I cleaned out an old drawer
of odds and ends.
    there were paperclips and the door to a battery case on some remote
    an orange candle stub, from Halloween I think
    lots of batteries and four flashlights, though only one worked
    and parts of things which I'm sure made sense to keep at the time
          I have no idea what they are now

I cleaned out an old drawer
  of thing I've forgotten
      pictures of my daughter in a lost setting
      a letter of gratitude from a friend, but for what?
      a postcard from Barcelona
      graduation announcements for our friend's children
           I don't think I sent a gift

I cleaned out an old drawer
  of memories and my past
     a ticket stub from an evening with Isabel
     a newspaper clipping of my son in scouts
     old mother's day cards from the kids
     subway map of New York City from October 2001
         Memories of adventure and love

I cleaned out an old drawer
  and sorted, straightened and remembered
     batteries went together in a small box
    rubber bands and  coins in their proper place
    memories dusted off and replaced
        out of the drawer and back into my head

My life is a little like cabinet drawers
   stuffed with junk and trash mixed with treasures and tools
   I think I'll clean my cabinet more often
     I'll organize some things that I'll need
         like my mom and dads affection and support
         my friends kindness and playfulness
     I'll throw away the useless things
          like anger, resentment, and regret
          to make room for my treasures
And I'll be reminded of what has been
         a childhood of play, security, discovery and love
         my magical children  and the wonder at every age
         my beloved and her steadfast love and respect
         faith, hope, joy, compassion, service

That feeling is gone
The one I'd look forward to every time your fingertips touched my flesh
Laying on your couch

It wasn't the same

All that time I spent wondering where you were
Secretly longing to hear your laugh in the front seat of your car
I was haunted by those words you rarely spoke
Like a secret begging to flee from your mouth
"I love you"

That feeling is gone
That one I'd get by the taste of your lips
It would linger on me for days
You were all I could taste

That feeling of joy I'd get because you were so sweet
That feeling is gone
You were frightened I'd find the truth
Two years down our path I did
Now you trace my face with your gentle hands

It wasn't the same

That feeling I'd get when you look me in the eyes
Like we could live in that moment forver
That feeling is gone

I used to make you laugh
That familiar laugh that would play in my head for days
I imagine the past, then the future

It wasn't the same

I jump up whispering goodbye
As you drive away with that sorrowful sigh
I don't want to look back
All that time ago
On your comfy couch, somewhere lost in love

It isn't the same

When he was away
I sent him picture messages
Of me holding signs
Proclaiming
He was the only one for me.
That our love was endless.
That one day, we’d have the house, the dog, the stocked wine fridge.
And I doubted it was true
Even as I wrote them.
But it was the fantasy to believe in
That he and I,
Two world-class fuck ups
In our own rights
Could finally
Not
Fuck this one up.

What once was joy and laughter
And holding hands on public streets
And feeling validated from when he would call me sexy
Quickly became
Lying on bedroom floors
Sobbing to the carpet
Heaving for breath
Wondering how it ever came to this.

I love to hate him.
The scars you see
Are ones he gave me
As I experienced the worst of
Neglect and
Abandonment.

We allowed ourselves disillusion
When reality became too tough
When hands that were holding
Felt like squeezing
When air we were breathing
Was suffocating
When love we were feeling
Became suffering.

I thought about all those signs today
Those signs I put in the “his” box
That he collected when I wasn’t there
Because I didn’t want to see him
And I wonder what he did with them.
If he threw them away
Like he did with us
Or if he has them still
And wants to be reminded
That he still fucks everything up.

My life is brilliant

His voice has been with me
so long

that pain
that joy

cos Ill never be with you

listening,
CD in my mom's car,

dark nights,
lights along the highway,
full moon watching over us
like a parent

knowing every beat
of the drum,
every strum of
the guitar.

every break in his voice

like a second skin,
pulling over me,

youre beautiful,
youre beautiful,
youre beautiful, its true.

every time i needed him,
he was there,

and i could
sing along with him,
without ever looking at the lyrics.

and i don't know what to do.
cos ill never be with you.

