MichaelSunBear9901 - Hello Poetry

Our Cascade Mountains Are so well named Her slopes of snow and ice fields Feed river after rushing river And rivers feed rivers As a child on Lord’s Hill Every winter We watched the valley below Fill with mild flooding Rains and mountain melt fed The Skykomish, she fed the Snohomish who would overrun her banks Farmers had time to move herds To higher ground If lucky, as waters receded Leaving temporary ponds in fields A cold snap would freeze them over And we would descend with skates and sleds I recall as a teen one year Standing at the end of First Street In the town of Snohomish One of many watching Trees ripped from the earth far upstream The debris of porches and decks All piled as high as the pavement A group praying, some aloud Most silent, praying the bridge would hold In its governmental wisdom The Corp of Engineers diked her sloughs December 2nd, 1975 She roared again, about 10pm Ripping out three hundred feet of **** Sending a Biblical torrent rushing Over highways, vehicles, fields, houses, Barns, the animals Oh God, so many animals. The waters in their time quieted to A new unwanted lake on our maps Fifty thousand acres of water stretching all the way From Everett to Monroe, my hometown midway When the waters finally receded enough That I could visit my family I drove the old winding valley road Weeping, completely undone The beautiful Lippazaners all gone Cow carcasses on roofs Family farms decimated She roars again Our Snohomish River Making the national news Thousands are inconvenienced Some just angry at impossible work commutes Hundreds driven from homes Nonetheless memories are long And humanity prepared with shelters, food, clothing Even the Monroe’s Fairgrounds Has been converted to shelters for large animals Let us pray 1975 never, ever repeats

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Dec 18, 2025

Dec 18, 2025 at 3:10 PM UTC

She Roars Again

Our Cascade Mountains Are so well named Her slopes of snow and ice fields Feed river after rushing river And rivers feed rivers As a child on Lord’s Hill Every winter We watched the valley below Fill with mild flooding Rains and mountain melt fed The Skykomish, she fed the Snohomish who would overrun her banks Farmers had time to move herds To higher ground If lucky, as waters receded Leaving temporary ponds in fields A cold snap would freeze them over And we would descend with skates and sleds I recall as a teen one year Standing at the end of First Street In the town of Snohomish One of many watching Trees ripped from the earth far upstream The debris of porches and decks All piled as high as the pavement A group praying, some aloud Most silent, praying the bridge would hold In its governmental wisdom The Corp of Engineers diked her sloughs December 2nd, 1975 She roared again, about 10pm Ripping out three hundred feet of **** Sending a Biblical torrent rushing Over highways, vehicles, fields, houses, Barns, the animals Oh God, so many animals. The waters in their time quieted to A new unwanted lake on our maps Fifty thousand acres of water stretching all the way From Everett to Monroe, my hometown midway When the waters finally receded enough That I could visit my family I drove the old winding valley road Weeping, completely undone The beautiful Lippazaners all gone Cow carcasses on roofs Family farms decimated She roars again Our Snohomish River Making the national news Thousands are inconvenienced Some just angry at impossible work commutes Hundreds driven from homes Nonetheless memories are long And humanity prepared with shelters, food, clothing Even the Monroe’s Fairgrounds Has been converted to shelters for large animals Let us pray 1975 never, ever repeats

58

One hundred poems I gave to you sweet reader I gave you nothing One true verse I shape My longing for the One Penned with alchemy ink Distilled of cries of anguish Titrated with a thousand tears of Love’s despair One true verse recited in the Rhythm of my beating heart That Sufi drum of zikr Each line in secret whispered On every taken breath One hundred lies I gave you reader ***** limericks of the ego One true Poet writes May his grace make me his quill La ilaha illallah

0

Dec 18, 2025

Dec 18, 2025 at 12:27 AM UTC

The One Hundred Poems

One hundred poems I gave to you sweet reader I gave you nothing One true verse I shape My longing for the One Penned with alchemy ink Distilled of cries of anguish Titrated with a thousand tears of Love’s despair One true verse recited in the Rhythm of my beating heart That Sufi drum of zikr Each line in secret whispered On every taken breath One hundred lies I gave you reader ***** limericks of the ego One true Poet writes May his grace make me his quill La ilaha illallah

19

He has come yet again This thief of the night Crafty cat burglar Of our upper stories Does he come across the roof Pick the lock Find an open window? I am old I have no riches Yet he returns Strikes again and again Stealing the only thing of value He can find I had a small horde still left me But it dwindles, it dwindles I fear my fate when all is gone So ubiquitous this thief He’s been given a name: Insomnia Each night a miser I cling to my two or three hours Grieving in memory of the time I had sleep in abundance What will happen When he finally leaves me none?

