Secrets in the Asphalt

Asphalt 1B

It is a most beautiful, rainy Sunday morning here in the southern plains…
The sound of distant thunder rumbling softly through the valley…
I hope your day is as beautiful…

Secrets in the Asphalt

She walks past me every morning
Head down…
Unaware of her surroundings
Perhaps lost in thought
Lost in time from long ago…
Often, I have offered a “Good morning!”
As she shuffles slowly by
But seldom does she even give a glance…
I have wondered what all she has seen
In her many miles of wandering these streets
Staring into the asphalt
Never turning her head to the left
Nor to the right…
Nor even looking up
For what is standing
Right in front of her…
Years ago… she would pause a moment
A brief impersonal conversation…
Her eyes never looking into mine
Nervously glancing around as if
To find a way to escape…
I once offered her a wildflower…
She held it suspiciously
Tween her thumb and fore finger
Arm extended
As if it would burn…
Introducing myself to her
She replied… somberly
“They call me Dee…
But that is not my name”
Then turned to continue her journey
Walking away from the light of dawn…
Head down…
Perhaps just lost in time from long ago…
Searching for the secrets in the asphalt…



The Empty Room

Tunnel cat 1 A

The Empty Room

Like sitting in an empty room… Alone
Fragments of imagination
Confused in segments of time
No words to lift the eyes from the floor
Nor rhymes upon the wall
The mind of the poet in scattered runes
No heart to pen the scrawl

Yet light shines through the crystal pane
The touch of rainbow hues
Prisms formed from dawn’s first blush
Reflections from the dew
Are miracles born in morning’s light
Does hope arrive with dawn
Are answers borne in morning’s mist
Before the lines are drawn

The candle’s light is growing dim
Yet shadows wash the wall
Dancing soft in silent rooms
Like spirits down the hall
When lanterns dim, no whispers hush
Illusions on the ceiling
Do voices call me to the “Light”
Or offer me their healing

The silence stirs the empty room
Like wind upon the willow
Crumpled quilts on beggared berth
No face upon the pillow
Fragments of imagination
Lost in grains of time
But love that bides within the soul
Still lingers in the rhyme



Copyright 2017

It Must Have Been April

It Must Have Been April 2

It Must Have Been April

I think it was April
When I felt the last touch
The year becomes faded
But the pain….. not so much

I think it was springtime
In a soft gentle rain
Warm breeze on the hillside
Yet cold filled my veins

I saw beauty springing
In the morning’s soft glow
A sparrow conversing
With a chattering crow

On branches of willows
The carols of dove
A chickadee singing
A song for his love

It must have been April
With unbroken chains
But the year becomes faded
In the soft gentle rain


Copyright 2017

Inside the Cuckoo

InSanity 1 A

The following post is a reflection of no one, other than… Myself!

Inside the Cuckoo

Go ahead… I dare you to wander around inside my head
Just don’t step on any of the creatures
Prowling through the forest…
Hiding in the weeds…
For they will drag you through the bog
Through the feculence of your own conscience
Till insurrection dwells
Within your every thought

Go ahead… I dare you to step inside my poetry
And wander through the verses…
Just be careful not to fall between the lines
Where resolutions of my insanity
Dwell restlessly in shadows of the moonlight…
Beneath the rusty fire escapes
Where homelessness lies in the silence
Of cardboard boxes without a voice…
Where walls of graffiti tell stories of delusion
Or perhaps…
Just visions of dreams

Go ahead… I dare you to linger in the rhyme
Where time no longer ticks
Inside the cuckoo…
Where reason only shines before the dawn…
Where blackbirds dance to runes in their reflection
And minds are never lost in morning’s yawn

Go ahead… I dare you…


Copyright © 2017

Go ahead… I dare you to comment…

Tick……. Tock…….


Tick Tock 1

Tick……. Tock…….

In all seriousness
Life is passing you by
Like time has no compassion
For your longings
Your desires
Your goals
Your dreams
Your curiosity…
It’s time to turn the page
Of the routine… the monotony
That same shit different day crap
Has to go while there’s still time
Before you wake up one morning
And realize you’re old… like me…
The clock is ticking…
Tell all the drama queens and kings in your life
To ‘G I T’… or stop the drama…
That’s all you need to tell them…
Find the love and laughter that you’ve always desired…
It may actually be closer than you think…
Go to it and take it into your heart and mind
Draw it to you with your smile
With your cheerfulness of the morning…
Look for it in your writing
In your reading…
At work…
At the market…
In your closet…
Under your bed…
It just might even be standing right in front of you
At this very moment…
Reach out and grab it…
Make it a part of your heart…
A part of your mind…
A part of your soul…
Make it your “life”…
Love and laughter to share with another…
Isn’t that what we’re all really here to do?
Remember… time has no compassion…..
Tick……………. Tock………….


