random beauty
calls to my soul
so much so
that I must stop
and ponder
before
recording the whole
maginificent mess
in my musings.
a poetic thesis
in many chapters
on the visual, aural
and emotional impact
of the small mudanities
of a life lived in the mind
and in the reality of multiple roles
the words as an artform to makes
sense of the idiosyncratic intricacies
of the world....according to me...

•<>•
the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages,
scar of pleasure, a forehead Cain mark, scarlet letter of pride,
for this reliving of our stories retelling is the skipped beat
of our connection not born from practical reason,
but from truths we own equally and though reason says
mine, it is not, it is only to be yours when the sharing
resonates resonates resonates resonates resonates
and every molecule, becomes a human tuning fork
in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with
the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit

                                          July 4th, 2017
                                                •<>•

"If you spend enough time reading or writing, you find a voice, but you also find certain tastes. You find certain writers who when they write, it makes your own brain voice like a tuning fork, and you just resonate with them. And when that happens, reading those writers … becomes a source of unbelievable joy. It’s like eating candy for the soul."
And I sometimes have a hard time understanding how people who don’t have that in their lives make it through the day.
David Foster Wallace

smallish birds chatter
scolding the weak winter sun
yet  glad to  see it

little cat sitting
dreaming of a bird breakfast
thwarted by windows

shaft of light, dappled
makes devious, angelic
little cat now sleeps

breakfast now broken
daily rush well underway
no cat naps for me

green frog serenade
love a truly splendid song
if you know the words

quiet night broken
by the triumph of an owl
mouse house in mourning

more  bitter than sweet
the taste of your words lingers
acrid on your tongue
and as your diatribe continues
it becomes acid tearing at my heart

it appears my dear,your interpretation
of my intentions was so very wrong
what I meant is, so... not what you heard
and now you have begun a rampage
based on a reality that is simply absurd

and the sadness in  my soul,
is compounded by the fact,
that we will not be able to rebound
if you don't stop...
and take hold of the rage
that is spewing from you...
step back...fold

walk away from the table,
before you behold
the ice that is running through me,
ice cold I am,  as you review me
not knowing.. my mold is different,
to what you see... me,
I am not for sale I don't take fee's
I speak my mind...and my truth,
if that makes you blind,
or that makes you uncouth...
I am not inclined to back away from your rage...
this..or any other day....
If you can't take what I say, with a heart of love,
then, honey just walk away....
come back when you have thought things through...
take a day take a few...then come back
and create a discourse,
not based of volume,
not fueled by rage,
suppose what I am saying
(inside of the shell)
....hell...
come back
when you can act you age....

the tip of my toe
kisses the edge of the door
causing it to swing closed
displacing the motes of dust
so that they dance with abandon
in the shafts of light
and the smell of old books
rises with them, that smell
that takes me to so many places
and  I smile as  I remember
all the friends I made with
make believe faces.

how they shaped and moulded me
those writers of old, how they made me
curious and bold, taught me to question
what I was told, entertained  me not once
but ten- fold ten, way back when, I was a child
bright but shy, my paper bound friends
gave me a reason why. and sometimes how
to turn the page and find the next chapter

the dust settles and the fragrance diminishes
but the smile remains....remembering the,
then, sitting in the now....watching my friends all
taking their bow....before fading back into
the recesses of my  mind..