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  Nov 2018 Christine Ueri
Edmund black
I know a man
who wakes up
every morning, goes out of
his way to preach love to others
and at the end of the night , he has
no one to hold , no one to love him

I know a man
Who goes out of his way
to preach peace to every child
in the neighborhood and at
the end of the night , he Cannot
find peace within himself
He lives in darkness

I know a man
who goes out of his way
to feed the beautiful birds
at his favorite park, and at the end
of the night he has nothing to eat
he goes to bed hungry

I know a man
who goes out of his way
to give his all to everyone
and at the end of the night
all he owns is the clothes
on his back

I know a man
Who served his country
Fought for freedom
For civil rights
So all of us can sleep well
At night , and at
the end of night
He has no home to go to
He sleeps on a bench
at his favorite park

I know a man
who goes out his way
to do everything right
even when nothing is
going right in his own life

I know that  man
and I can only pray
that one day I can be
half of the man that he is


saves the savers ?
gives the givers ?
heals the healers ?
loves the Lover’s ?
do you put your hurts
when your hands are full ?

Allen this one is for you my friend. And brothers and sisters let us please remember what Thanksgiving is truly about... it’s about love , it’s about sharing, it’s about giving a helping hand to the less fortunates , it’s about recognizing the richest blessings , the beauty around us, and water each other. As the temperatures dropping if you cannot provide someone with shelter maybe there’s an extra old comforter somewhere deep in the closet someone like Allen can put to good use. Thank you for reading and may God bless you all and your family doing the holiday seasons and always!

  Nov 2018 Christine Ueri
I was her boredom
As the monster cut up the city

We ordered food. and sat to wait out our imminent destruction

Disassembling  art installations that had grown out of my hair

Going to and from.

There will be no Magical  girl transformation sequence .
There will be no battle. And triumph

I was the summer.
Burning other people. while we stayed inside
For most of it
  Nov 2017 Christine Ueri
mike dm
and she spoke,
and her lips were myth;
her tongue, song:

forehead scar shone
lodes of rune
re-membered ember
of yesteraeon soot cooked
sitting fire in ashen ire re-sired

without him

her self
felt, *******
clod alive

tooth of skull
culled forth
bone spoken
tomes uttered

and i felt her light enter
this dilating space
of ebb and ruin and alone

stile of mine
thresheld, again
footfall of wynd,
blown open
into dope field sprung swim
  Sep 2017 Christine Ueri
Akira Chinen
He carved her bones out of the soft spots of time
and the fires of eternity
and cooled and smoothed them in the rivers
that ran down from the mountains
where the old gods were rumored
to have gone mad and fallen asleep
beyond the knowledge and prayers
of all things that breathed and lived
and loved and hoped

He started with the caves that would form the pools
in which her eyes would sleep
and dream and wonder
and then shaped her skull around them
leaving out no detail or necessity
making each curve and line as important as the last

With her head complete he moved to each bone
that would be her spine with the same delicate care for perfection
and from her spine he then formed her ribs
making sure to reinforce each one
yet leave them flexible as it would be their function
to protect her heart and give it room to bloom and grow

He formed a bone of intricate nature
in the center and front of her
for the ribs to attach themselves to
and placed two bones along her collar
and blades on the left and right of her back
from which her arms would sway and swing
and hold things close

and then moved down and began
to chisel out the hills and arcs of her hips
where her legs would hang and twirl and spin
and then chipped away at time and eternity
to fashion every tiny bone of her feet
on which she would walk and run
and leap and dance upon

With the rest of her bones complete
he began to tenderly shape
and cut and sculpt each bone in her hand
making sure they would be pliable and limber
with a touch of delicacy and strength
for with her hands she would weave
dreams and life and love

With the last of her fingertips carved
and cooled and smoothed
and pulled from the river
he laid her bones out carefully one by one
on a blanket that he had stolen
from the robes of death
from the time before gods and men
and stars and trees and language
the time that only spirits and animals
moved through the velvet indigo
of the night sky
and prowled the cosmos alone
to their own songs and laws

He pulled thread from light not yet born
and the black from shadows yet to be cast
and twisted them together
and slowly began to pull her bones into place
and braid and twine her flesh and skin
and hair and eyes
and as her body and shape were completed
he started to weave and sculpt
and form her heart
with the most urgent of care
and within he hid the secrets
of colors to be unseen
and an endless spool of fire
and silk and blood
and the importance of kindness
and compassion

With the last stitch pulled through
and tied and knotted and cut
he had worked himself down
to nothing more than a grain of sand
and dust and wind and he smiled
a tired and worn and complete smile

She was the envy and birth of beauty
and the jealousy and creation of desire
and the first of all dreams and things to come

With her flesh and her limbs and body
and heart complete and whole
and his worn out to near nothing
they made love without their lips touching
or kissing or sighing or moaning
or making any noise at all
and without their hands sliding
or gliding or holding
or their limbs twisting or tangling
or bending or contorting
they plunged through love
and fell into the river
and walked over the mountains
and tip toed past the sleeping gods
of old and forgotten lore
and danced and slept
in the fires of eternity
until she had dreamt of making him
and he had forgotten of making her
and both stories were true
and both only a dream
and some where in the distance of the past
where the time before once lived
and death and dream and love
once fought and lost and won
the wars and battles of long ago
something smiled and then vanished
  Apr 2017 Christine Ueri
And the emptiness now
lets the memory howl
and bang its head
off the sheer walls of never—

Engulfed in consequence as it rolls in
fog or smoke?
In any case—


looks like this--
numb and cool and slow-moving
grayish-white fingers
reaching for molecules of air
while the reign of suffering comes like fine drizzle
springtime over....

Desire perishing in a crisis of will
In the thickets of panic—
bronchial spasms expand seconds
at an open window
Choking, congestive, failure of heart!
in the face of what it means to be...
not being I came into this world
breach and not breathing
to my mother’s horror!
Scrapping, gasping, grappling for breath

I love life
I LOVE--   life!

inexpressible, inessential fool of a child

Love ripped apart at the v
old one
anaphylaxis-- to an antibiotic
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