Everyday
is built on lies
The kinds we
turn into truths
that we despise

We wake up
at uneven hours
Restless , bothered
with a stomach
that's soured

Everyday
turns out the same
so we make up
more lies to deal
with the pain

Such beautiful
sunsets spell out
our demise
So we crawl
into caves
just to let
loose the cries


You can't take away
from the already given
With empty hands
you stand and call
this living

you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

I converse with
The voices in my head

They talk slowly
So their guidance isn't misread

Vengeance is not my jurisdiction.

So let me escape your shadow once and for all,

and please,

let me go---for good. Energetically.

His right is right
And so's His left.
His burden's light
Despite its heft.

Easy's His yoke,
And, I attest,
A spirit broke
Is also blessed.

Invisible God
Himself reveals
To the bipod
His Spirit seals.

Next Spring I will move.  The Wisconsin
winds will sweep me from this house
of yours where I no longer belong.

You climbed the lattice of the cold
Winter.  I was your bounty.  Now
I can leave the brown sugar color
of this apartment. There are scrapes
on white walls from your wheelchair.

The family will not care and for that,
I will not ask.  

I am through writing thank you notes
and receiving the few callers who
patted me for your loss.

Spring is too far away for intimate
details.  The shaking tree limbs
will be quiet and the annual
equinox will welcome new growth
and knitted sorrows.

We were an uninvolved lot,
the children and you and I.  

So I will write again
on my calendar.  No one will ever
remember that it was I who took
your hand,

your heart,

your suffering

to the last
quiet sigh.



Caroline Shank

I’m buried in a cocoon of stories
From poetry,
To biographies,
To dystopia,
And romance
So many stories
Of so many people
Real,
Or just figments of the author’s
Imagination
Sitting atop wooden bookshelves
Waiting for the right person,
To pick them up
And get lost in their story
For everyone has a story to tell,
Some are overly exaggerated,
And other’s are rarely heard
The important thing is
That we share our stories
Through word of mouth,
The internet,
Or in a notebook
To be found by future historians
Tell your story
Believe me, you won’t regret it

I was Christ
You never helped me
You abused me constantly
All of you are evil
Every one of you is going to be tortured in Hell for Eternity
I will never return.

Jeremy James Hammers,
Son of God

i never intended
to take apart
all the pieces
you glued back
together

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

The form
the flux,
the constant
becomings

the duty,
distraction,
the running
of motors,

the quotas,
the breadline,
the rising
and shining

the hiding
a stupefied look
in your eyes

To drown in your tears,
But you always hide them with a fake smile.
11/8/2022

I see the lights through the window
Forming shapes in your ceiling
We lie in bed and you look at me
You don't say what you are thinking
But you smile and get closer.

I hear the traffic through my window
Keeping me awake till late at night
Too late to say what I was thinking
That time I wanted to stay
But left anyway.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

I wish
her scars were on my heart
and not on her arms.

When I look at you,
I don’t see darkness
I don’t see rain
I don’t see pain

When I speak to you,
I don’t feel sadness
I don’t feel neglect
You always show respect

When I think of you,
It gives me strength
Because you’re so bright
My brightest light

When I dream of you,
I find myself in your arms
Right where I belong
Right where I feel strong

When I fell in love with you,
I knew it was true
Because you drowned my sorrows
And now I can see tomorrow

Dear death,

I have met life,
He wants me to fight,
But I'm so weak-
So can we meet?

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

he took me to see the orchestra
i watched them while he watched me
both with eyes of awe
the synchronization of up and down bows
commanding emotion and
the harp in his chest strummed gently that evening
it hadn’t sung the way it sang that evening
i leaned towards the stage encapsulated
holding my hand he felt a sense of permanence
that if i heard the music i’d stay and the pain was worth it
and reminding him when it’s good it’s real good

he took me to see the orchestra because i played violin then
i dreamt of going back to school to practice more
i’d finger the notes under the table at dinner every night and i’d lose track of time and he noticed that and
he loved how immersed i could become once i fell in love with something
and he wanted not to wade but dive into me

he took me to see the orchestra because he loved the way i wrote then
it was complex and he didn’t understand it and it made him discontent with what he knew he appreciated how soothing and real the words felt
like running water on a cut
it was refreshing
cooling and he just wanted me to see what he heard when peering into my vessel and her prose

the night my life changed
i was wearing
a white dress
with blue and red
flowers

and you were wearing
well, actually
it doesn't
matter

the night my life changed
it was dark
and you were drunk
and somehow
it was my fault

I release the pressure with love and laughter.
I relax in the silence of beauty and bliss. I refuel the soul with daft air, to ever reminisce in cool airs, cool bliss.
I remember my family, of our familiar upbringing. The support and the love that was truly healing. I feel graced by empathy with everlasting love, I am fully me in upbringing and trust.
I seek this out in the world, to be it while I seek it. Building up a bigger image that helps me live deep within it.