sol, sweet fiery clown in the sky,
Painted clouds orange, pink, and oh my!
A flamingo flock below in pirouette,
“Look, darling!” one sang, “Such sweet light!”
The sun chuckled, winked, and bid them good-bye. -
We dreamt of bells and lace,
Of vows we’d whisper and love lighting up our faces.
But building dreams, like building dams, needs more than wishful singing,
Decisions swarm like desert flies, our future plans left swinging.Should we head to town, or settle by a creek?
Brick and mortar, dusty streets, or where the kookaburras speak?
Will it be a fancy church, or a starry sky for our roof?
Will I wear satin, crisp and white, or something light and fool-proof?White tablecloths, silver forks, or buffet by the fire?
A hundred guests in rented gear, or just our souls’ desire?
Will waltzes fill the dusty hall, or DJ beats flow?
Each choice a fork that leads us on, where only our futures know.
The lake reflects the stars, so silent and so wise,
They’ve seen a thousand couples built, beneath these moonlit skies.The stress overwhelming, our indecision left us tight,
But love’s a campfire strong and warm, it casts away the night.
Hand in hand, we face the rising dawn,
Our whispers blend with bird cry and a brand new day is born.Honeymoon by summer sands, the surf a gentle strum,
We’ll swim with turtles, hand in hand, and let the future hum.
Decisions made, dreams built with nails tough and love’s mortar to hold us fast,
Two souls adrift on life’s wide sea, forever meant to last. -
Ding rings the bell, as floor five marks my quest,
Alone in this box, absence of thought, feeling blessed.
No hurried suits, no grumpy teens,
Just silence, steel, and sipping at my coffee beans.But then a shift, a shadow near,
A furry form, of eliminating fear.
A corgi king, with ears erect,
His gaze unflinching, what are his plans, a new suspect.“Like a well-behaved carpet,” I mused,
His fur so smooth, my hand cruised.
A tail, a thump, a happy sigh,
Melting my resolve, a tear in my eye.“Excuse me, sir,” I bent to the floor,
“Off to floor four?”
He tilted his head, a thoughtful pause,
Then licked my nose, with wet, pink applause.So up we went, a mismatched pair,
My briefcase held aloft by his fluffy stare.
His grin infectious, a joyful bark,
A lift encounter, leaving its mark. -
Sunrise streaks my brow with gold, but fire boils in my gut,
A restless beast demanding flight, success an endless crave to break my rut.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” the wind whispers on the breeze,
Mocking wings against my back, spurring my dreams to swarm the trees.With calloused hands and steely will, I hack at mountains grim,
Each boulder chipped a broken oath, my failure’s born in mocking hymn.
Where are the fanfares, victory’s kiss, the marble halls of fame?
Only sweat and stone remain, the wind whispers in my shame.Then twilight regails ancient tales, of giants with slow breath,
Whose chiseled dreams took patient moons, defying mortal death.
Of buried seeds in winter’s grasp, awaiting sunrise’ lofty call,
Of steady tides that sculpt the shore, in rhythms soft and small.I lay my weapons down at dusk, to let fireflies ignite the night,
Their flickering dance a symphony, a lesson in slow light.
Each brushstroke in the charcoal sky, each whisper of the stream,
Hums of a patient universe, where purpose weaves its gleam.The years, like rivers, wind and weave, a tapestry of time,
And brick by brick, a city blooms, where once frustration climbed.
No thunderclap, no lightning’s wrath, but steps taken true like whispered song,
A testament to quiet deeds, where patience makes us strong.For Rome, and every lofty goal, on steadfast pillars rise,
Where diligence lays cornerstones, and actions paint the skies.
So let us tread with purpose slow, and watch our empires grow,
For steady hands and mindful hearts, the seeds of greatness sow. -
In fiery breath the furnace roars,
Where molten metal writhes and pours,
A molten will, it’s heart aflame,
Is where opportunity whispers your name.Strike now! While heat bends iron true,
The moment more ripe, the deed left to do,
No tepid tap, let hesitant wash away,
For doubt’s dull chill will steal your big day.Procrastination’s viper poised to sting,
With whispered dreams and future things,
The anvil waits, life’s hammer poised,
But Time, the sculptor stays buoyed.So seize the spark, the burning hour,
Let action bloom into spring’s flower,
In forge of will, to metal wrought,
Shall shhape fate anew, before all else is naught.For once the flame of embers wanes,
Regret’s cold ash will descend like rains,
A haunted heart, this silent forge,
Will then echo whispers of ‘Strike no more.’ -
They say the grass is greener over there,
Where skies are bluer and rivers sing clear,
The hills all rolling emerald underfoot,
No dust to bite, no sun like molten lava so brute.
My heart aches with a wanderlust to roam,
To swap this parched plain for a garden to call my home.But alas! That emerald promise may deceive,
Thick blades are tangled, slowed to a crawl so you must heave.
The songbird’s tune might turn a mournful cry,
And paradise a mirage when the well runs dry.
For discontent’s shadow is ever near,
Who can paint the fairest landscape dark and drear.So saddle up, but steady in your stirrup-grip,
This journey’s long, a test of of your grit and lip.
The greener pastures lie beyond the crest,
But sweat and sorrow pave your quest.
For every path you take, there’s one left free,
The one that leads you back, a wiser you, back to me.Instead of chasing ghosts across the line,
Let’s tend our patch where roots of comfort twine.
Water our worries, prune away the doubt,
Let laughter bloom and let courage blossom’s shout.
The grass is greenest where our heart holds sway,
So plant your dreams, and make your patch of earth play.
The StoryTeller 