Augur well, on a left ward spirral.
I never meant to ignore
the residential Wren or lazy Cat,
who always knew better
than my list of dreams.
In the alleyway with dahlias,
I wanted to think as my own,
a perchance a symbol!
now there's sacks of pebble stone and sand,
no rub of green
builders mucking in for someone's joy to settle,
side gate entrance
into a little abode no longer possibly mine.

Backward-man loves his dog.
Ties him up before and after
His walks, likes to goad his pet
Too, speaking as the weather wails
And howls then dog looks down,
Sad on his master dumbfounded.
A chain is worn as it scrapes
The ground connecting dog
To his master.  They both love
The sound of it hissing as it strikes
The concrete pathways, sometimes
Man and dog feel free, not a part
Of each other, the chain may break,
And fear is for forks in the road,
The rusty pockmarked grip of his links
Have always been there on walks
Ahead and behind though it makes
Things confusing as if in a dance
And sometimes they wonder which way
They might end up after all—
And when the dark and golden
Rope, as always, is finally tied
To some old fruit tree, the man
Is happy his dog has both sun
And shade, but also has joy watching
Dog beg for ripe apples he cannot
Reach.  Some people might come
To think that dog thinks those apples
Are not for eating.  Everyone loves
Fruit, don't they?

Backward-man built his dog
A house as cold as a three-
Storied barn, out of things
He could not afford, things much
Too good for dog to not care
About, maybe man built dog's
House for himself, he cannot
Really impress his dog.
Backward-man likes to think
He knows what dog is saying.
Barks and whimpers have deep
Meanings, 'world is a good place,'
Dog says, but when pooch says,
'World is cruel,' crying, disobedient
Whines gets him a serious kick
Out of old anger from backward-
Man.  And man can be a hell-
Hound on his own, the way
He twists and unravels the things
He needs, like truth and food
And love— that goes without
Saying for backward-man hates
His woman, but loves his dog.

Pretty
Pretty.
What does it mean to her?
Since the beginning time, she was always told she was pretty,
But at one point that little girl began to question
If what she was told was a lie.
Everybody seemed pretty,
But her.
She was no longer the “You should sign her up for modeling” girl.
She became “Oh, she’s ….. tall”
Or “Wow, you’re big! Oh I mean big for your age.”
When the “pretty” faded, so did her spirit.
The omnipresent smile was gone,
As well as her joy.
She became her mother’s nightmare
Moody,
Sensitive,
Irritable,
Argumentative.
She covered up her self-destructive insecurities with faux confidence and
“No really, I’m fine”
Just as if one covers up their unsightliness
With aggrandize grand eyes, cheeks and lips
No one ever knew that underneath all the bravado
There was still a little girl,
Who seemed grown physically and sometimes mentally,
Longing for someone to tell her she’s pretty.


Incorrect.


This little girl was waiting to tell herself she was pretty
And believe it.

Pure light and sound
Just plain light and sound
That’s what our bodies of made of
Not sugar and spice that we know of
Not everything nice as we talk about; as we say
Just the five elements which obstruct the way
Blocking the source of the light and sound,
To which we are by the elements bound
The light, the sound and the elements so found
Together play games so that they are not found
While we labour through life so unsound,
Until we reach the grave which is a mound
Seeking the mystery of our so called life;
Which is filled with both joy and strife
Until we discover the light and sound
Which makes our life go round and round

Ah, Jacob
I love you
(look! I have personalized my poem! But alas, that means I have isolated
the audience.
By mentioning your name-
such a wonderful name, it reminds me of church bells
Doritos
and a good shower after a long run-
by mentioning your name, I have ensured
that those not in love with a Jacob-
and I pity them, for if they do not have one, they should seriously consider finding one-
Anyway
By mentioning you name, my love
I have ensured that those not in love with a Jacob
will never understand the soaring
joy
sorrow
trust
security
never understand what it is they have just read).