My roots are shallow, not so deep
I do not sow, nor do I reap
I'm skin and bone, not earth and stone
I do not own the world alone
There is some insecurity in me
I am free but to a degree
Waiting for the next panic to arrive
for flexing manic men to rise
to drag us to another place
where they will tag the human race
on the forehead, on the hand
or you can't buy bread, understand?

Some people can wait
     Before they die;
Hold on for a loved one
     To say Good-bye.
To have one more Spring,
     Or any Season,
For Love or Closure,
     This we reason.
Now many can leave
     This coil of doubt,
Guilty they heard,
     On all thrity-four counts.

Is my kindness,
And my compassion and humility are my religion.
3/6/2024

DIRECTIONS

I’m heading West
(where ever that is) .

I march off into the distance
of field & sky.

West is where
my uncle is.

I cut through
the heat haze.

My uncle’s dinner
wrapped up in a scarf on the end of a stick

as if I am
running away into forever.

Tea slops in an old milk bottle
with a piece of cloth as a stopper.

I stare into the empty air
as if suddenly I will discover there

a sign saying:
“West – this way! ”

My Auntie Nellie’s instructions
still stamped on the inside of my stupid skull.

“Go west into the field
with your Uncle Michael’s dinner.

“Tell him. . .”

Me too terrified to tell her
I don’t know
where West is?

Typical townie!

I search the farm field by field
‘till I finally find him

sprouting out of a field
with a cloud attached to his head

beside the broken rickety gate
where the tiniest ever wild strawberries grow.

So this is where West is!

Why didn’t she say so in the first place!
This I know!

Why send me like a fool on a child’s errand!

My uncle devours everything ‘cept
the scarf & the stick.

Tells me
(“Oh no! ”)

to go South to where Uncle Seanie is

and. . .

A blank page blinks
Begging words to appear
I can't seem to think
Months lapse into years

Shake the ink from the pen
Alchemy art from grieving
Change a loss to a win
Turn that mill for demons

Crank out another liter
'Til the pump's run dry
Claw up one last meter
Over that ****'s the sky

Paint me in your canvas
remind the brush my demeanour
the palette, my shade
for I love your world,where
the pain loves to fade

I realised.

there is simply nothing to be done
and nothing will be undone,
it will be just as they come
and as they come, they go
I would be part of their glow

I was stumped.