The cusp of Spring/Summer is when I already think Autumnal thoughts. Even before a not-green stray Sassafras mitten or two falls, the Black gum lets go a few red-orange leaves.  I see them on the back path. They silently shout to me, “Here come the Fall!”. I'm saddened. It's not just because I used to lament having to go back to school in September, It's more than that. It's only just yet Summer. I didn't finish. 'Didn't go back the live the life that I could have had if I hadn't made those foolish moves. 'Didn't make most of those smart ones. 'Hadn't wasted all that money on beer. I sort of tried to do it right when I got a little older. 'Did some good, coulda done more though. 'Expected my good work to be more rewarded. I didn't, “sell out”, or climb up some ladder stepping on backs. I never gave up, but I just didn't do enough. 'Didn't make them listen. 'Afraid to speak up. That's what this is; the confession of a 70 year old. I'm not unburdened. I don't need forgiveness.

He’s rubbed off on you
brought your rage to the surface
Which is fine
I think
But you can’t be this angry
when you’re drinking with me

Blood will cut the sweetness
of wine on your lips

I never truly believed in you
Maybe i did once
But now i know you
As the thing people hold on to
When there's nothing left

So here I am
With nothing left

when you sleep it's like you never cried,

breathing soft and steady, wet cheeks dried.



when you sleep it's like you never lost,

boundaries weren't broken and lines weren't crossed.



when you sleep it's like you're still there,

and you still smile and you still care.



when you sleep you look young as I,

no crease in your brow and no old worn sigh.



and so if sleep is death just being shy,

is it still so wrong,

to wish

to die?

we were sitting on atwood street
drinking beer and admiring the students
i was stumped:
"how come only women
came back to college this year?"
it was pointed out to me
there were just as many males as females
but i failed to see them

I saw you perched there,
Like a cat in a window-
Cliché to say the least,
but beautiful nonetheless.

Moonlight glinting off your hair
bathing the room in silver.

Change the 'in' to an 'and' and remove the 'n' from 'window'-
A Cat and a Widow, humorous right?
"The old cat lady,"
Imagine that, another cliché.

Hey, don't worry about me.
Everything's ok in my
Life is good and there's no
Possibility of anything bad happening

My poems and other hobbies make me happy
Everything's great, and you shouldn't worry, ok?

Stay, my frigid heart,
the night-song will come again.
Winter will not last.

Panther pentagons
pre-living
their
days

in
meditating temples
that belong
to you

find your stance
good people
of earth

as clarity comes
from madness

and so too in it
are you

Now there were two of them
Separated between thousands
of read texts and timely
chats touched by sound
but not skin  
Awake in the others sleeping
Sleeping in the others awake  
Restless as they wait
Restless as they wait

oh darling...
whenever you feel down, out of yourself, or even, if you feel that you can't with the situation, because you are not feeling strong enough...

use your Wildcard.

you don't have different personalities for nothing, don't you know?
when you are feeling negative, we are the replacement.
you didn't build another you for nothing, too.

don't be fooled, love. we are the devil in disguise.
reminder: use your Wildcard.

When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.

She was stuck
in endless cycles
it seemed to her
more harm than good
to be a girl
in this world

Never take death for granted,
It will come when you least expect it.
Be prepared.
26/10/2020

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

i was too young to care
i'm old enough now to never forget
i miss you

the remains of the day, of lost chances, opportunities gone astray
and now irretrievably demised, a quiet day, of writing, thinking,
letting emotional waters fall over me, draining away the oils of mischance and in the few minutes before the morrow commences, the eyes tear, and the heart too, for there is so much pain and confusion that cannot be done away...and there are needs unmet...one feels lost by a wayside, at a remote railway station, awaiting a once-a-day train, that is always late...

Accused of being generous, and my guilt at this false accusation, makes me tremble, for what I wish for all of you, is the small and the greatest, both be satisfied, but not by taking, but by giving...my poor clarity pains me, but I compose not knowing the secret chords required to please...but my thoughts are of you, alone, solely, my concerns have fallen to a siding. We are all so far from each other in physical distancing, yet so oft, when you write in poem, in message, in shotgun short comments, you evoke my depths, provoke my raw, unprotected, unmasked emotions to rise up from gorge and abyss...hear your cries, the spoken and the ones between the lines, well hid in the spaces between the words, where the kernels and the residuals of the important things exist.

it is almost 11:59pm, July 8th. it is already tomorrow for many of  you who race ahead of time’s relentless measuring, and for some the evening young, you puzzled at this nearly midnight missive, will wonder what has.overcome me.

pure unadulterated emotional fluids, many flavored, washing away the veneers, the coverings, and wanting to fix things that my intelligence says you cannot, yet the urgency of my desire is so great, that I can barely swallow.

perilous close to revelatory disclosures, I will cease here, seize here, what cannot be spoken of, and to think upon the notion of a successful life, it’s constitution, composition and break off pieces of me, that I can give away to you freely to patch the holes, mend the readings, via the ether of skin comforting even if imaginary.

I am drifting into the tender part of the night, when deceit is pointless, and I argue with conviction with myself that in our lives that it will never be too late, but I know I contradict my prior musing...somewhere between the fact that time is a wasting commodity, precocious and precious, lives this idea within, that there is nothing that cannot be navigated, recompensed, even forgiven...the argument goes on, the tide of battle switching back and forth, and for now I must be satisfied with the meagerness of I can’t give up, be at ease by acknowledging defeat, not just yet, and the fast arrival of a clean slate is a chance, a draw, a ticket to ride, and, reaching is a wonderful idea, full of compromise, extra effort, and tomorrow I may yet reach one of us, by reaching inside of what churns within, and have the perfect words you require, desperate need, come forth easily...

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

thing is,
most of us here

write,
not to impress
but to express

that's why i love it here.

We commonly lay in curiosity and think consciously of biology and astronomy, how people get lost in the monotony,
how lives may change with more autonomy,
how to unravel human psychology and use the knowledge responsibly, how to create comradery and use this to increase the velocity
between two people caught in an apology to listen to the other audibly, sometimes the conversation ends in despondency but I’d rather live in truth with you than in dishonesty

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.

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.

My existence is like a million tiny stars,
All bright burst followed by infinite blackness.
It is supernovas then the space vacuum.
It would be  loud
If anyone could hear it.

Unread my buried poems
in worldly words of mouth
Unread the drops of water
from spilled ink on the ground

The breath of mouth
You unread when covered
with the dying roses
unread the doubts
unread the doubts
unread the doubts
of the mouth

Unread the walls of caves
from tongues of creepy lions
Unread the burning love
when falling on the clouds
In dusty foam unread
Unread the words of mouth

some                   I
     say                     call
           it's                   It        
                poetry.          oxygen.


I write, therefore I am.

I'm not stable enough for love
I'm not kind enough for love
I'm not worthy enough for love
I'm not ready for love
Lord please save me
I don't feel human
I don't have strength
I don't belong
I don't want to live
I'm nothing but depressed
A lost case
A piece of work
A damaged ex
Will I ever turn my life around?
And see the world differently?
Like it's meant to be
Like I have a destiny
Like anyone wants me
To be here

The leaves fall
There is a light touch
Of uncanopied sun

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.

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)