Stolen Advice

Flexing this muscle before the others

Advice falling out of my mouth

now grasped


This exercise just as hard to start

To work its way up to the point

When the ache and excuses have no sway

Spiritual endorphins released

When the self slips away


It’s not as if there’s nothing to share

The poet wants it to be a garden, not a list

Not for self adoration

But to let it grow into something else


A long sigh,a warning, a road sign, a memory


Is this ego or a conjurer’s secret wish?

Perhaps it is, as a by product

of exercise, of honest allocation

The gym rat’s dream of muscles

The gardener’s dream of rainbow blooms


The poet to take complex feelings and simple observations

And through language pumped by an honest soul

Create something more than a grocery list

Something that stands erect

And can be noticed.