oh
wondrous
you

among
the
wreckage

came
from
nowhere

to
my
eve­rywhere

Woke up just after sunrise,
my partner already risen for work,
when, to my surprise,
the door flew open
and in she strode, flowers in hand,
followed by:
chocolate chip waffles, oranges,
strawberries, raspberries, blueberries,
bananas, bacon, eggs, toast,
mimosas!
She lit the room, set all down before me,
then joined me for the feast
while my heart beat,
and beat,
and beat!

The song of the Nor'easter captivates this southern boy , quite happy among 'the snowflakes'
Chipping reminders on a frozen -
catfish pond
Just like love , here then gone ....

There are days when this depression is a
Whisper
A ghost hiding in the corner
That feeling that you just can’t shake but never
See
That buzz in the back of your
Skull a bee’s nest
There are days when I say I’m okay and I
Mean it
And there are days the covers are lined with lead
I’ve never been a weightlifter but I know the
Feeling of crushed lungs
This bed is an ocean and I am out to sea
With no anchor
Rough water
Tossed overboard
There are days when this depression is standing
On the shore, yelling
“You should have learned to swim”

But thank the
Universe
For handing you a life jacket and a map to me.

-Alyssa Faye Heckart

A friend advised
that I find inspiration
in other creations,
to not let an example of pristine craft
dissolve the lashing of my raft,
and plunge me into the freezing waters.

This morning I woke on the banks,
felt yellow under my face,
behind my eyes.
I took the chance, the fleeting chance,
before it faded
and created
this.

Sometimes I retreat,
my feet strapped down,
my knees meet concrete.

I don't know what I speak.
Mumble, repeat, mumble.
A spelling stumble reminds me
to remain humble in a jumbled time.
Boxed up baubles, cobble together a bookcase.
Sort through, dispose, re-use,
erase distasteful fables, revised babbles,
scrap it all.

******* not meant to publish,
whisk it away with a quick wrist flick,
squeeze it out like a zit,
gargle and spit.

I'm pulling myself from the cracks
of this apartment.
Scraps of memories,
tell-tale signs of my life.
It's not a harsh break up,
just a "it's-a-long-time-coming"
kind of thing.

I found a new space,
ready to be filled with loving,
songs, art,
a place to share,
to unfold,
to start.

Jake sits on the rocks,
perched above the watering hole,
silently observing Dad and I
hopping from stone to stone.

He doesn't want to get wet,
doesn't mind being alone,
I'm unconcerned, aware
of Jake's distaste for unnecessary dampness,
though Dad complains
that Jake never joins in the fun,
wanting close proximity to his son.