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Dec 17, 2025

Dec 17, 2025 at 11:40 PM UTC

The Thief in the Night

He has come yet again This thief of the night Crafty cat burglar Of our upper stories Does he come across the roof Pick the lock Find an open window? I am old I have no riches Yet he returns Strikes again and again Stealing the only thing of value He can find I had a small horde still left me But it dwindles, it dwindles I fear my fate when all is gone So ubiquitous this thief He’s been given a name: Insomnia Each night a miser I cling to my two or three hours Grieving in memory of the time I had sleep in abundance What will happen When he finally leaves me none?

25

To dilute the midnight message Two days straight I drank Scotch the solvent that would not scour Away the pain I typed, drank, typed, drank Tried to chop the discordant din Of impending death Into small pieces I could email scatter Amongst friends and distant family Here take my burden While I grieve You’ll be no good to her If you don’t cut back Stood Mary Anne at office door Day three hungover Brother Steve in tow I found our flight Out over Puget Sound Leveling wings from the tilt of rounding takeoff Our pilot could not level The tilt of our new world So we drank our way to Yuma Drank our way to drunken rendezvous With boyfriend Jack Skip and cousin Pete His ***** slurring shadows So of course our course was to Airport lounge Pete was a sight Almost black with mummy looking skin Addicted not just to ***** but tanning too As she interrupted and exclaimed I watched the big white mess of bandage Bob upon her throat Where two nights earlier She had taken a razor blade to a tumor Medics found her prone On the casino floor Spilled coins glittered in her ***** They rolled her Shown a light into her fixed pupils That day the Creator called tilt on My mother Mona, the luckiest gambler I’d ever known The One Armed Bandit stole that day Despite a massive brain bleed She made it to the ER I awoke next day to The worst ******* hangover of my life No one wanted to ***** breakfast I steeled myself It was winter Season of fifty thousand Snow Birds Migrating south upon little Yuma We walked through hell A hall filled with gurneys, screams Weeping, Spanish here, English there Families sitting on the floor Backs to a wall, feet tucked in A joke Theft from the Wax Museum Surely not my mother lying there A tube from this thing’s head Feeding blood to a clear bag The old ventilator wheezing Down its throat I let a day pass Pretended to seek consensus Drunken Pete demanded I charter a jet, fly her to Seattle For proper care Then I told the doctor turn it off The doctor called it at 83 seconds I finally had an appetite We drank only coffee with our meal In the diner across from our motel Back to the airport to seek a flight home Explaining our situation I had no clue when the agent asked “And will you be accompanied on this flight?”

0

Dec 17, 2025

Dec 17, 2025 at 11:11 PM UTC

Duty

To dilute the midnight message Two days straight I drank Scotch the solvent that would not scour Away the pain I typed, drank, typed, drank Tried to chop the discordant din Of impending death Into small pieces I could email scatter Amongst friends and distant family Here take my burden While I grieve You’ll be no good to her If you don’t cut back Stood Mary Anne at office door Day three hungover Brother Steve in tow I found our flight Out over Puget Sound Leveling wings from the tilt of rounding takeoff Our pilot could not level The tilt of our new world So we drank our way to Yuma Drank our way to drunken rendezvous With boyfriend Jack Skip and cousin Pete His ***** slurring shadows So of course our course was to Airport lounge Pete was a sight Almost black with mummy looking skin Addicted not just to ***** but tanning too As she interrupted and exclaimed I watched the big white mess of bandage Bob upon her throat Where two nights earlier She had taken a razor blade to a tumor Medics found her prone On the casino floor Spilled coins glittered in her ***** They rolled her Shown a light into her fixed pupils That day the Creator called tilt on My mother Mona, the luckiest gambler I’d ever known The One Armed Bandit stole that day Despite a massive brain bleed She made it to the ER I awoke next day to The worst ******* hangover of my life No one wanted to ***** breakfast I steeled myself It was winter Season of fifty thousand Snow Birds Migrating south upon little Yuma We walked through hell A hall filled with gurneys, screams Weeping, Spanish here, English there Families sitting on the floor Backs to a wall, feet tucked in A joke Theft from the Wax Museum Surely not my mother lying there A tube from this thing’s head Feeding blood to a clear bag The old ventilator wheezing Down its throat I let a day pass Pretended to seek consensus Drunken Pete demanded I charter a jet, fly her to Seattle For proper care Then I told the doctor turn it off The doctor called it at 83 seconds I finally had an appetite We drank only coffee with our meal In the diner across from our motel Back to the airport to seek a flight home Explaining our situation I had no clue when the agent asked “And will you be accompanied on this flight?”

