Mother paranoia and father inadequacy slept together to make my ghost.
They cradle me. I nestle into them with a cold nose, and a tense jaw.
Sore teeth chatter inaudibly; I ask for assurance. They whisper back to me softly, lovingly, “No.” They swaddle me. I shrink into invisible delight.
Jan 16, 2021
Jan 16, 2021 at 11:11 PM UTC
Your elegant embellished clouds
Are eternal bubbles in my coffee
Every morning the hail of my mouth
Storms the cups of my kitchen closet
Your harsh crass vocal chords
Are my splendid baritone
Melodious the song I sing
Reverberated and springed through your teeth
Your sunshine I perceive
After storming with the cups of my closet
In my heart once rose a thunder
The sparks flew of your sunshine
In my coffee and splendid baritone..
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 5:57 PM UTC
We are not permitted to choose the frame of our destiny.
But what we put into it is ours.
-Dag Hammarskjold
1. God made you; you can never be replaced
2. God made you for some purpose – live to find it
3. Someone is blessed each day in knowing you
4. You must live so that others may live
5. Someone desperately needs your kindness right now
6. You haven’t yet written your book, your story, your song
7. When you offer up your suffering, you help others
8. Children running barefoot through the flowers of spring
9. Children running barefoot through the leaves of autumn
10. Dachshund puppies. And leaves. And flowers. And children
11. Coffee and a talk with a good friend
12. Breakfast and the Sunday morning funnies
13. That empty pew God has saved just for you
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
We learned that freedom of speech is
Is a privilege granted by some
For seeing the abasement of millions
And remaining politically mum.
The violations of human rights today
Are too numerous to record
And the rich perpetrators of the crimes
Grant each other the rewards.
We learned that rich people only care
About the money they make
And the rest of us can congregate
And please go jump in a lake.
If the forests are all sawed down and gone
They don’t give a stinking ****
If they bees are all dead and we all die
They lie and say ecology is a sham.
We saw that fossil fuels are the biggest game
And they’ll **** to win and get rich
And anyone that gets in their billion dollar way
Will be a sad and sorry son of a *****
We know that our country is run into a ruin
By the greedy whims of a stinking few
And they care not all that much among them
For the outcome for me or you.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 12:16 PM UTC
With anvils for feet, the snails may have moved faster, for their noose of anxiety wasn't pulled so tight. They may have covered more than to that of which I see, though the entire existence of their species may have been as long as I may had been looking. I would shoot arrows of curiosity without knowing where the target be.
Just as another fairy tale, relief on my feet was seemingly unimaginable, far fetched and unattainable. Like old change, seeds of a variety filled my pockets. The soil and sun were the only things I trusted. Reaping a sow would be a blessing unto me. After years of crawling, discovering, and disappointing wandering with wide eyes, the hills and peaks had shown as a distraction from the lessening softness of my now calloused hands. The necessity of rest was as strong as the need of a newborn baby's mid afternoon nap, but before the seeds are nestled, work mustn't cease. By every stem, petal, fruit, and butterfly, in the center of the valley of a vast bed of wild flowers would I hope to carry this heaviness no more. The desire for this comfort and caress lead me to find a sweet place to rest. For uncountable hours of wandering, only this would be gratification. I came upon a large patch of dirt as dark as midnight. With every handful of soil wriggling of worms graced my hardened palms. Only the ground saw me enchanted by the romance of its potential. The seedlings would be sung; "As you cuddle in the soil, remember that's where your roots will prepare, unto you this watering will fall, as you are all so loyal, I will be loyal to you, the air will give you care, let me lay eyes upon your beautiful hue, as the sun is what you will see, don't leave the soil bare, set yourself free". In the troughs like dried moats, each seed received a adornment of a kiss like that unto a child by their mother. Every hole doused like that of a spring sunflower, and burrowed into the sleeping dusk of dirt with the expectation of an awakening of a blossom. There, as one expects the rising of the sun, I would await the flowers arrival.
I lay suspended by the freedoms of a remote forest. Within the untouched, unadulterated altruistic scene of remoteness, the skepticism let drained. Knowing my skin may not be slaughtered by reaching thorns, I undressed layers of tattered threads. Most of what would freely escape from my lips were the enticement of belief motivated by bliss and enjoyment. Where my skin remained blushed and dewy from the days after the solstice of summer, to the later days of leaves saying good bye to the trees extended arms, and grass frosted by the baker of autumn, like a lightning bolt strikes at random, as did a stagnancy. The seedlings were viewed upon as the old dark witch from the town: cursed. It was as though they had stage fright and the sun was their audience.
I ask, "why, Lord? Has though forsaken my field? What must I bestow?". Concealed, like a feral cat, was the reasoning for this. As ritual as the church goers Sunday excursion, was my ritual of prayer.
Clouding in my mind happened with contemplation of a new pioneering. I knew this to be only a sliver of land off of the plank of fertile country side. Simultaneous to this fantasy, a shadow danced in the corner of my eyes. Usually trust worthy was my vision, though it became a mystery. Fear not did I, as I turned to follow the darkness, I saw nothing forthright. It's reappearance came as a ***** but as one would in a sword fight, I followed the elusive figure within my eyes. It was as though there was an unsuspecting solar eclipse at high noon. The figure didn't remain hidden, and the dancing ceased. As a knight removes their armor to cradle a loving partner, he opened his cloak to reveal a man with the most poignant essence of freshly mowed grass, smoldering ashes, and a thanksgiving meal. These things were the quintessence of my childhood. His eyes, not beating, but, like a baby's glare, soft and forgiving, unlike the folktales my father told me. Did my eyes deceive me? Ensorcelled, I had succumb to this. Uncontrollably my eyes repeatedly vertically gaze upon him. I met no gaze, but darkness. While the remembrance of evening tide pull you further if not in recognition of its power, without choice, or fight, I had succumb to this. Weighed down by rocks you couldn't see, as though I was called to my knees. His presence eluded to a parental guide. When I lay there, as I become sunk in the soil, He advised me. "This acreage will be your ball and chain for entering this land. With out excavation, Intentions of leaving your possessions have inhibited exiting though you desire continuation. You must water it with your tears". My golden hair became brown with dirt, and my pale skin so dark, as I wept till the sun grew cold, and the moon graced me like a lullaby with soft illumination.
