Bewtween The Paintings

Between the paintings

There are no pre-imposed

Pigments painted to subtly steal

Your mind,

Between the paintings

In that space so wild and free

You can see coffee blue

And hues vibrating through,

Erotic shells floating

On a teal green sea,

A suspended time when

A mermaid came

And danced with me

And told me tales

Of Neptune and of Pisces.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “To A Muse” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

6:02 PM January 30, 2013

Spider Web

It was one of those

Evenings that ended

In a spider web of pathways,

Maili left early,

Shawn was working on music

For Sweet Island Child,

Dan playing blues on his banjo,

Surprising us with his wonderful voice,

Matt trying to hide his nervousness

About his wedding next week,

Poets, writers, musicians,

Spiders could not have spun it better,

It reminded me of an old story

About a muse and a poet

And of course we all

Know where those stories go,

Off into the blackness of night

In a never ending spider web

Of directions.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “To A Muse” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

8:42 PM January 29, 2013

Roads

It’s strange how destiny,

Fate, good or bad luck,

Or whatever the hell

You want to call it,

Twists and turns,

Forks and melds

The roads we walk on,

Take the two of them,

Bodies on fire whenever

They are close, but never

Close enough for pure

Ignition.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “To A Muse” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

7:16 PM January 28, 2013

Every Time

Every time they touched

They blamed it on the moon

No one was complaining

There was magic in the room ,

Every time they kissed

They would melt against the wall

Stranger things have happened

But never did they fall,

Every time their eyes met

You could see a calling bed

Maybe it was imagination

Like a movie in my head.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “To A Muse”  www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

6:59 PM January 27, 2013

Volcano

 In the manner of

A shark

He went back and forth

In front of the building,

Then in a quick sudden

Darting move he came in,

Ordered a large Americano

And engaged us with penetrating

Eyes,

We discussed philosophers, writers,

Economists, philosophies and theories

That most people don’t care to know

About or try to understand,

He kept moving around the room

Sitting down, standing up,

Moving left, moving right,

Trying to focus his thoughts,

Pulling ideas from the left

And then from the right,

Insisting

The middle of the road

Was not the place to be,

It felt as though we were

In the presence of a forming

Volcano,

Pressure building, building,

Building, sensing it was only

A matter of time until one hell

Of an explosion.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “To A Muse” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

9:11 PM January 25, 2012

Dipshit

Dealing with a dipshit

Going round and round

A man without a

Conscience

Walking upside down,

Nothing you can do

It’s just the way it is

Society defends a loser

Like he’s rare cheese whiz,

Good luck to his victims

Those he puts at risk

But the asshole has rights,

Please … tsk, tsk, tsk.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “To A Muse” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

9:16 PM January 23, 2012