81

Remember the non-blond gang? Of morphine and chocolate they sang I praise to you this flavorful pair Chew the blue pills to end all care They make me feel for once a winner Don’t you dare call me a sinner Morphine and chocolate beautifully mate Don’t suggest I’ll soon be late And if I am I say so what? Isn’t heaven filled with dimes uncut? I’ll drink hot chocolate, drink nonstop Morphine marshmallows floating on top

0

Dec 17, 2025

Dec 17, 2025 at 11:04 PM UTC

Morphine and Chocolate

Remember the non-blond gang? Of morphine and chocolate they sang I praise to you this flavorful pair Chew the blue pills to end all care They make me feel for once a winner Don’t you dare call me a sinner Morphine and chocolate beautifully mate Don’t suggest I’ll soon be late And if I am I say so what? Isn’t heaven filled with dimes uncut? I’ll drink hot chocolate, drink nonstop Morphine marshmallows floating on top

12

Thank the Lord for words Thank the Lord for readers Somewhere in that vast space Between the two I am allowed for brief periods To be what I am not A drunk, an addict The man who wrecked cars Spent mornings in dive bars Stole, destroyed two marriages One haunted by misdeeds Life is unbearable For we at least with crippling mental illness If I had not used Surely, I am certain I would have taken my own life Long ago Alcohol allowed me to have A successful career, until It did not Pills allowed me to dry out Allowed me twenty five years Of marriage Decades of being at my best Spiritually giving of myself Until it did not Alcohol, oxy, morphine Let me go on living Kept my demons quiet Until they became my demons Now I absolutely may not drink Cannot use Or I will lose the little I have left Join colleagues from rehab Who returned to the streets One day at a time Sounds so simple Trust me it is hard my friend It is doing Time hard Thank the Lord for words Thank the Lord for readers Life is unbearable When my demons scream Somewhere in that vast space Between the two I can find a little peace And be what I am not

0

Dec 17, 2025

Dec 17, 2025 at 3:34 AM UTC

Thank the Lord for Words

Thank the Lord for words Thank the Lord for readers Somewhere in that vast space Between the two I am allowed for brief periods To be what I am not A drunk, an addict The man who wrecked cars Spent mornings in dive bars Stole, destroyed two marriages One haunted by misdeeds Life is unbearable For we at least with crippling mental illness If I had not used Surely, I am certain I would have taken my own life Long ago Alcohol allowed me to have A successful career, until It did not Pills allowed me to dry out Allowed me twenty five years Of marriage Decades of being at my best Spiritually giving of myself Until it did not Alcohol, oxy, morphine Let me go on living Kept my demons quiet Until they became my demons Now I absolutely may not drink Cannot use Or I will lose the little I have left Join colleagues from rehab Who returned to the streets One day at a time Sounds so simple Trust me it is hard my friend It is doing Time hard Thank the Lord for words Thank the Lord for readers Life is unbearable When my demons scream Somewhere in that vast space Between the two I can find a little peace And be what I am not

47

The Sylvia Beach Perched in sand Memories moved From the left bank of the Seine To the Oregon coast The old wood floor had such a tilt They had sawn off bits of leg On everything in the room. To test the tilt I rolled a marble from Wall to wall. There was a house cat Toby, They had left his legs intact. First door at top of stairs, The Melville room, It did not suit. I wished for Hemingway. Well into our third night In the wee hours awakened, Toby fled. She did not speak Just stood at my feet, Pausing then gone. This was her goodbye I knew. Monday in Seattle confirmed Yes my best friend died that night. I miss you Patty.