Have a most beautiful Sunday
And “Smile”…….
You may just brighten someone else’s day


The Innocence of the Child

Innocence of the child 3

The innocence of the child

Babies laugh
Babies cry
All in a universal language…
There is no difference
In English
In Spanish
In Arabic
Nor in Farsi…
They laugh
They cry
They make those beautiful coos
A burp from time to time
A hiccup now and then…
And we all understand the language…
Babies smile in their mother’s arms
At a happy face
With a gentle touch…
With never a thought
Of the color of their own skin
Nor of the color of ours…
Babies don’t know the difference
Between rich and poor…
Of social status…
They don’t know prejudice
Or hate
Or injustice…
They love us unconditionally
In spite of our shortcomings…
Our long noses
Our big ears
The blemishes that
Decorate our skin…
A baby’s only desires
Are to be nourished
To hear a calming voice
To be held with tenderness
To be loved unconditionally…
Isn’t it sad that
Adult human beings
Don’t share the same desires
Can’t live in life itself
With the innocence of a child…
If we did…
Perhaps there would be peace in the world…



Copyright © 2017


Please view this post on the actual site:

The Vision of Poets

Spring Beauties 5


Where did he go…
He seemingly vanished
Perhaps to the sea…
He’s attempted to vanish
For most of his time
As most folks may know
From reading his rhymes…

There’s been no post
Now week after week
No one has seen him
Out on the street
He doesn’t appear
To wander online
Perhaps he’ll appear
When the planets align

Where did he go
Where no one can find
In search of wonder
With love intertwined?
Curiosity may draw him
To mystic unknowns
But often has led him
Where life has no bones…

He smiles when he wanders
Far out on the ledge
Where life and reality
Teeter on edge…
Perhaps he may wander
With creatures untamed
Who don’t give a shit
About fortune or fame…

He’s talked with no one
On twitter or phone
His car’s in the driveway
But sits all alone
The kitties just stare
Through dirt covered glass
While out in the yard
There’s very tall grass

He used to sit
At that old kitchen table
Scrawling his prose
His rhymes and his fables
Sometimes conversing
With otherworld friends
All of them there
With parchment and pens…

Perhaps he’s just writing
Of love and of wonder
Of sadness or hope
Or just distant thunder…
His porch light has burned now
Beyond the blue moon
His thirty three lingering
Lost in the runes…

Maybe you’ve seen him
Tween books on the shelf
Perhaps he has wandered
In dreams of yourself…
Someone once found him
Tween poets long passed
With Emily, Robert
Ms. Browning amassed…

If you have seen him
In first blush of dawn
In hours of darkness
Tween lines that are drawn
He sometimes may linger
Near ceilings of rooms
Catching your dreams
In lavender blooms

Please…. Please….
Share with us all
The knowledge you have
Of where he may scrawl…
Incense and sage
May bring him in view
Perhaps in the mist
Of the potions you brew

We’re anxiously waiting
Some justified right
That Michael33
Has not taken flight
Please leave a comment
In daylight or night
That you’ve seen him dwelling
In plain human sight

By GhostWriter33

Copyright © 2017 Ghostwriter33

While we await the return of Michael33
Or some word of his very existence…
Please be sure to pick up a copy of Michael33’s newly published book:

“As Shadows Cross the sky”
Poetic Stories of Michael33

As Shadows Cross the Sky

Available today… exclusively at

Poetry books are wonderful additions to any coffee table… awaiting the hands of friends or strangers to peer between the covers… to flip through the pages in wonder of what they may find.  They make wonderful gifts… stocking stuffers… expressions of compassion to one who is troubled… an escape for one to enjoy a journey far, far away from what roams inside their own mind… day after day. They can be given to one whom we care about deeply… to touch their heart… to stir their soul… to allow them to dream… the dreams of wonder.

Proceeds from this book will be used to help defray the ridiculously high cost of cancer treatments and of procedures for serious side effects, that have become necessary as a result of those treatments.  For more information… please visit:

A squirt of lemon
A squeeze of lime
A pinch of parsley
A sprig of thyme

But in the end
Behind the mime
What we have left
Lies in the rhyme

Thank you for your endless support of the poetry and writing of Michael33… encouragement to never lose hope… and the inspiration to linger between the lines.