The stranger stood out,
singularly spectacular.
There he was
in crested blue attire.
Tall, confident, his chest full of pride.
Who is it I am compelled to admire?

Proclaimed messages
of tragic losses and hope,
future and history.
Words above the din.
Bold, commanding, his theme was clear:
The good guys always win.

The sun shone upon
his high pedestal which rose above
the Remembrance Day sin.
Odd, awesome, my attention was his.
Might dialoge begin?

Where have you come from?
An unexpected sojourner
heralds news for me.
Love? A rescue? Oh, my head. Oh, my heart.
Why this event? What's meant to be?

Gallant one stepped down
And engaged me with so intense eyes.
His past. My future. Our present daze.
There we were
in autumn's disquise.

The creature spread his wings.
An accented visitor
who'd just travelled this way.
Oh charming Blue Jay,
are you passing through sir,
or may I convince you to stay?


(This is an old poem that I wrote when struggling with the end of my first marriage. I was so desparate for love... from anyone... even a visiting stranger...but what I really wanted was my marriage to survive. I will never be in that place again.)

I've just finished reading a bunch of old poems. About old loves. They're all so sad. Wow! This marriage really is the best relationship I've ever had. Why is it, though, that happiness doesn't inspire my creativity? NOTE TO SELF: Write a happy poem about the man I love.