The Misfit Prince.

He stands there still,
Watching your door close
Behind you.
The night air fills his lungs
And he sighs one long sigh
Of goodbye.
Silently, he waits to see
If your door will reopen.
His restless heart
Longs to be calmed by your
Bright eyes.
He listens, scarcely breathing
For the opening click of
Your doorlatch.
But the air stays
Quiet.

Tweed-Man. Episode 1

                Yes, I am in fact a superhero who wears tweed. Just because I am compelled to combat the forces of evil and rescue oppressed citizens, doesn’t mean I cannot look good while doing it. Today, I shall tell you of my strenuous battle with my familiar foe, the great gatsbinator… I received a call about 4:00 A.M. The mayor was on the tweed phone. “Tweed-man! We are in trouble and I ain’t got no idea what we’re gonna do!” At that moment I knew he had been taken captive by my perpetual foe. He had the tell-tale signs of… Double Negatives!!! I rushed to the tweed-mobile, where I sank into my vintage 1941 burgundy leather seats, and had a cup of fine Columbian coffee. Then, I got back out and walked across the street to the mayor’s office. I burst through the door with catlike agility. (Catlike in the sense of extreme agility and admirable poise, not referencing the gluttonous behavior and rotund physique of some fat felines.) Instantly, my witty brain concocted the perfect hero phrase, “Tweed Time!” Ok, maybe not perfect, but it did the job… Suddenly, from a dark corner leaped my old foe. (By old, I am referencing our lengthy opposition, not his physical age of course.) He was dark, yet shimmering. He had purple eyes the color of blue sapphires. He held in his hand the weapon of choice for all anti-tweediness… A houndstooth fedora… He put it on and sprang at me with all the power of a perpetually perturbed pachyderm and vigorously moved his hands in front of his face with intimidating looks penetrating my heart from his purple-red eyes. “Shall we dance?” I asked. (A phrase that is cliché, I know, but nonetheless effective.) “Tango or foxtrot?” He asked. “Actually, I was considering the waltz.” I replied. “Impossible, we have no Mozart for accompaniment.” He said with a look of victory. “Well, since you speak the truth, let’s just fight.” I said with finality. He sprang at me again. Move by move and blow by blow we fought with sensational stamina for 31 minutes and three seconds. I finally landed a perfect blow to his left earlobe, and he fell to the ground writhing in pain. “Now, it’s time to see who you really are!” I exclaimed. I peeled off his hideous leather mask to find that he was none other than… My trusty sidekick, tweed-girl. “Tweed-girl! I thought we were on the same team!” I cried. “We are.” She said. “The mayor is our real enemy.” I turned and saw the mayor taking off his face. (This is a figure of speech of course. It was a mask made of skin-like latex. It would be preposterous for him to actually remove his face. Preposterous and painful.) He was… A werewolf!!!! He punched the wall and created a large, gaping hole, out of which he removed two large mice and then ate them with remarkable dexterity. Then all three of us went to get coffee and lemon scones………..

This Tree.

You know, there is a legend about this tree. A legend that makes this tree quite unlike any other tree in the world. Years ago, when the land was less crowded, and the skies were bluer, and the stars were brighter; this tree was just a germ inside of a seed. In these days, there was a couple quite drowning in love. She had eyes the color of sapphires, that shone brighter than the moon on a clear night like this. Her hair was perpetually shimmering, (probably because she had such an excess of shimmer in her heart.) He was very noble. His arms were strong towers for her defence. His heart burned incessantly for one more look at her bright eyes. Well, one day this couple was walking along down a well worn street, when he decided he would make a perpetual memorial of the love they had for each other. So, he picked an acorn, and carved the words "Forever and always" into the middle. Then he planted it delicately, covering it with the best soil he could find. Every single morning after that, he would come by with a bucket of fresh spring water and some more fresh soil. This ritual he continued day after day, time after time for years and years. These years became decades, and eventually the eyes of his Love grew a little dimmer. Her hair didn't shimmer quite as much as it used to, and one day, she fell asleep never to wake up again. That morning that he found her so peaceful, he made a short visit to the tree, and watered the ground with his tears. Well, he went on, barely able to breathe without her for another year, and then he too went to sleep. This couple is long dead now, but their love endures forever, because one noble failure decided to plant a seed of love. That tree grew big, and strong, and it's shadow is known by everyone to be a refuge, an ampitheatre lit by the radiant moon, where celestially entwined couples are entertained by the haunting song of a lonely, vagrant cricket. This tree, is the tree where love blooms. And it's said, that if you look in the right place, you can still see the faint carvings of "Forever and always" imprinted in the wood. Maybe that's how our hearts are. If you know how to look, you will find that my love says "Forever and always." Your eyes will never grow dim to me.

Candy.

Hello beautiful.
Sitting next to me in your hoodie,
Counting out the candy
To make them an even number.
You have to have the same number of
Orange ones as yellow.
You are the yellow candy for my orange.

Who do you see me as?

Who do you see me as?
I'm afraid I've thought all wrong.
I've thought you saw me as your dashing prince,
Now I'm not so sure.
Do you set me on the same pedestal
That i set you on?
I'm afraid you have thought certain thoughts.
Stinging, black thoughts.
Bitter, odious thoughts.
Thoughts of disloyalty
Royally foiling fate's plan.
Do you ever wonder if my eyes wander?
I feel like you entertain these thoughts.
You ask them into the rooms of your heart.
Tell me, did these thoughts like to be entertained?
Did they like your heart's rooms?
Or did they ravage you with black,
Spotted vision?
Has your prince become a
Petty drifter?
I've never once looked away.
My gaze has been captivated
Forever.

A poem for Charlie.

I see the way you look at her.
The way you focus every fiber of your attention
On her,
Because you are afraid that if you turn away
You might miss a look from her.

I know that look well.
I know how you feel.
You wonder if you'll let her down.
You wonder if she'll be like
Everyone else.
You don't feel nearly gallant enough
To deserve her.

But let me tell you a secret.
You are the most gallant man.
Because the most gallant man is not the man
That does everything right.
The most gallant man is the man who
Does everything
For her.

An Enclave that is missing a mirror.

Some people see a little red truck
That is missing a mirror.
I don't see that at all.

I see an enclave.
I see a secret place that nobody knows about
where the secrets of two beating hearts
whispered themselves to each other
in a language only we know.

How many times have we escaped
the piercing visions
and created a better world for ourselves
using only our hearts?

It's our place of refuge
from the endless volume of prying questions
and lofty low-eyed looks.
It's a wonderful place of whispering eyes,
the enclave that is missing a mirrior.