there was a lot that
you left behind on that
dreaded day

i don't really recall
being truly sad when
you passed

but i recall 18 years
of mental rehab and
5 years of on going
drug addiction
i replaced you with

my fuse remains
short and i remain
happy within chaos
that's all i remember
when you left

i know, i know
i know im getting
better without you
but mom and i's
relationship remains
dangling from the
warpath you created
between your 3 kids

i just have a lot
of questions ill never
have answered. i don't
think i miss you, though.
i just wish you could've
fixed the bridges you
destroyed before you
left.

Harvest Time in the Fens

St. Michael’s Church, Chesterton

A calendar knows little of a day,
Of any day; its arbitrary squares
Mark seasons as they amble on their way
From holy Advent ‘til the harvest fairs,

When summer’s crops, all red and gold and blue,
Along with piglets, ducks, some well-fed hens,
Are carted squeaking, squealing, creaking to
Saint Michael’s fields in the Anglian fens.

Old Father William lifts a pint (no less!)
With farmers selling cows and chicks and corn,
For he is merry too, and quick to bless
The laboring marsh-folk on this autumn morn.

Earth, sky, and air mark seasons as they fall,
And now comes Martinmas, joyfully, for all.

By Arcassin Burnham


I would tell friends time and time again I would never
Love a single soul just to not get hurt,
It's her fault I feel this way...
Cleaning everything I didn't have to clean dragging myself
Less through life but like more in dirt,
It's her fault I feel this way...

I could,
Never,
be in love again...
Cause it always backfires and,
There's not enough trust on the table to fit on a plate,
Even meeting someone that can relate, still won't give you the
Time..
So I feel like I'm wasting my time,
But it's not me getting out of line..
I wanna treat you with the love respect that you need,

Never,
see the,
face of marriage, in my life,
and that's okay.

Lights flash and music blares out of speakers from a store. Signs try to get me to spend the money I don't have. Cars race down the street in a never ending stream of vanishing people. They just look forward not seeing the people they are passing by. I go to school and then come out here, the streets are lined with tall buildings that choke out the sky. At night they look pretty, but they are empty shells that I can never get into. In certain dark alleys, you can hear the sound of a baby crying from an apartment back deep into the shadows. On a side street littered with garbage and the shattered dreams of kids, who don't know what having enough is I walk. I listen to the hustlers talk their game as they run with the rats that come up out of the sewer. They sell their false hopes in the form of pills and lies. The only difference between them an the rats is the number of legs one has over the other. I climb up a rusty fire escape in hopes of finding the sky. I see a few bleak looking points of light that I think might be stars. After a while I just shuffle back down to my room and crawl into bed between two other people an fade into the darkness of an uneasy sleep as I dream about life in the city.

Drunk again, on my own again,
without a friend in sight.
I learned to read just to pass the time,
St. Teresa she tells me:
"Be gentle to all and stem with yourself,"
and you will find the light.
But some of us see only in dark,
and we come alive at night.

Been trying to breathe, been trying to see
what William James told me:
"You can alter your life, if you alter your mind,"
my kaleidoscopic eyes-
and act as if you can make a difference
and "be not afraid of life."
But I've been running scared, darling all of the time,
life chews me up and it spits me out.

I'm tired of words, to see me through,
oh, I need someone tonight,
someone tonight.

Like Carl Rogers says, you gotta hang tough,
"I'm not perfect but I'm enough."
"What is personal, it is universal,"
if you just open up.
But if I should die, it would take a while
until someone beats the drum.
I flew so many miles and still,
and still, my sadness has won.

Falling leaves mark the beginning
     of natures fast . . .
       Winter is coming

Hear her Icy bell blowing distance
   through your memory,
       as trees half naked
       spot the ground with clearer vision

         “Oh alas, the winds of winter blow
              captive through my soul
          And place the stones in order, spring
               doth disavow

           Whose cold reprieve an answer grants
                 in frosted shortened light
            To spread new life upon this breast,
                —and natures womb”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 1977)