This is a poem that I wrote titled "A Time Before"

"A Time Before" There once was Spring, as Summer rust, As ashen flowers, flowers' dust, That wept like laughing, watery rain, Before a time, once, without shame, A pleasant kiss, a simple touch, A time before, such stillness such, That once before kept time astray, Not one could keep that anyway, Soft stillness here, some pretty pat, Upon the grave, fair a time that, Heavens' pleasantries above, Our heads so wetted by the love, Of rain, and cold, amd wintery stain, So unknown only by kind pain, That hurt not one, nor two, nor three, The sweet and lovely songs so free, To cool, and touch, and lick, and feel, The fruits of land no one could steal.

This is a poem that I wrote called "Princesa" which means Princess in the Portuguese language

"Princesa" Fairest softness, bid adieu, Fine pleasant sky,loved morning new, I wept for nights to pray for rain, The still of creatures, flying, stain, By deaths' decay as cherubims, That time before,that without seam, Forevermore, as what was held, Dear fires devouring, lights so quelled, Took sun and starlight from my eyes, When I was simply yet a child, I waited years to see her eyes, Again,as sun,at night,they flied.

This is a poem about a woman that I love whose wonderfully pretty face I may, never again, very sadly to me, be able to be graced to see again. The poem is called "My Candle".

"My Candle" Kindred glow of flickering mist, So warm as glistening mornings kissed, By comforting and pleasant rain, When lack of water, dearth, so pained, When once that ember lost its ash, A kindred glow, awake, at last.

This is a recent poem that I wrote called “The Snake”.

"The Snake" The stink of him was much like bugs, But not of butterflies or slugs, Or stings of honeybees that kill, Those people set so free, so still, Of things like dying, things like bugs, When set apart, consuming dung, Ashen flowers, ashen bugs, Had all been set apart to love, The lick and stink of death, decay, And none were freed none otherway, He went ahead with prickly lust, Who is like God as ageless rust, His stony face towards the sky, So ever seeing he could fly, Yet as the seagull, as the tit, He not above too had to shit.