There was a time
when I stumbled
deep into the blue
sailing through a sea of booze
often aimless
and without a clue.
Then came the time
I lost my mind
in the broadest
of light
I looked for it
all through the night
without a beacon
burning so bright
to show me the way home.
So it was my spirit
I had no choice
but to hone,
before the sun
I could ever be shown.
For it’s the boat
we must rock
hidden in morning’s haze
is where we make
the most waves.
All that is left
between death and my next breath
is an oar carved in lore.
What this story has in store
awaits on yonder shore.
Not over there
cuddled with the puddle
of you
on the kitchen floor.
BeLove © 2017


She > He

I will be out of the office 11.8.17 through 11.15.17.  I will return 11.16.17.  I apologize for any inconvenience;)

With Regards-



I am sorry
if I took to long.
I thought I’d found
where it is I ought
to belong.
It seems as though
that I thought wrong.
Leave it to me
to the find the place
I need not be.
While I am here
I’ll continue to circle this sphere
just a little longer
with an instinct
only getting stronger.
Habit has fallen extinct
by way of addiction’s conquer.
From my head
I try to escape
the shift of wicked’s shape.
In my heart
I rearrange the space
touched by a thought
that I must retrace,
while sifting through
the emotional waste
of a desire displaced.
BeLove © 2017




Wind Chime

You run through my mind
like a wind chime
singing with a summer’s breeze
somewhere lost in a slipped time
most days I don’t even notice it
should they dance by as they please
but sometimes when my thoughts go quiet
and I feel at peace
I listen for the trees
whispering to the sound of that wind chime
with harmony and a rhyme
soft, pleasing, and distinct
on a wind-swept summer day
I guess that best
describes the way
I like to remember the beauty of you
BeLove © 2017

Guy Clark / “Somedays You Write The Song”

Pauper’s Parade

Wealth is not measured
By what you bury in a bank
Wealth is a treasure
Measured from within.
Life is a measure
That holds no rank.
It is not the truth
I’m trying to bend.
But the fountain of youth
I seek in the end.
My thoughts they march
To the beat
Of dancing feet.
Where ideas were always meant to thrive
In their isolation they come alive.
High above the shade of
A pauper’s parade.
But Old Jester, he turned a trick
He was somewhat slick
In a game he played
With his slight of hand
For the fool he planned
A simple quote
One in which he wrote
With charm and a schtick
Lest his imaginary sidekick.
Somewhere his secret sits patient
Where his words are no longer kept skeptic.
BeLove © 2017

Mondo Cozmo / “Shine”