scanning tonight
years of my poetry
my fear realized, normal
and I am;
utterly cliché.
its the chardonnay
or I’ve tricked
myself, again,
into believing
I, extraordinary.
in awe
watching the glass
fill itself,
as I fall, once again,
for Pablo Neruda,
and settle in,
knowing he understands.

Grit and Honesty

What appears scattered and
Left behind, always contains
A story.
Superficial sees a nobody,
Welcomed to pass along by,
Wind blows a bit, she nods,
Fully accepting their shortcomings,
Expects nothing, aware.
Astute, is she dressed in commonly.
Yet, most eminent, she
Has use, furthermore, ability.
And she’ll wait
Longer than anyone ever
Thought possible,
For the one who sees
True grit and honesty,
In a lady.