Mother, in your hazel eyes I can see the rainbow
the trees flowering
the grass getting greener
rising to the bluest sky.
Mother, in your smile I see sadness
and your forehead is full of wrinkles,
in the space between your eyes I can see the worry,
Mother, your heart is a firefly in my night
when I close my eyes you guide me,
your hand so warm, I need it to hold mine
when it's cold in my mind.
Mother, you're so far
and I can't tell you that I'm hurting
I'm dying inside and I can't show you

Mother, you're so wise, please, tell me
why is it autumn again
if it's only May?

I see tulips so beautifully painting the sight
and yet in my heart
the last leaf has fallen.

Mother, oh Mother, tell me
when I will fall to the ground
will they step on me
or will they pick me up
and keep me between the pages of their hearts?

Mother, I'm just a leaf
and you don't know
that my autumn has come
to bury me again.
I am falling,
the dirt is covering me whole,
your hand is so far
I'm reaching but there's only the wind
tearing me apart.


*Mother, it's autumn again
and you can't see me falling.

He can’t explain the pain
Like boot prints on his brain
And it only seems to subside
When she is beside him.
Then, it begins to slowly dim.
When she is not around
He can be found on the ground
Screaming just like his head,
Full of frenzied villagers instead
Of what everyone else feels
And thinks, as he again sinks
Into that swamp of horror
And anguish. Moreover,
He knows he is alone in this.
This is not from her kiss
It is from its absence.
He’s not addicted to absinthe
Like some Victorian poet.
He’s insane now and knows it.

But she can calm mind
In the deluge he always finds
When she goes away a while.
First he loses the desire to smile
Then he can’t talk any more.
He forgets what words are for.
He only howls and raves.
He knows nobody can save him.
He has but to swim to shore
From the wreck that is his peace.
It is his only real release.
It’s all that heals his soul.
She has become the goal
His only purpose in the world
Is in the hands of this one girl;
This woman, elevated to deity.
His only true reality.

How can this happen, he cries.
He doesn’t understand the whys
And wherefores that turns love,
Completion and fulfillment
Into horrifying derailment
Of all his hopes and dreams
And fills his heart with screams
Like a little boy on a wrong bus.
And nobody there to discuss things
To help him see what is happening
And why the one thing he cares for
Doesn’t fulfill him anymore
Unless she is here to hold his hand.
He fails completely to understand.

Brent Kincaid
2/13/2015

The next time you're tempted
To judge someone else harshly
See their health and happiness
A more positive route can build
Self esteem and healing and you
Will notice how much better you feel

There are many universal laws
And among them is our free will
Allowing us to make good choices
And wise decisions that help all
Bringing you ideas and clear clarity
To understand the needs of others

Our strength and truthfulness will
Help when feeling victimized and
Will gently guide our spoken words
So we communicate our needs to
Others and loving assertiveness
Becomes much easier for yourself

This is the tapestry of my soul
sewed in  sweat, trials and tears
each stitch a reminder of the vanished past when every episode
stood as a testament of life's most tempestuous years

but  I've resurrected from the ruins
of time and every scene I survey  now with serenity
even in the darkest of night
the brightest of light illuminates from my treasured tapestry.

Poetry is a mirror of our soul but also a window to the outside world---that which is external and tangible--neither is complete without the other
but it's only the inner side of us that understands the deeper meaning of life and all things.  It's strange but true---the intangible is mysterious, profound and has power and resources latent within us--most of which we aren't even aware---until kindled and brought to light by the muse of poetry.  Then a clear light dawns upon us and we begin to see and understand things better.  The 'physical we' is, in my view,  of lesser significance than the 'abstract we' or should I say the 'essential we'?---that which can be seen, handled or articulated is only the periphery of truth and things but not the core--we are larger than what we think  but we don't grasp this as we are lost in the banality and humdrum of daily life--we are walking shadows rather than light and fall short of our real potential. Talking of language and music, Felix Mendelssohn wrote (my paraphrase):
words mean less to me than music and it's music that speaks clearer to me.
        All said, man is a mystery as life is but they intersect--at every point.