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 Jan 2016 b for short
Rj
Unity
 Jan 2016 b for short
Rj
Wrap your arms around each other
And sing, *even when you don't know the words
A beautiful experience today
 Jan 2016 b for short
M
""
 Jan 2016 b for short
M
""
the bravery that lets the giggles fade away and
our hearts come nervously and timidly out of their shells
is the same bravery that lets us spark our small fires,
stand up for our brothers, and turn away from hell.
Let me breathe
While my trills are firm
Let me sail
This ocean is seldom calm
Let me travel
Whilst there's mystery to unravel
Let me smile
I won't have these teeth forever
Let me chew cartilage
Toothless they'll be a sacrilege
Let me Love
someday my soul a heart won't have
Let me walk these miles
this strength can't endure till the end
To forever never say never
Let me trust
Whilst I have a friend
Let me flow with the stream
While I still can venture
Let me dream
Youth is a debencher
Let me speak
while the world trusts my tongue
Let me write
This talent is only while I do and young
Let me rhyme
while I have the time
Let me fall
While I still can get up
Let Morpheus call
while I still can wake up

**Let me dance
And shake what'll be but carrion and bones
Let me sing
While I still enjoy these songs
Let me fly
While my hopes still touch the sky
Let me laugh
I know Life can be tough
Let me shout
In the rains, preceding drought
Let me touch
While I still can feel
Live the moments
To make memories none will steal
But mostly let me give glory
For God never tires of writing my story
For and inspired by my Sister and Ryan... her new born baby...my nephew.
nearly



"with close kinship, interest, or connection; intimately"


~~~

it's n-early for natty,
dressed for gym penance in his
dress blue
sweats

but instead of working out,

he's working out
a gymnastic, mental, laboring problem,
that the muse mistress musters him out
to out,
and to attend to
the birthing of t-his
composition

a re-erupting volcano that
has gone and got him good,
now he's a man intimately
possessed,
with completing, recording,
an unabbreviated log of
oh so long ago's,
a list of the
oh so many

nearly

line items in his
life's lineage

nearly

went a whole life lessened by being
love less,
which always calculates as
a life lived
forever insufficient

nearly

was intimate
only
with tears self-shed,
on a single pillowcase in
a double bed,
that was unfulfilled,
no intersecting
humanity

nearly

permanentized
kin
ship
as a
dictionary definition official
for a
sunken vessel,
a drowning one man scull,
racing toward a finish line
that had no visible
finish

nearly

lost both sons, lost years, lost friends
lazy living in the slow, low heat
of a burning hell
of zero connections,
thinking the proper cost/benefit solution
was always,
never to be
greater than,
always
less than one

nearly

packed it in,
while overlooking a temptress river,
calling me out swiftly from the
slow lane of loneliness,
offering a

nearly

certain final outlet sale,
a mark-down event,
for clearing the heavy, overladen shelf
of over-weighty
al-one-ness,
a sale of singular single
cell marks upon human flesh

nearly

died a miserable man,
and still may,
from who knows what
pestilence consumption

but

never

from never knowing,
for the lacking of,
the unadulterated love
of a good woman
*

and that is
more than,
greater than,
>
all the unknowable
nearlys

and more
than any other
nearly,*
life may yet
deny me,
or
curse me by


~~~
6:45am
Jan. 18, 2016
NYC
for Steve (Sjr1000) whose nearly always,
inspired comments
reminded me that
nearly
too,
can be
flawless,
in its own right
Be real about hallways
Lined with windows, or mirrors.
Be real about dreams in stanza form,
Which aren't real - stanzas I mean.
Write about flowers and rain,
If you must, throw in some stars;
Moons always read well,
Or seaside waves lapping.
Call it a poem,
A free verse or well-crafted couplet,
Matters not, unless it comes from the heart,
Whole or broken; wise or foolish.
Temper it with lovers, friends and family,
Bake it in the soul,
Then release.
Dump your lover,
Start another.
Do you know this girl? I wonder if you do.
I know her now, but not as this mysterious, silent, sad figure.
What is she looking for? Did she find it? The girl in the photo.
Because she will grow into something harder and better;
Vibrant, mischievous, powerful, and ever smirking
in life. But the smile she wears now is brittle;
it glitters, but does not glow. The girl in the photo,
has a star in her eyes, and
Glows, softly, like candlelight. There is no smile, not yet,
but it shines in the eyes, and tugs the corners of her lips.
Maybe the star was her undoing.
Did she stray too close to that star, I wonder?
Perhaps she learned as Icarus did,
to trade her *****, burned wings for armor and barbed wire.
The girl I know today, her hair tips dipped in gold,
now wears a crown, unseen. She strides,
as if nothing can hurt her.
Not words, not feelings; for the beating of her heart
sounds the drums of war.
Maybe she is better now, than she ever was. A soon to be Queen.
Perhaps that star in her eyes was always burning on the inside,
forging steel out of the softness. Maybe the girl I know today was always growing,
Growing,
in the shadow of the one in the photo.
She is sharpness and all edges now. Ready to cut,
anything, anyone
that blemishes her path.
But, I will always wonder about the girl in the photo.
I will always want to ask the questions,
“Do you know this girl?”
and
“Where did she go?”
And I am scared.
Scared, that the answer will be this:
“She never left.”
For my friend, Alyssia LaBelle.
 Jan 2016 b for short
prompty
I left home to search for an endless road
and I will go wherever it may take me.

Through visible and invisible,
I'll rain new rivers out of many seas,
and sleep deep dreams under the willow trees.

Through sunless mornings and many nightfalls,
I'll wander true places that host lair to thousands of tales,
and all this I'll do while erasing my trail.

Because once I take these many roads of life,
I can't come back home
to be the same that I was when I left.
 Jan 2016 b for short
cwhite
There is no future, nor a present.
There's only a past,which we, relive again and again
history doesn't repeat its self. People repeat history.
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