Lay me down to sleep

Some evenings as I lie in bed thinking about my day and my quest to figure out where my waking hours went, I just have to put the thought aside.  
My day is filled with making a living. Not filled with my passion. Of course, my passion is out of my reach; truly unattainable. But that doesn’t mean I will settle for less. 
My passion has told me that there is hope for another passion that may find its way into my soul and heart. Yet I don’t want to search for that passion. 
I wonder if we are given one true passion. And, when discovered, should we not only focus on that passion and ignore the possibility of another taking its place?
If we believe more than one passion exists, how can we focus on the passion that has embedded in our mind, heart and soul? 
Are there respites in our search? Way stops that fill our tired bones as we search, or wait? 
Or are these just thoughts of the tired? The weary? The lost? 
Can I ever be happy with a new passion? How would I know if what is there if I refuse to see it? 
So many dreams fill my sleep as I drift from these spots. I find myself crying, wrapping silent tears as I think about what might have been; and, what I might miss dwelling on this. 
Will rambling fix anything? 
I think not. 

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Madonna on the Wall

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“Madonna of the Flowers”, by SunshineShelle

 My sweet Madonna on the wall, so beautifully painted I can tell. So tell me my love, how can you look like something straight out of hell? The demon is laughing at you with your baby so pink. What? Oh my, at me did you just wink?

Enhanced by your beauty the flowers around you bloom. But my sweet, do they mask the impending doom. Although your hand may hold that creature at bay; I am focused on your breast and don’t look his way.

Is that an evil spawn you are holding in your arm? Are you spinning a spell or maybe forming a charm? My love, are you protesting my gaze or with my longing do you agree? My sweet blue Madonna what are you saying to me?

Tell me my queen about your deep dark secrets hidden inside. But don’t be surprised if they confuse me or make me want hide. Here on the outside this is a chasm I dare not cross. If I enter your world I fear there might be loss.

Madonna my love
Come to me from the darkness
Cloak me in your veil





 My First Run at it before realizing I needed prose

The “Madonna of the Flowers” by SunshineShelle;
Looks like something straight out of hell.
The demon is laughing, her baby is pink.
And is she flirting? Is that a wink?

Amongst the flames the flowers bloom.
They mask the feeling of impending doom.
The hand in the air holds the creature at bay.
And that breast! Oh what can I say?

Is that evil it feeds in her arm?
What spell is spun, or is it a charm?
Does she protest or does she agree?
What is she trying to say to me?

The deep dark secrets hidden inside;
Only confuse me, make me hide.
This is a chasm I dare not cross.
For I fear there might be a loss.


Madonna my love
Come to me from the darkness
Cloak me in your veil

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That Moment

She lays back, her arms wrapped over the top of her pillowed head. My thumbs stroke the insides of her biceps as I lie on top of her. My weight eases into her as I stare into her eyes from elbow length away. How vulnerable she is in this place. Fully accepting me. Opening all of herself to my desires. Will I give her my all? Will she accept what I am willing to offer and nothing more? Or will she want the ultimate price? Can I pay the price? Am I willing?
And then, like the Angels of heaven singing, The words of a great lyricist echo in my brain. 

“Let me sleep on it. I’ll give you an answer in the morning.”
And I smile and kiss her. 

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A Dirty Limerick 


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My personal twist on a haibun

So after being encouraged to use complete sentences for my Haibun, I reworked the original into this one. If you happen to stumble across it, tell me what you think, please.

The Seeds of Fruit – a haibun (edited to try and be more technically correct)

As I wondered through the woods, I saw helicopters falling from the tree. But it was only seedlings aplenty floating down around me. As some floated away off on the wind, others succumbed to gravity, their will it did bend.

float down little seed
I know not where you will root
or lay dormantly

Some of these seeds will start new lives away. But others stop, their journey done, here they stay. For this tree to continue life and make new air; it must make more seeds than ever will bear.

my seed I have sown
over and over again
two mini me’s live

Once my seed in the form of my sons had taken root; I decided enough was enough, and I gave fertility the boot. It only took a couple of snips and eight titanium clips; and now never again will I have to worry about any possible slips.

like a gun with blanks
you can let me shoot for days
your target i miss

Like this mighty tree alone in the woods, I too have many seeds; but I had to be careful, because at the same time, I have many needs. With this tale you now know I have no more worries of making a baby. So tell me sweet girl, does this change your no to a maybe?

Original Post

So I know this is technically not a true haibun, but as the great Magaly Guerrero so kindly told me “Experimenting with poetry is always fun. And you have a whole day and a half to play with it!”
Haha. Ok. So the last part of her comment made me want to retort with a snort, never give me that much time to play with it.  I am a guy. I’d starve. But no, she meant before my real haibun needs to be done for her April Games.
This is one (I thought) I wrote the other day walking in the woods. I hope you enjoy it. It started sincere and then somewhere my brain digressed.

the seeds of fruit – a haibun (so I thought)

i saw helicopters falling from the tree
seedlings aplenty floating down at me
some floated away off on the wind
others the gravity, their will did bend

float down little seed
i know not where you will root
or lay dormantly

some seeds will start new lives away
others’ journeys stop, here they stay
to continue life and make new air
this tree makes more seeds than will bear

my seed i have sown
over and over again
two mini me’s live

once my seed had taken root
i gave fertility the boot
a couple of snips and titanium clips
never again will i worry about slips

like a gun with blanks
you can let me shoot for days
your target i miss

so like the tree i had many seeds
but at the same time, i have many needs
no more worries of making a baby so i hope this changes your no to a maybe

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Fatty the Hedgehog

Fatty the Hedgehog

There once was a scruffy hedgehog
Who built him a swing in a dead log
But when his butt in the cradle sat
He figured out soon that he was fat
And the damn thing sunk in the bog

                  a limerick by Phillip Clark

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Lunch time thoughts

Using the word of the day in a haiku which found a mate.

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Anyone bored?

If you get a wild hair, are bored, or just happen to stumble upon this and want to read my children’s book/poems, they are located here.


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A Boy Named Jack

I never seem to know what triggers my thoughts, but I guess today I was thinking about my own sons and the great relationship I have with them. The sacrifices I made for their happiness were done with zero regret or remorse. My father has always loved me and he too sacrificed. As an adult I know now what I didn’t then. I see fathers that seem to think having to love and discipline their own children as an annoyance. Young boys, more than anything, need the love of a father.
I know I was not the best husband, or I wouldn’t be divorced, but dang I am a great dad. Lol
That’s my rambling rant, so I’ll just post my poem.
A Boy Named Jack

I’ll tell you a story of a boy named Jack.
He carried the world on his tiny young back.
His mother loved him in her own special way. 

But his father never had much to say.
Jack played outside, he cleaned his room.
But it always seemed his father would boom.
“Jack come here, you have more to do!
You’re useless boy, pick up my shoe!”
For years this boy took it in stride.
His feelings of hate from all he did
An extra penny he’d earn here and there.
He’d slip it to his mother for her he did care.
Jack grew to a man, found a girl to adore.
She said “Yes”, and he ran out the door. 

A child of his own soon he held in his arm.
He swore to the child, “You’ll never know harm.”
He thought of his mother and the love she did give.
And within that same grace this
child did live.
His father passed on and Jack was sad.
For he knew of the joys the two never had.
I guess the moral is we all can have strife.
But how we handle it, defines our own life. 

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