No Free Drinks

Are there no free drinks for a hopeless romantic?
A person beleaguered by love, left lonesome and frantic?
It takes liquor to stifle the flames of Love unrequited
That have been burning since the day Love was ignited.

So bartender, patron of brandy, and whiskey and glass
Pour me a double so this desire might pass.
A desire so near, but distant and far,
Has brought this hopeless romantic back to your bar.

A night tormented with wonderous thoughts of what may or may not be,
With a lover so unabashedly and relentlessly carefree.
A kind face that one can mentally admire,
Is what this vagrantly shy poet requires.

But if that is not on the menu tonight
Then never mind my silly insight.
Just pass a full glass over and let my troubled mind worry..and gripe.

The Olive Branch

Fingers grasping and grasping,
At things never seen.
Clutching and yearning,
For space in between.

As light as a feather,
And as stiff as a board.
These are the things,
We no longer afford.

Our youthful days of playing,
Have long gone past.
But our imaginations still fly,
At full mast.

So draw up the ink
And bring forth the quill
And let the creativity,
from your mind, spill

Onto the pages of books long scorned,
In boxes of rooms,
forgotten and unadorned.

Isn't it funny?
How it was meant to be?
You find this,
A slight trace of me?

Now close this window
and come over to me....
We can have crumpets and coffee
....or tea.

We can waste the night,
Discussing philosophy.
From foreign lands,
We never had the chance to see.

But first you must shut this window
And extend the olive branch
Of poetic discussion,
To the likes of me

Creativity Strikes

When Creativity strikes, it is never foreseen.
It comes from a land where few have ever been
When it visits, be courteous, be friendly and kind
For Creativity, in turn, shall expand your mind

The Pen is My Canvas

The pen is my canvas,
The page is my brush
You are my subject
My colloquial crush

I am unabashedly smitten
By the prose I am struck
In verse there is clearance
No darkness or muck

Poems of Historic Insignificance

Here's something of lyrical integrity.
A little note marching towards eternity
While it may never truly reach those infinite shores,
The prose will move others to pen wonderous scores

As I lay on my back and watch this wonderous light
Cascading upon me, its rays of respite
I linger, think, and ultimately reflect
On the lives in the future I shall truly effect.

When I flip to the front and begin writing some more
I wonder what exactly tomorrow's tomorrow has in store
Will this verse from this page affect another's mind
And crash eternally upon the shores of time?

Or perhaps it's percentage is one zero of chance...
But I am eager and willing to compose, these poems..
Of Historic Insignificance.

Pollution

There's too much pollution blocking our minds
Keeping us from reaching, the splendors behind.

The back of our thoughts, like curtains undrawn
Never truly seeing, the light of the new dawn.

So shut off the pollution and unleash your true force
You could make an impact, be it for good or for worse.

Noise pollution prevents us from hearing out inner desires.
Visual pollution douses our collective visual fires.

But sit down alone in a peaceful, quiet place and be filled
With a creative, serendipitous grace left un-willed.

You will find the pollution has left
For a second, a minute.....
That will soon be bereft.

Cherish the silence, the simple serenity.
For this is the closest to mental eternity.

Pebbles

If we were but pebbles
Being cast into the pond of time
I hope to make a ripple
And benefit mankind