He had a way
with a pen,
my friend
the part-time
con artist, full-
time drunkard
with twinkles
in his eyes
like stardust,
and wrinkles
from laughter
as loud as
a clap of thunder,
and it was
really a wonder
to watch him draw
his last breath
with such depth
like an outline
of a shadow,
a sinkhole
in the shade
on the side
of a dark ridge.

Pompous Chefs will bray and spiel but a good waitress is who really makes the meal* ..

What if cheerleaders rant an raved when the garbageman emptied
a trash can
What if the marching band burst into song as the septic tank truck
was backing in
How about the paparazzi following the mailman
A live TV shot of the roofing foreman being interviewed by ABC , CBS or CNN* ...

of wolves through their own pores,
Those who've heard the whispering
of hell behind closed doors.
Those who've tried their mettle
with a blacksmith's blows,
Those who've climbed a thorny trellis
just to find a single rose...

You may have to climb a mountain
10,000 feet tall
And even then the haters hate
and make you feel small
You may have to dig six feet
to find comfort at all...

But there's a solid surface
beneath the muck & mire,
There's a conflagration...
Yes! There is a fire!
Though all seems hopeless
Though it all seems dire
If you ache, it's yours to take
should you so desire...

Though it all seems worthless
a crust of filthy dross
He'll take your hand
You'll understand

The way of the Cross


SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/29/2016

I always feared thunderstorms
Lightning has killed many trees I loved

I understand that lightning
is a necessity as it replenishes
the nitrogen in the soil

But it destroys to create life

Tonight the thunderstorms roll
The thunder remains high
just growling low
as the lightning skips from cloud
to cloud

Then all at once
a bolt hits close by
and the thunder
kabooms . . .
rattling windows
Making your heart
skip several beats

The wind picks up
the sirens go off
and you chek out the radar

You breathe a sigh of relief
as the approaching storm splits
and goes around you .

It rains hard . . .

Then it stops . . .
so has the wind

Aloft the clouds
are race horses
galloping away as fast as they can

They have business elsewhere

Now all is quiet
a feeling of relief
soaks in unlike
the water running
rushing down the sides of the street

An after the storm moment
of peace when the air feels as clean
as the thoughts you . . . you don't have

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be.*" - Wuthering Heights.

beauty, is in love's eyes,
i once read that if he still makes your heart
anchor itself to your abdomen,
after three months, it's love.

well, my metaphors are wasted on you,
my words are a fancy way of
expressing myself and they contain
too much of you.

you've got a temper,
enough to rumble under these streets,
and collapse what i've been building.

i get sick of building blocks,
love is child's play, and i just want
us to be adults.

i promised to love you, and i do in
my own odd ways,
you broke my heart, i broke yours.
i still want you to know,
a mosaic wouldn't be so beautiful,
without all the cracks.