I put on my best, and I stick out my chest, and I'm off to the races again!

And here are more poems!
I like them all (mostly)!
Possibly I am overconfident, but inspiration struck way more than lightning.  And luckily, less painfully.


Perhaps
I began, perhaps,
to love you
to hold you in my heart
closer than a thought
to let my mind marvel
over (maybe)
you, looking at me-
looking for me
only, across a room
crowded with
curves and smiles for you
that you didn't notice
because your eyes were full
of me.

I began to hope,
perhaps,
that someday I would
stop wondering
and start walking towards
you looking
not maybe, but surely
at me-
move away from
across
and toward near
and hold you in my heart
closer than air
in my lungs.


Paper Doll
I am not this collection of
worn pasts and
hopeful futures
you try to press on me
like a paper doll-
fitting, from memories,
ill made costumes
that even in your dreaming eyes
only hang loosely from my
thin shoulders.

I am not a play thing,
I have grown beyond
dolls and dress-ups
and into something quite new-
you are angry
not at me, but at the cardboard cut out
you hold up in front of my
flesh and blood self
so that you don't have to find out
what I have become.

Momma,
put away your fears
pack them away with the paper dresses
because I am something you began-
the fulfillment of a prayer
you made years ago
that you didn't really understand-
look at me standing, not propped up by
other hands, but standing
on my own, cutting carefully
my own patterns out of life
sturdy and free.

I will never be torn by careless hands
or tossed away into the wind.


Rose
The truest part of a rose
is the thorn.

The soft, purring petals
that lure
the thick, waltzing scent
that beckons
the eloquent, opulent colors
that enchant.

Soft, fragrant, lush
charming, disarming
in a word: breathtaking
Helen, Juliet,Venus
passion, innocence, love
every desire held
in one sweet symbol.

But, the true soul of the rose
is its' thorn.

Victory
Victory came late.
At sunset, beneath star shadows
emerging slowly from ebbing embers
of monumental blazes
she stepped forward, head high
white arms raised to salute the champion.

He had already fallen.
feet framed in flames,
roses of blood wreathing his body
his eyes staring upwards, hands clasping his sword
in one last prayer for Victory,
who came late to his battle.


Daisy

holding only today
only this moment
breathing only now-
one instant
is all
the daisy
carries
in
her
soul.