Tag Archives: poems


Day after night, night after day
I yearn to be with you (regardless of the cost);
to hear your heart beat next to mine,
to feel your lips brush against mine
as I taste your breath—so intoxicating.
For you are the one, the only one
I know matches my soul.
You are the lantern, guiding me
upon the path of love;
showing me the intricacies
of everything it can be.
You are the symphony
that resonates deep within
the very core of my being;
sweeping me along,
lifting me to the very gates of heaven.

I check off each box upon the calendar;
count down the seconds, until I can once again
fly upon the wings of my desire,
at the speed of light back to you.
I rejoice—my heart bursts with
untold emotion as I behold you there.
We belong together.
We are two pieces separated for so long,
and yet (with no effort) we fit perfectly.

Time speeds up.
Relativity betrayed
as life invades,
and responsibility cannot be denied.
I must go back and suffer
separation for however brief
(or not so briefly) it may be.
For every time I leave,
I feel another piece of me
ripped away, left with you,
as I cry…knowing that one day
there’ll be no more separation.
One day we’ll be together – forever
in body as well as soul.

It is that knowledge that sustains
me through the dark days alone.
It is the knowledge
that eventually all I am
will be left with you, and none
will be left to go away.
Life will no longer conspire
to keep us apart.

Until that day my dear,
I’ll continue counting those seconds,
checking those boxes,
and leaving pieces of me
for you to keep safe.

© August 9, 2011 CRF


Posted by on August 9, 2011 in poetry


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The Awakening (blogophilia)

The Awakening

Wandering aimlessly through life
as the half-healed wounds of the past, bleeding
scarlet, fester and break open anew.
These wounds I barely remember
incurring, assault my thoughts
through memories dark and deprived.
These wounds—insomnia inducing—remind
me of all that I lack.

And yet, I kept searching…for something,
someone to make it better, a connection
that would transcend space and time,
place a salve upon this scarlet-tinged
trauma, so that the gashes
upon my psyche disappear—I heal.

I found that in you, a shining beacon
of love and hope. A gentle soul
that gives so much, yet asks so little;
only desiring a confirmation
that your sending of love
has been delivered.
IT HAS—in so many ways
I could never enumerate:
in the soft giggles over a phone line,
in the bombardment of emotes
interspersed with the abbreviated
English of cyber-speech.

I could never mistake your love.
For it has saved me,
from the pain of the past.
It has reminded me
of what life can be.
It has freed me
to live for today,
and desire to reach tomorrow.
And in so doing, it has awoken
the beast—that is my own
passionate love for you.

© March 5, 2011 CRF


This has been written for the blogophilia writing group that originated on MySpace and has somewhat continued on Facebook.

I chose the topic Connections that Can Heal and used bonus options of

1) mention insomnia, 2) include cyberspeech, 3) include confirmation of delivery and 4) use the color scarlet twice.

I promise all are in there, though some are expanded or rearranged in words for poetic license.


Posted by on March 5, 2011 in poetry


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Northern wastes, where white, as forever fields
hold the cold sun captive in ice shackles.
An old, lone wolf growls—raising its hackles
as gusts swoop down to gather; white death they wield.
Howling…scouring, it shall never yield
to the whims of man, frigid blast tackles
till all that’s seen in blindness—frost sparkles.
Silent, blinding tomb—storm erected shield.
Hunker down, ride it out…your life depends
upon the warmth within the offered shroud;
shared heat that flows, through the touch of a hand.
When all is said and done, the madness ends.
The sun returning, banishes the clouds
leaving not a sign that death stalked the land.

© February 24, 2011 CRF

This is a sonnet I wrote for a challenge at Alabaster and Mercury. The challenge was to write a sonnet utilizing one of three lines. The line I chose was “where white as forever fields hold the cold sun.”



Posted by on February 24, 2011 in poetry, sonnet


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Illusory (5 minute poetry)


As I wander through the streets of life,
I watch as history repeats (rewrites) itself;
and I wonder what is real. Do we even know?
Could we even know? Is everything as it seems,
or is life nothing but a dream?

Will I wake up tomorrow, to see nothing changed?
Or perhaps my blinders shall be shed,
and the illusory reality of our lives be proven false.
I’ll see with newfound clarity
that what I thought was true was never ever so,
and yet what I knew in my heart was false
turns out to be the only truth left.

Time moves forward…tomorrow will come,
this life will end, and so to the dream.
That’s one truth that holds for all, not some;
maybe then true peace will reign supreme.

© January 7, 2011 CRF


I wrote this for a 5 minute poetry challenge given by the Alabaster and Mercury group on facebook. The topic was illusory.


Posted by on January 7, 2011 in poetry


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The Mist

Misty valley - swifts creek02

Image via Wikipedia

The Mist

I think back to the day that was,
the day the mist arose—around me.
It swirled up, surrounded…obscuring
what used to be so clear to see.
This hazy murkiness that enveloped
my clarity, till all that was left
faded into shadows of what was.

I’d stare for hours into that grey fog;
hoping to find just one clue,
one simple sign marking the path
to take, to bring me out of this Stygian life.
Yet there was nothing (discernible) amongst
the shadows. Nothing, to provide even a glimpse
of what could be (would be)…if I stepped forth.

