I Pick Myself Up

I do not belong here,

On this shelf with your other toys.

I pick myself up, dust myself off.

Work the paralyzing hope out of my joints.

I clambor down, clumsy first, then flying.

If you want me, you can call.

If I can hear you I will answer

Because I love you.

But I am running now,

By tonight, who knows where I'll be.

Fine Lines

There is only
a very fine line
between
a doormat and
a waiting girl.

Cyn McCurry - Casting

Nearest

dearest heart
nearest to mine,
i marvel that i,
little me,
should be thine.

i hope that you know
that i long to be near,
that my life would
be better
if you could be here.

but you urge me to live.
you want me to rise.
you let me be brilliant,
adventurous,
wise.

you fill me with hope.
you're the end of my gaze.
you're the calm motes
of sunbeams
that lighten my days.

so though you are far, now,
we hardly must part.
for you are
my dearest,
my nearest of heart.

Three Attempts

I wanted to write you a sonnet

But a limerick came busting in on it.

I did what I could

Is this any good?

Oh, but content! I guess I forgot it.

Ummm...
Ah, yes.  Ahem.

The boy that I want is in China

But I want him to know that I ... lima?

Darn! Nothing else rhymes

And I've run out of lines..

I'm not a good limerick designah.

*sigh*

I'll try one more time to be clearer.
This boy to me couldn't be dearer.
I'd run any race
To be close to his face,
And spend my last dime to get nearer.

Tahdah!

I Am No Poet

I.
little poems to say the little things
that my heart leaps to catch
from mid-air.

II.
sad behemoths lurking in the depths
are easier to pin down,
if you can believe it.

III.
a scoop of mud
makes a quick painting

IV.
the butterfly thoughts
refuse to sit still
to be described.

V.
i suppose i am no poet
after all.

Your Hand Is Still In Mine

My foot slips off the path again.
My ankle twists the same way.
I forget that your hand is in mine
    when I feel that pain,
    that same pain,
    that same old pain.
But it wasn't you.
I forgot that it wasn't you.

Your hand is still in mine.
Your hand is still in mine.

The Future

We human creatures 

We collide.

We combine.

You and me

We make a line

We look:

There it reaches;

Golden in the rising setting noonday sun.

The future.