perhaps it is less than great,
maybe a poor mediocre,
but such as it is, is mine,
unique, and it gifts me
easy expression of my
experience, conveying
my excitations, aliving,
freely divining what’s
within and without,
and to exhale said
thoughts and
observations

si so

we can be apart and together,
touch without touching, e v e n
love each other with our e v e r
meeting and that miracle presents
and is a present, this presentation
of my cells impressed upon yours,
thus fashioning newly creative
combinations…

this is what I am thinking,
this is what I am divining,
this is what my reasoning,
permits, encourages, creates
and with your reading this,
cements us in ways unseen
all the b u t s…and hesitation
marks that disconnect us,
are sundered and we are
a forever till reason no longer
matters, or our cells can no
longer divide and recombine
and reproduce our memories,
which are our connective tissues…

nml
3:39am
10-20-24

thus concludes a text
from a dear friend whom
I have never met, but this a,
concluding statement is
both convulsing and
uncontained

autumn is a her, a self-selected
gender unique, that picks its
own pronouns, pronunciations,
for women greet us with
warmth+chill skill
combinatory, to
make ordinary
our daily green
reform into
a multi~variable aristocracy of colors,
a forest of expressions,
each a statement leaf,
stating look at me,
I’m transformed, resurrected, disguised,
though essence unchanged, for
I am the possibles of ad
infinitum and I am:
not-nearly as potent
as the sparks of god
within a human being

3:58am
10-20-24

Some poems never end,
Nor were meant too.
Alliterative phrases, invitations,
Add a verse, a word, even a sound,
An exclamation of delight,
A stanza in its own right.

Unfinished work, forever additive, collaborative.
Modify mine, pass it on,
Free to steal it,
For ownership passes to you,
with your first reading,
And lost when you close it,
Stamp it and release it into the atmosphere.

But some poems do. End.
Unique and distinct,
Pockmarked-faced at birth.
Owned by my initials,
Never to see the shelves of a
Lending Library.

Like this one:

Cannot remember a single day
When suicidal thoughts
Were not heard clearly above the fray
Of jingle-jangled, responsibilities
Demanding my immediate attention.

The end.


NML

I never knew about
The inert filler that
Improves the qualities
Of the concrete anchor

I hardly thought about
The thick filaments that
Increase the tensile strength
Of the synthetic rope

I didn’t care about
The galvanising that
Protects the mild steel
Of the Eye Bolt Head

   Fabricated weighted-strong,
   For time of tribulation
   Steady, ready, learning-long
   For heavy education

   Vital use in stormy flash
   For fear of wave-washed going
   Murky lessons foamy crash
   Tough-moored for gale-smash knowing
  
   Solid, loaded, hefty force
   Surge-squall saviour, tempest keep
   Any storm will blow its course
   Even so, still draws us deep

   In calmer times the sinker line
   Anchor-bound and concrete-lagged
   Will tether us in place and time
   Hinder-hitched and progress-dragged

I no longer need it
My concrete anchor that
Saved the young child
Who weathered the storm

write of romantic love between
humans ~
my forte,
my essential oils,
write these words
from fingertips upon
a dropped ph-one-
two-too-many-times,
cell cracked phone

and the thought
thoroughs thru
me
coursing in my venous,
a long distance runner
who never looks back

there can be no haters here,
where all who love poetry
gather in a communal
service, a communion of
communication

it just cannot be:
that those who inhale
these millions many
words, and expel
the oxygen of trillions,
can offer up hate

it just cannot be
conceived

oh for sure
sorrow has an endless
litany, more names than
god,
pain, even its residual cousin
anger
I accept if it
the sum, summary,
the summation
of heartbreak and pain,

letting go, expelling here
is ok,
here, that too

but
it is not reconcilable
simply inconceivable
that we who put words
forthcoming forthright
to share, can sustain the,
that stuff that festers
biologically
into hatred of others

you know me,
heartbreak my
middle name,
oh yeah, raged
against the gods unfair,
or my loudly losing luck,
yet net, all passes when
words, heh heh, love poems
awaken me daily with a
“let’s go, we have work to
do”

nope no haters insight inside,
in this site
against the laws of physics which
can bend but never bebroken

I walked the woods today,
strolled under the quite shade of
towering old growth evergreens,
their scent upon me conveyed
simple peaceful solitude, there were
birds and squirrels unconcerned
with me, busy with their own pursuits.
A young Deer browsing raised his
antlered head for a quick peek, then went
right back to eating. For a moment I felt as
if I was the only human in the world and
that thought did not disturb me in the least.