So I stayed rooted to that spot;
holding my breath…silent for fear
of breaking (revealing) myself.
The shadows around made little sense,
and yet—I knew with but a little more light
my clarity would return. All would be well
again, and the shadows would breed
familiarity…but would it ever come.

Shapes shifted, sounds drifted,
half forgotten truths lay
tantalizingly out of reach.
The mist clung to me;
refusing to release
its damp hold upon my life.
This mist—a jealous lover,
a tormenting tyrant…
a diabolical deity.

Till finally, out of the dark sprang forth
a brilliance my eyes could barely see.
A fiery orange hue shifting to gold,
burnishing the leaves upon the path,
that was right there beneath my feet.
A luminescence, that with each breath
grew in scope, melting away the cringing
tendrils of mist, baring me (and all around)
to sight once again—revealing the path.
A path, that had I just trusted (in faith)
would have led me out of this mist
so long ago. I see now—I’m free.

© January 5, 2011 CRF


Posted by on January 5, 2011 in poetry


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The Path Ahead (Poets Round Table No. 201)

The Path Ahead (Poets Round Table No. 201)

Beneath a luminescent orb, a path opens before me;
Untouched, unknown…pristine whiteness promising—newness unseen.
And yet it leads me away from you; or perhaps to a new you;
for we each have our own path—to mold us (forge us) for what’s to be.

It is a natural way for me: I strive to make a name
by charging towards such light from grasp; the great universe’s frame!
I get to where I think is There, and looking back I find this
new home’s missing warmth that kept my inner fire—my heartbeat’s lame.

And on and on the dreary trudge, no sought after comfort found,
‘Till heart is quiet, and soul is still, and in the silence; sound.
Soft pelting of rain, wind whispered song; heart lifted; a soul sings.
Then slowly I drift down, feet firmly placed upon the ground.

With every day that brings me forward, isn’t one left behind,
sad I cannot keep with me, all the treasures each day finds.
There’s a sadness in closing the book, caressing softly its cover,
I go, yet all this I’ll keep within the heart’s lock of poet’s rhyme.

The Travelers:
The Falcon:
Spirit Wild:

The travel guide:
D.J. Myke:

The Poets Round Table is a weekly event. If anyone would like to join in, feel free to contact D.J. Myke.


May You all have a wonderful New Year, wherever your paths lead you.


Posted by on December 31, 2010 in poetry


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It’s Not About The Ornaments ~ Poets Round Table No. 200

It’s Not About The Ornaments

Let us mark the willow tree as supplicant,
for there is beauty in its bending,
grace in the dance of a sinking stone,
constant sacrifice in a waterfall,
aching glory in the crash of a wave on rock,
just imagine then, how much power lies deep in spirit.

We’ve traveled farther than we know, blind to what brought us here.
Still, everything grows from something else, origins in premiere.
The tree of knowledge grows from the most barren climbs and settings.
It is in the desert, that we find discovery of beauty in invisible things.

Though longings pile in tumbled dunes, desperate hands dig wells
even as the soul heaves sorrows when barren and parched it swells
for amongst the sands stone mounds mark our trails and solitary paths
where the eternal stands to aimless winds and nature’s forceful wrath.

The will is tested under assault, as strength wavers with each blow
and the desire to stand weakens as loss takes away reason to grow
But the correlation between giving and growing soon becomes apparent
and whispered calm breathes life anew, for the power to love is inherent.

In years past, never really knowing, we made our stand alone,
t’was just another day ‘neath twinkling lights, wind scoured our bones.
Yet then, like snow in the desert we found beauty–in unity
our souls became nourished from the succulent fruit of life’s tree.

Farther than we know we have traveled, of deeper meaning often unaware
Once lost souls in barren deserts, we refused to sink in despair
Those glass bridges we first constructed, at times we still fear they may shatter
But then life gently reassures us, we’ve built strong connections that matter

Then in the midst of our discontentment, our discord and internal strife
Comes a little season, a gentle breath of hope, to soothe and calm each life.
But in our endless quest to gain and grow, we worship meaningless displays;
We drape boughs in silver, gold, and tin to purchase peace upon this day.
Can it be that we, so wise, so deeply learned, and so highly civilized,
Have overlooked the simple truth that shined once and always in the desert sky?
Have our trials left us greedy and vain, flaunting our trinkets for all to see?
Do we even pause to remember this day the greatest Gift ever hung on a tree?
Perhaps it is too much to ask that we brush the divine on this day of days;
We’ve been so close to the ground so long and wandered the winding ways.
May our paths and our purposes blend as they did for three wise men of the east,
Knowing not to what end, let us carry our gifts, from the greatest to the least.
We are all of us brothers in struggle and sorrow, but let us rejoice again;
For a moment, a hope, a Christmas, of peace on earth and good will to men.

Merry Christmas, travelers, and may your paths always lead home.

Travelers :
The Falcon

Liaison : DJ Myke

*** Poets Round Table is a weekly event.If you would like to participate, let Myke know.


Posted by on December 24, 2010 in poetry


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