A lot of guys get lost in your eyes
But I found myself in those depths that galaxies rest in
Your eyes hug stars and sprinkle glitter for their shimmer when the sun wants to shine
I didn’t know it then but when momma would sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star it was a love song
Because I’m one of the dots to your constellation and the others are the children
Our love is so good it should be a sin
God forgive me, I know I’m not supposed to look directly at you
But your daughter has your eyes, and I can’t stop staring
She helps me stay centered with you when I get full of myself
Seeing my reflection in her eyes is one of my favorite things because it’s a moment of Trinity
God eyes saying straighten up son
Your eyes whisper I love you
My eyes catch us with His hands and say I’ll hold your heart
Followed by, I love you too
Our eyes share an embrace that never let’s go in silence
But anyone who sees the way I look at you hears the softness of a love song
They covet the way my eyes hold you like I hold the hand of our child
Their eyes have never seen a sight that sounded so pure
And anyone who sees the way your eyes reply to me, listens to that unforgettable poem on repeat
Then they get lost trying to find your gaze under my sunset
So, the closest thing to feeling that poem, is to hit repeat on this memory
I can’t help but smile when I see your eyes talk about us
p.s. your eyes make the best ASMR…

Dear Unsealers,

Bonjour from New York City!

As I type this post, the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games is on my screen. After an already busy summer of sport due to UEFA’s Euro 2024 and the Copa America, the main event of the summer has finally arrived.

Seeing the athletes floating along the River Seine is making me nostalgic for the City of Lights. I can’t wait to see the competition to come and all the shots of the city in the next two weeks.

As I tend to do, I wrote a poem to welcome in this event, one that only comes once every four years. Let the games begin!

As the athletes of the world gather in Paris
To open the games of the XXXIII Olympiad

Here’s to the next sixteen days
After the cauldron is dramatically lit

All the stories that will be told
The drama the competitions will bring
With the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat coming full circle

From La Tour Eiffel, crossing the globe to the waves of Tahiti
Visions of France in all it’s splendor

Casting the cynicism of the world aside
For the ideals of sportsmanship that Mr. de Coubertin appealed

In the distance, the Olympic Fanfare is here
Pour dire bienvenue à Paris à tous!

Dear Unsealers,

It’s the 4th of July!
A Happy Independence Day to those who are celebrating today. I hope that all of you have a safe and enjoyable holiday.

This poem is three days late, my welcome to July.
I don’t know why I forgot to post this on Monday. But Lauren’s reminder of the latest writing contest ending reminded me to post the poem.

I just wanted to let you know that without further adieu…

Welcome, July!
Six months have gone by, six new months are here

Amid summer’s low and slow grind
The days are ripe for possibility

A month of celebration
From the Great White North, sea to shining sea and Allons enfant de la Patrie
Champions crowned in Berlin, Miami, London and Nice
Before the athletes of the world take center stage in Paris

Who knows where this month will go
Not even I know how the days will flow

I’m sure of one thing, though…
As sure as the summer’s changeable skies
And the flowers blooming all around

The next thirty-one days will fly by

Dear, Unsealers:

Today is the first day of summer, the longest day of the year.

Though the summer solstice won’t be official until 4:50 PM this afternoon, the season has already made it’s presence felt in the midst of a heatwave.

Though, there’s plenty more to the season than the heat and humidity. This is a time of year to soak up everything that the late sunsets have to offer.

As is my wont to do, I wrote a welcome to the new season coming up.

When the summer solstice dawns
The seasons change again

With it, the longest day of the year
As the sun sets past 8pm

Hazy days, sultry nights
A time of year where time slows down

From mid June to mid September
The world’s come to life
From the streets, sands and seas

Soaking up the warm rays of light
As one does
When earth is closest to the sun

Welcome summer and your mercurial ways
For a stay over the next ninety four days

Dear Unsealers,

It’s the third Sunday in June. The month’s going by fast, isn’t it?

With today being Father’s Day, I wrote a poem to mark the occasion. And provided a family portrait from my sister’s college graduation to go with it. I hope everyone’s having a wonderful Sunday.

Without further ado…

On the third Sunday of June

A celebration of fathers
Fathers, fathers to be, grandfathers, uncles and all fatherly figures

With all the love to those that find this difficult to celebrate
For the father figures no longer with us

Here’s to the strength and wisdom
Brought in every conversation and action

To the love and joy in each moment
May they be honored and cherished

To my dad and all the dad’s everywhere
I wish all of you…

A Happy Father’s Day!

Dear Unsealers:

It’s the second Sunday in May.

I wanted to wish all the mothers in this group and Lauren’s mom too, a Happy Mother’s Day!

I’ve written a poem to mark the occasion:

The second Sunday in May
A day to honor all the motherly figures in our lives

Mothers, aunts, grandmothers, mothers to be
To cherish them for all they do
To hold their memories in our hearts
More than these words can possibly say

Mothers are the backbone of the world
This fact needs to be repeated
Today, tomorrow and every day

With all the love if this day is too difficult
All the comfort and joy abound

From me to you, I wish all of you
A Happy Mother’s Day!

The Tortured Poets Department has a writer’s division that has to approve every poem before it goes out
And my mind is tired of being held hostage
A loose-leaf definition of writer’s block was once defined by the utter of: I don’t feel like writing, this isn’t good enough, my hand only works for the remote today
Then she interrupts my train of thought to ask: why have you never wrote a poem about me
It’s not that I haven’t
There are 100s getting as comfortable as you can be in the waste basket
The last poem I Kobe shot, Melo made, and Curry posed to the trash can started like this:
An eye lash is trying to make your cheek more than just a Sunday service sanctuary
It wants a home
I know you’d like me to remove it
But who am I to destroy a home
I can’t help but think how beautiful you look with that eye lash
As it rests there like a pair of doves flirting on a branch not far away from me
What are you starring at, she exclaims
Oh, nothing I reply, today I’ll let the eye lash remain
On
Your rosy cheeks, kissed by my dead rose petal lips
Reminding you of the time we went camping and you hated that you smelled the outside
You hated that you smelled like outside
And I kept teasing you but hiking, visualizing, and tenting next to nature is maybe the closest thing to
Falling asleep to your beautiful
Falling asleep to your beautiful
Falling asleep to your gorgeous
Ugh, I can never find the right words to describe a tenth of your gorgeous
And it makes me want to drop dead out of frustration
Because the writers need to feel exactly what I do when they read:
Holding her hand is to get a glimpse of forever before I die
Holding her makes my heart resemble the flight of a butterfly
Holding her hand is to hold my battles in the palm of my hand and make them cry
The writers consist of a delicious various assortment of personality; often referred to as me, myself, and I
Every time I get ready to seal this poem to you the writer’s block me from letting you receive it
p.s. I haven’t learned to love myself enough to love you…

Dear, Unsealers:

It’s the first day of the month of May.

April seemed to go by quickly. As one does when they participated in National Poetry Writing Month.

The calendar resets for the next thirty-one days. Spring is in full bloom.

With the opening day of the month being a Wednesday, I welcome the month by way of haiku, an imperfect one…

As the fifth month begins
Thirty one new days arrive
A welcome, to May!