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Dec 17, 2025

Dec 17, 2025 at 3:16 AM UTC

Patty

The Sylvia Beach Perched in sand Memories moved From the left bank of the Seine To the Oregon coast The old wood floor had such a tilt They had sawn off bits of leg On everything in the room. To test the tilt I rolled a marble from Wall to wall. There was a house cat Toby, They had left his legs intact. First door at top of stairs, The Melville room, It did not suit. I wished for Hemingway. Well into our third night In the wee hours awakened, Toby fled. She did not speak Just stood at my feet, Pausing then gone. This was her goodbye I knew. Monday in Seattle confirmed Yes my best friend died that night. I miss you Patty.

28

A selkie I danced upon your shore Wore starlight in my hair Aglow, laughing Beneath a crescent moon By ***** and pills I thought made full Dawn proved the curse true Left me ever exiled My heart pumping A thin trickle of the sea Never again of the sea My home The One For you saw me You saw ME Wearing not starlight Reflecting no moon But a dark shawl Of lies and addiction And neediness Lost and forgetful Upon your shore Made by your glimpse Forever One of you I have died to my race Made forever One of you

0

Dec 17, 2025

Dec 17, 2025 at 3:13 AM UTC

I Am Selkie

A selkie I danced upon your shore Wore starlight in my hair Aglow, laughing Beneath a crescent moon By ***** and pills I thought made full Dawn proved the curse true Left me ever exiled My heart pumping A thin trickle of the sea Never again of the sea My home The One For you saw me You saw ME Wearing not starlight Reflecting no moon But a dark shawl Of lies and addiction And neediness Lost and forgetful Upon your shore Made by your glimpse Forever One of you I have died to my race Made forever One of you

29

I long for the Circles Long gone from my life The long nights in the community of One Whether six or sixty A Sufi Circle of souls formed Anchored to our Guide Who led us in the holy Holy voice of zikr The remembrance of Allah Chanting his names Our bodies swaying as One The repeated rhythms of Twenty generations or more Voices rising, falling Slowing, racing Until our hearts flew free On wings of ecstasy Joined by jinns and angels Our Light blazed out Into the world’s darkness I so long for those Circles Those long nights in the community of One La Ilaha illallah

0

Dec 17, 2025

Dec 17, 2025 at 3:01 AM UTC

The Circle of Ecstasy

I long for the Circles Long gone from my life The long nights in the community of One Whether six or sixty A Sufi Circle of souls formed Anchored to our Guide Who led us in the holy Holy voice of zikr The remembrance of Allah Chanting his names Our bodies swaying as One The repeated rhythms of Twenty generations or more Voices rising, falling Slowing, racing Until our hearts flew free On wings of ecstasy Joined by jinns and angels Our Light blazed out Into the world’s darkness I so long for those Circles Those long nights in the community of One La Ilaha illallah

25

One hundred poems I gave to you sweet reader I gave you nothing One true verse I shape My longing for the One Penned with alchemy ink Distilled of cries of anguish Titrated with a thousand tears of Love’s despair One true verse recited in the Rhythm of my beating heart That Sufi drum of zikr Each line in secret whispered On every taken breath One hundred lies I gave you reader ***** limericks of the ego One true Poet writes May his grace make me his quill La ilaha illallah

0

Dec 16, 2025

Dec 16, 2025 at 7:51 AM UTC

One Hundred Poems

One hundred poems I gave to you sweet reader I gave you nothing One true verse I shape My longing for the One Penned with alchemy ink Distilled of cries of anguish Titrated with a thousand tears of Love’s despair One true verse recited in the Rhythm of my beating heart That Sufi drum of zikr Each line in secret whispered On every taken breath One hundred lies I gave you reader ***** limericks of the ego One true Poet writes May his grace make me his quill La ilaha illallah

19