she left when i was four
no explanation or anything more
it cut me straight to the core
you may think i was too young
to understand but my heart tore
my baby sister she was two
she barely could walk without falling
down onto the floor
now I barely see her
she's growing up too fast
she doesn't remember much of that past
she remembers calling me "Sissy."
And that she loved saying "it's purple."
I remember so much more
The smell of my moms sweet perfume
how she always had these really good cookies
her hugs and her kisses
but that day when she left it hurt me so much
because a girl needs her mother
a mother cannot leave her children
but my mom she was different
she never said "Good bye."
She never taught me to fly
she didn't see Jillian become to beaut she is today
she won't be able to see my sixteenth birthday
or be there for graduation
or my wedding
but whatever at least I have my dad
and my little sister
and family and friends
at least i have you guys/girls
because i know if you were going to leave you would at least say
The old woman with the lined, wise face
Feels her eyes go heavy; her chest swells and falls
Like ripples on a shallow pond.
But this night she is seeking the deep waters;
Memories of a few men who touched her
In her most guarded places.
While they slept next to her young, throbbing
Body she honed them like a slim axe.
She always let her lover fall asleep
Before she opened herself to the Dream Lord.
She would dream of swords and feathers,
Of swimming downward into black depths
Where the ruins of a lost city
Caught her in its pull, toward its stillness,
Its eldritch glow, so unreal and
marvelled at even
As it caught her in its nets.
She always in thrall to her
At dawn the new sun comes peering
Through and whispers kisses onto
Her world now is peopled with broken
Faces she knows can become in a minute
Strange and unkind.
She tries so hard to use the broken images
To assemble a mosaic, but there are always
Pieces missing: she is always incomplete.
There is a name on one of those pieces
Which is on the tip of her tongue.
It was a transient love, like an island
Sharp as its coral, of teeth and claws, and once
She felt alive to look at the scars; the scrapes
And puncture wounds a terrible secret that
Her body has locked away in the netherworld
She time travels through the Universe of her
What is left for her but flashes of skin and
Still a name; a name that slowly turns jade upon
A name she must remember so she can go and
Beside the Fountain.
To unpack that long black bag of torments
And fears cleansed so she can rest
Descend into the Water Kingdom;
To listen to the song of the bird that comes
To beckon her home.
You sit in your majestic tower
Of the tree house, your brown hair gleaming down
Your strength and integrity bound
So deeply within you
Never did I notice,
Apt to the silence of your manner,
How greatly you tried
Your effort denied
It’s funny the way one can live
So within their own space
That interacting is also receiving
When we were young
I was the one to run
To climb the trees
Steal all the Popsicles from the freezer
Soil my hands and stain my shirts with blackberries
To be the teaser
And you would change my shirt, save me from a beating
Accept my ferocity
And wipe the blood from me
You weren’t the one
To fight away the demons
You were the one
To keep them at bay
With silent protests for a better day
When we got old
Just a little.
When I hid my face
And you did
Age with grace
I noticed then
How ample you were
How you held yourself
With a profound rooting
To the earth
And stable you had been
And the regret washed through me of the times
I secretly was ashamed
Of the way you walked
And how dissonant I thought you were
And so at a party a group of us sat sipping wine
And mocking the time
Across the table I heard you laugh
And never did I notice your voice before
And I could see between the lines
Afterwards I laughed
At my new realization
What a burden I was
But what struck me was
That you held me
Just Like I was still a little girl
And I was making a fool of myself
You shushed me to sleep
A grown woman
And right before I closed my eyes
a final tear
How jealous you were
Of my experimental whirl
Eating life in
Like sauce on my fingertips
And I told you how jealous I had been
Of the way you wore long skirts
And wrapped your arms to your chest
Always knowing what you wanted
No need to want more
And like two old witches
Until the moon was gone
And the sunlight streamed through
Bubbling to the brim
With the new strength found within
Rejoicing we found
We are each in the air
implanted on the ground.
Old man in the park. Not one
to waste words. At play with pieces
of clay. All in harmony ~ with natures world.
Peaceful are his days ~ playing the
game, amidst a sunrise ~ twice revered
now reserved in the morning dew.
A marvel of life ~ a voyage of the
mind. A savior of our uncompromising
ways. Wise ~ he wrinkles, pones a
play. Gently in tune, as strings glide
in the palms of another ~ between two
trees, also palms, another sits ~ plays
a wooden hollow, vibe is so cool.
Knowing the essence of his will is
simplicity, a discipline of age ~ softly
in his send. Honestly ~ wise is the old
man. Groomed and cultured by his
own reflection. Graced by an
extravagant past. Astute, sensible, in
so many compelling ways.
Such is ~ the half shaven wise old man
at rest sharing dreams ~ promises ~
better fantasies ~ for he made a meal
of life. Hand woven thoughts, clever in
measure, precise is his glare. The
treasure ~ is his reason. Simple brown
cap, corduroy pants ~ a checkered
shirt, sitting, resting, a lover of life, his
ways no longer measured ~ but
In reflection, a gaze of the horizon, is
a metaphor of his life. Reminders of
yesterday’s ~ now pleasantries for us ~
now his heyday. Devious was the old
man ~ his adventures are fantasies to
another. As he grays before us, in the
calendars of day...
Colorful character, a lifetime tainted
by only the polish of his shoes. Tame
in his crevasse of dimples ~ quivering
at sight of his son. A grandfather ~
clever at any game. Parading ~
teaching ~ his grandson, the same
games he played. Numbers to boot ~
the sunlight's yellow brick rays ~ a
little mans stare at the big mans gaze.
Old man, trustworthy, captain of
philosophy ~ a fickle ~ a frozen sky of
crisp colored white hair, curls of gray.
Today's moniker ~ a father son’s
game. Metaphorically inclined, atop a
rocking chair ~ arms lapped, crossed
in the simplest of ways. Certain to a
spit shine ~ leather his shoes today.
Grandson beside plays, a book of
brush strokes, a choice of paints,
shades now shadows of gray.
Honestly and with all conviction ~ we
shell before his eyes. Endearing are
his traits. Earn his trust, in turn ~ he
reserves your spot ~ a voyage ~ over-
seas ~ with a monk of wisdom ~ a
canopy of rope ~ and a gentle smile...
Acknowledge him ~ reach out ~ he
extends ~ firm is the handshake...
Yes ~ passions ~ reflections to mirror,
gentle this giant of a man. A graceful
one. A token for a smile. A coin for
his presence ~ an embrace for today…
Here is a glass of water from my well.
It tastes of rock and root and earth and rain;
It is the best I have, my only spell,
And it is cold, and better than champagne.
Perhaps someone will pass this house one day
To drink, and be restored, and go his way,
Someone in dark confusion as I was
When I drank down cold water in a glass,
Drank a transparent health to keep me sane,
After the bitter mood had gone again.
Winter comes again,
and with it comes the snow.
Freezing in a living room
sits a broken man alone.
He stares at the television
looking for a reality
he once knew was there,
but soon faded into calamity.
A hole-filled blanket covers him
trying to fight away the cold,
but you can't fight what lives inside.
The bitter man grows old.
His eyes still fixed on a deceitful screen.
His mind non-existent for his thoughts aren't his own.
A man dead in life lies still on the couch
while he searches for reality. A reality gone.
I can't deal and
I can't believe
I didn't see the signs
I mean they were
You were feeling
Trust me I know
That feeling all too
But that's no excuse
I still love you
With most my heart
To be truthful
But not all
Not like it used to be
I'm not sure
What it was
And I truly am sorry
It seemed as if
I didn't care
But oh my God