As a once saturated sponge goes dry, by every last drop, drained dry were my eyes, and the ground enriched. After the clock hit twelve for the 10th night, The reaper spoke again. He said "This land was mine. I set it aside, so those who have evil in their heart may not reap what they sow here, so it may not be robbed of its nutrients for something unwholesome. Within it's enchantment, the soil may only be fertile by those who will enrich it with passion. If you wanted to leave you wouldn't be confined, but if your heart remained, as would you. You will stay until you may leave with something beautiful. This priceless soil belonged to me, as this is where my betrothed had lain. The tables have turned because it has been sowed by a someone who has surrendered to me. Your patients serves you. My dear, The wealth is in your heart." His encompassing gratitude, and cherishment remained, as he had left. The grandfather clock sung to the flowers, as did I.
I was always told only the sun could bring beauty in life. I wore a black veil of naive belief. The garden appeared to always have been misted. The sun kissed my plants so gently, their blooms were welcomes to this realm, and the wind would make them frolic together like a colorful oceanic wave, but instead of dolphins peaking the dense surface, you would see the makers of the garden. Relentless pollinators made the perimeter buzz. You could see the twinkle and flutter of every dragonfly, lady bug, butterfly, and bee as their fluorescent wings caught the sun. Almost as though my life depended on it, like a bear in a cave of constant hibernation, I would nestle myself in this secret garden. Leaving here with nothing but flowers intertwined in my hair, and around my heart.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
You saw me when I was trying
To cloak myself in invisibility
Came around looking for me
Not for my body
But for my energy and soul
You made an impact that first night
Sitting by your side
I knew everything was right
Everytime you spoke
It healed me
You healed me
You have come to show me
How not to run from love
But
To let it consume me
Take over my senses
And reprogram
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
Yellow is
a high-minded mood
the extravagance of sunlight
to be touched--
before long
by colors of play
____________
It is of hair
tendering golden sun
brown pennies for lemonade
____________
Yellow is
bumping into the screaming end
of a lit
cigarette
_____________
Yellow is
dripping from the eaves
onto an empty soup can
_____________
It is
spindling sparrow song
from highest perch on roof
his pitch can aspire
_____________
Yellow is
in rattled doorknob
an infant's sweet
voice wanting – in
Reciting menu
above mattress
edges into sleep
two dark eyes
plead
for yellow
waking
Mother into morning--
“juice.... eggs”
Yellow ____
is
opening a car door
at the shore's
unmistakable!
Smells of life
warmth and breeze
touching strings
those kites
of sense
harmonics
above the tone
octaves of excitement
to see to hear to touch to taste
to know
again –
the ocean of my mother
as she calms the waves,
ignores the pouts of us
with stuff to lug out to the beach
the towels, pails and shovels
Picnic basket, cooler
lotion, comic books, her magazines
Mom looks out
She is a good swimmer
Her glasses, dark
Preside
reflecting beauty –
“Take your sister's hand.”
Yellow are the squeals
Feet thrashing sand
of cannot wait
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
Naked you are simple as one of your hands;
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.
You've moon-lines, apple pathways
Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba;
You've vines and stars in your hair.
Naked you are spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.
Naked you are tiny as one of your nails;
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
And you withdraw to the underground world.
As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores;
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
And becomes a naked hand again.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
Today is a day of travel
Late for the first train
Early morning marvels
We're lucky there isn't rain
With you I needn't strain
My love and I
Oh my sweet Samuel
I can't wait to see how far we can go
Our first big trip
Together we'll see
Milwaukee to Chicago
Where the wind hymns
Through the concrete redwoods
Sheds infectious excitement
The buzz of an infrastructure hive
To pulse through every scurrying limb
With beating darting glossy eyes
Where necks crane concave
To gaze upon the monuments
The statues
The striking glory of an architectural revolution
This train, ridden in adult hood
Is still reminiscent of my youngest days
Where curly golden locks
Oshkosh b'gosh overalls
And fists the size of a common house mouse
Dutifully and loyaly gripped
The softly sanded wooden train whistle
Galloping around my grandparents
Gently cooing to the moon and sun
Until my little lungs couldn't blow any more
This trains horn is more authoritative
It asks us to hurry or watch out
But inside the car it's only a lullaby
a benevolent force
All red, blue and silver
Glistening upon arrival and exit
These metal cans have long windows
Stretching from seat to sea to forest through the trees
Children's faces adhear to it
wide eyed and chin dropped
As we pass swiftly and smoothly
The lush verdure and crushing azure
Of the Midwest's rolling glacial fields
All transient and ghostly passing through
Farther though as close as could be
An unseen body and lonesome forearm
Reveals itself from behind the curtain seat
One finger hold a golden wedding ring
This halo he wears or it wears him ever so perfectly
Only slightly indented upon his golden hued skin
His wrist watch is of the like
Shows 11:45 upside down to mine eyes
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC