Nearing Midnight

a waxing crescent
hangs lazily over
the ocean of my youth
peeping ‘round clouds
in no hurry to reach
their unplanned destinations
just as i hang lazily over
your words
peeping ‘round syllables
quietly listening to
melodies of meaning
intended or otherwise

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2018

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Tidying (Aubade)

Morning shoos
stubborn Moon and Stars –
drunk, still,  from last night’s tryst –
as it scrambles
to tidy its house
sweeping clouds
beyond the horizon
ensuring Sun’s
unhindered arrival

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2018

Homeless

i stand with
my hands out,
begging for change;
collect my thoughts
in a brown paper bag
and sip them
when no one is looking

at day’s end,
i daydream while
riding the late bus
around a vacant city,
until the bag
is as empty
as my mind

eventually, i find peace
between stock market quotes
and a park bench,
whose splinters
whisper stories
of youthful days –
tales embellished now
in ears grown over
like the moss-covered cliffs
of childhood memories –

and i die,
reaching for a god,
who is too busy selling
prime real estate
to the less fortunate

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2018