Some mornings I need
poems and an hour of peace
more than sleep itself.

What truths I know
are neither quiet
nor clear.
I listen to
the dull and ignorant
when I too
tell my story.
Vain and bitter, yes;
for I have
a lifetime of
comparisons.
Late in life
my body calls me
to wholesome discipline
and gentility.
The universe unfolds
with and without
the full consent
of this particular child.
Peace with Spirit
will keep peace
with my soul.
In spite of
and because of
my best efforts...
it is still
a beautiful world.
I can choose
to be cheerful
and careful.
Strive to be
human;
happiness follows.

"In a crowd of a
million, she would find you."
May it always be.

Lymph system is clear;
journey's next stage; have doctor
just go CUT IT OUT!!

America the Beautiful broken
into variations, reassembled
at fifteen, while your friends played ball, tumbled
after grounders.  Met her, vows were spoken,
children came, a job to feed and shelter.
Insurance, managed risk made up your days
while music filled your nights and underlaid
a counterpoint of art and home.  She felt your
dualistic muse; the age-old tale
of starving artist held no taste for you.
Forty years of working every breath
until the night your muse's heart would fail.
You lived for years with your worst fear come true,
for you had starved your artist to his death.

My heart is filled with overwhelming peace
in spite of what the doctor's tests reveal;
a sense of love and caring will not cease.

For one whose life had been one of dis-ease,
where dreams died off, existence seemed unreal,
my heart is filled with overwhelming peace.

There's been no letting go, no caged release
of pent-up terror, prayers, nor appeals.
A sense of love and caring will not cease.

The demons fought for years have been appeased,
their hellish hounds no longer nip my heels.
My heart is filled with overwhelming peace.

Embraced by those whom I expected least;
misunderstandings cauterized and healed.
A sense of love and caring will not cease.

My chosen family, listen, if you please:
Concerned I am, but fear's not what I feel.
My heart is filled with overwhelming peace;
a sense of love and caring will not cease.

The journey begins;
a diagnosis opens
the door to new life.

we dance

gentle pressure
against my chest
the feel of you
along my arms
the touch of you
on my back

breath vanishes

heart stumbles

you remind me
that life
is short

enjoy the dance

Perception beggars
comprehension; chosen words'
loveliness stuns thought.

A bearish sort whose
range is usually teddy,
quite often grizzly.

Time heals no wounds; hard,
sharp, brittle, leaving shards to
fester and erupt.

In spite of my best efforts, I cannot change your mind; that's up to you.

If I could reach your heaven with my language born in hell;
profound profanity to give to try and touch your soul.
Without intent to damp your light with darkness I know well,
come feel my leaden love that needs your hand to turn to gold.
Your laughter kindles comfort greater than these lines should tell
or I'll slip and whisper three small words too strong for you to hear.
So let your light and love shine in my solitary cell
that I perpetuate to keep from deafening your ears.
The highest virtue I could give from hunger I can't quell
distorts into a vice too base for you to comprehend.
To stave off soul's starvation: crumbs of thought on which I dwell;
the haunting consolation of your voice that calls me friend.
Alone - with words alone expressing what I could dispel
if I could reach your heaven with my language born in hell.

Forms are frames for words
cross-stitched into poems; lovely,
graceful, archaic.

o splendid child most whOlly pure and sweet (
angelic, come to claim your worldly place)
de
    scend
              ing, born to mother of the street
Leda to some (on the                  
                                   down-low) Zeus
effervescent incandescent  eYe  s
illuminating darkened cornered souls
of passers-                                                  
                  >snappingsnarlingstomping<
                                                             ­       by                
with savior's grace found now(here)
                                                             perfect whole
unearthly beauty neon ((halo)) glows
               mirrored
                               on her palest golden hair
from reddest lights and bar signs
                                                         Her steps float
above the concrete-footed walks and stairs
to which we're tied.
                                 Just child's play (yet it seems
that in her wake a cityblock's
                                                  )redeemed

I would be content to be a constant star,
or better still, a constellation
shining brightly in your nighttime from afar;
a trusted guide, an inspiration.

Inner motivation pushed me from my place
and sent me hurtling through the skies,
chancing an encounter with your whirling grace
and the shining smiling of your eyes.

Now not driven, only being drawn to you
by planetary force - not gravity,
but stronger still - the sight of someone being true,
the steady pull of honesty.

Plunging, reckless, through your atmosphere of care,
drinking in your warmth until I glow
and burst - a billion blooming wishes everywhere -
too briefly, brightly burning as I go.

I have been condemned to be a shooting star,
one who deals in days and not forevers.
Time too short to catch enough of who you are
to last throughout a thousand nevers.

(c) 1985 Joel M. Frye

He holds your heart within his fisted palm,
his fingers pulse your life into a void
where love is either eaten or destroyed
without a second thought. Your voice is calm
as you describe the frenzied lust buffet
snacked steaming from your torso, never mind
the shredded skin, the wounds he leaves behind
for us to tend.  A minuscule array
of scraps for your nutrition's what remains;
insist again he gives you all you need,
more than you've had. To see is to believe
you'll be consumed. And none of this explains
the polyglot emotion that I face
when in a heartbeat I would take his place.

Be of good spirit, child, and carry light
upon this wondrous, worn and weary world.
Seek wisdom, search for what is true and right.

For others 'round you may not have the sight
to see this precious gift of life unfurled;
be of good spirit, child, and carry light.

You will encounter thoughts divine and trite;
philosophies to set your mind awhirl.
Seek wisdom; search for what is true and right.

The days will come that seem like endless night
with sharpened consequence unfairly hurled.
Be of good spirit, child, and carry light.

A man who lived in darkness, fear and fright
in foetal crouch took ages to uncurl,
seek wisdom, search for what is true and right.

I may not be around to see the height
you'll reach as you climb past me, darling girl.
Be of good spirit, child, and carry light;
seek wisdom, search for what is true and right.

Can't see the pathways through the crush
as forest's canopy makes night;
an overgrowth of underbrush
prevents new sprouts from reaching light.
Some cleansing clearing is in store
creating space to feed new life
by burning down what heretofore
had nourished nature.  Now it's rife
with rotted stands of misshaped growth
untended, harboring disease.
I strike the match. The fire is both
destroyer, bringer of a peace;
the aftermath of smouldering soul
with ashen truths to make me whole.

The rumbling cat circles the chair,
wondering what wakes me
at this hour. A reassuring stroke
or two between lines,
and she puddles beside
in tail-wrapped satisfaction.
Heir to a hundred insignificant sufferings
which scurry and gnaw
at the underpinnings of slumber,
half-awake and fumbling for gratitude,
I choose enough small misery to write.
Don't scare up ambition to rhyme
or scan, or make myself look good,
or put lipstick on the false smile
of swinish apathy wallowing muddily.
Cold, clammy soil suits and soothes my mood.
There is a hunger howling
in hours dark with early morning
for a gentle scratch behind my ears,
a soft hand welcoming my nuzzle;
a nesting ground of warm worn cloth
smelling of home and family
where I can pad its perimeter,
curl into myself
and sleep.