James McLain Poems

You open my arms, so wide
coming home, pruning as you do
the pace of the sun, keeps up with you.
I even in my new found youth
...

In gardens of sorrow, a bloodied rose weeps,
Its petals, once vibrant, now stained and torn.
A tale of passion, etched in crimson deep,
Love's beauty tarnished, its essence forlorn.
...

When roses kiss...
and..
lilies..*sigh*..
and hard in thought...
...

There are the few, then there are the
Rest of them.
Chatter boxes, bipolar manic woman, that men
Try to excape from.
...

How much longer must I be, I am?
How much longer sleeping in the open?
And Father why I am.
...

I wash my hands, in your ink, fast between a
valley, it clings to me, lives in me, my pen.
and Waves, that run, i float on, the rose and hand,
and the sun on my face, this rose a tender bud.
...

and dreaming she conquered some mountain;
and she went up and over the ridge to him
and he came over to the white cloud tops
and the wind moved him like rain over her hair
...

Which you are, Pretty and Smart;
eighth wonder of you, this woman of women
wherein my secret, she lives full therein.
...

and here we are, all as us, we stay.
and all, each blessing of thine elegance.
and thus because each of thy to many is,
never asking why, your everything, still is.
...

flowing from mine was but a thought
gone by you
and how you like the beauty of my sea,
and all alone going back to the top my lonely talks
...