apologies to other guy. been lost in the woods.

 Big push until mothers day. I forget every year how busy this time is. Like a worker bee sprung from the dormancy of winter, I fly into action, sometimes half cocked and relying on instinct to lead me to pollen.

Every day, my next three days grow. I add add task over task, lapse time over time, add to dos on an already impossible list.

Breathe... breathe n the air.

Then I realize, I'm in charge. My schedule does not own me. My deadlines are self imposed. The weather gets bad and everyone can wait. I can wait. They can wait. We all wait.

 People are mostly reasonable and understand that I do not control the precipitation raining from the heavens and the temperatures that are inherent within.

A butterfly bursts from its cocoon to early and dies in the cold, Its splendor and short journey cut even shorter. 

I spin a second shelter and go back into the warmth of a living room fire and glass of scotch. I remember the things I have been neglecting and miss them like the sun misses the stars. 

I write poetry for none to read and judge it against a life time, 

easily dismiss,

deem it unworthy to see the light of day.

Who am I to stop that spring budding that is the outpouring of the first thought?

That idea that seems trite and ridiculous is the birth of a new story.

Shine a light on those shadows.

Cast aside self criticisms.

Let others judge what we so easily throw aside.

When I go without writing words, the words do not stand aside.

They do not roll away with the smoke to the clouds.

They persist and eventually insist on being.

Like a downpour after years of drought, 

time is irrelevant when the rain comes.

The rain always comes eventually, it cares not for time..

Lets flex the muscle lest it becomes sedentary and unreliable.

Some exercise is needed.

Some fire is needed.

Some whiskey wouldn't hurt. 

It's 4:44 and the radio man is no longer speaking. The envelope has been pushed to far and the reins have been pulled back tightly. Tomorrow will not go as planned. When my business self is overloaded, it shuts down. The left brain takes over and spouts forth from it's starving isolation like a levy held too high. I let the dogs out.

 A poem/song that may never have seen the light of day or heard the sound of music. 

You are not beautiful,

You are beauty.

You are not living,

you are life/

You are not loving,

you are love.

Would you follow me across the oceans of skies?

I gave you more than I had to give

and I can not tell you why.

don't let your life pass you by.

You are not passionate,

you are passion.

You are not breathing,

you are breath.

You are not of this world,

you are a world.

You have created life and given it purpose.

i would follow you to the 7th level

for just one whisper in my ear.

Tell me the secret 

that you hold so dear,

make it all seem clear. 

I stopped to watch the sunrise, 

with you so near.

i know I am here.

I think Pablo Neruda may have possessed me. i wish I could write in Espanol.