dogs tsila's blog: "by...Poet"

December 6, 2008 @ 6:08 am An Open Book Alight the butterfly Upon the branch It opens and closes its wings Open and closes. Visual, regal The monarch of the garden. Each opening of the wings Like the pages of a book Poetry in motion Each verse A colorful rendition Saying read me! Appreciate me! Silently appraise All that I have to say Each opening and closing Articulating that I am I shall be What you see Just take the time to notice And appreciate, Me. poet

An Open Book Alight the butterfly Upon the branch It opens and closes its wings Open and closes. Visual, regal The monarch of the garden. Each opening of the wings Like the pages of a book Poetry in motion Each verse A colorful rendition Saying read me! Appreciate me! Silently appraise All that I have to say Each opening and closing Articulating that I am I shall be What you see Just take the time to notice And appreciate, Me. Poet

this is how I see you.. Enamored Enamored By the swell of her Breast, soft Upturned, firm. Brown eyes that Beckon, embrace. Down hair traces Gentle smiles. Difficulty seeing The contrast, Between the visible Embroideries of heavenly Bodies, indeed Beautiful. And the inner Embroideries which They only reflect and Are infinitely more Beautiful. Clairvoyants perceive “Elementals” Those sprites that Tap into the Positive energies of Natures Love. She cries out to me “I give you a new Commandment, Love one another! As I have loved you, so You also Should love one Another” John 13:33 poet

Have you ever wondered What quest beckons? Do we chase Wealth for riches? Do we chase control For power? Do we chase sleep For dreams? Or to blot out The centered self Frightened conceit That we believe Makes us special Or hope that it does! What journey Are we wishing To take? But never do! I have watched Dogs chase Their tails Will they ever Catch them? What will they do with them If they do? If at the end of The day You haven’t Danced your dance Sang your song Laughed your laugh Cried your cry Rode your Harley Inked your tattoo Loved your love Written your poem All you have done Is wasted your time Do not ask me To do the same Do we Dance with a devil We know? Familiarity? The loneliness Yet safety Of self absorption? Or can we Take a chance On each other And the murmur Of passions? And for a moment Time not wasted! poet

I enjoy sharing with you.. King Size Maybe this king size bed was a bad idea. Now you’re all the way over there and I was used to you being smashed into me and I liked it. Suddenly you like your space and you won’t come close to me unless you’re horny. I stretch my arms out and I still cannot touch you. I do not reap all the benefits the salesman mentioned. I do not sleep well on my extra firm mattress. You are in our bed yet it still feels empty, only the green glow of my clock keeps me company. I do not think this was a good idea. poet

I stared at the back of Her neck, not the most Erogenous zone, but beautiful Nonetheless. I walk over to Touch her bare arms, With both hands, attentively. My breath stirred the Filial hair on the base of Her neck, beckoning me To nuzzle – how Silly. I look over her Shoulder at The drying flower in The pot - needing Attention, I Can relate. poet

As a child I rubbed Dandelions on my cheek. As a child I searched for Four leaf clovers. As a child I waited on Christmas eve With youthful anticipation. As a child I ate sweet tarts With screwed up lips. As a child I never looked under the bed at night. As a child I was free to cry When crying was necessary. As a child I laughed when the time called for it. As a child I liked the food I liked And dribbled down my chin That which I didn’t. As a child I feared the unknown And did not know fear. Now I am older What happened?

A soft rain, On a warm morning, During a walk, Is an invitation To refine those Memories That have faded since Childhood. Is it the falling of the Drops through the leaves That we hear? or Is that the movement of Peals of water rolling over the Once dry creek bed? I have thrown aside My umbrella… A quiet that is only Broken by the swish Of car tires as they Breathlessly swirl by, Rain flattens my Hair, running rivulets Of nature’s tears over My unshaven face. My dogs prance the Prance with what we foolishly Call a smile on their faces. That is obviously just Contentment! The rain is irrelevant To them. Poet

We never perceive When standing Our ground That there is a curvature To the Earth So imperceptible That without faith Would we believe that Upon a circle we stand? Gentle words Softly spoken So imperceptible while Looking into the eyes Of another May only be perceived As love If we are willing To keep faith Poet

When I was a child Strawberry Ice cream Was made with a pound Of sugar and real Strawberries When I was a child The clothes hung On a line outside to dry And smelled of mom’s Twenty-mule team When I was a child Strength of Character was One can of spinach Away When I was a child My hero was A masked man Who carried guns and Had an indigent Indian as a friend When I was a child Sexual awakenings Were defined by A magazine centerfold And a right hand When I was a child Women were to Be bare foot, Pregnant and unhappy Now that I am a man I struggle to cast Off my childish ways But strawberry Ice Cream Still is my favorite