What can I say? Another one dead and gone away.
Lost to ignorance, or
Possibly blind to addictions hooked grip.
One day your dangling a toe
Just over the edge. The next,
Your staring up wondering
How you lost your footing. I could say he’s a ******, but
Lord knows the elixirs I have invented
To dispel the dark heart of my depression.

Though I stand stoic, life has taught me
To never shame a smile. The sun rises for the living, and
Dead men fall short of tomorrow.
The amorphous soul slips through the seams
Of hands grasping to hold. So, when death discards its cloak and
Swirls its specters all around me
I’ll raise up life like a guiding lantern
And
Step through existence with my convictions.

I continue on
Through the mire of life
Wading thru expectations
Having given up strife

Purposely composing
Fundamentals of words
No other distance
When facing the herds

I continue on
With your verse on my tongue
Waiting for stimulations
In a song that’s unsung

I cry
thinking about his smile
why do I sob to a memory once happy?
why did the colors fade grey ?
and the warmth turned blue?
like a painting now turned sketch
why can't I remember what his face looked like
unless I see a photo of him on a wall
why have I forgotten most of his loving words?
how warm his hugs were?
how strong his hands were?
why must my memory fail me
its a fog building up in the distance
which will consume my memory of him
why must I forget
when this is the most important thing to remember?
I wish I lived in a photograph
where smiles stay painted still
where an essence of a memory lives on forever
and not be flawed like in life.
I wish I could have told him that I loved him some more
I wish I could have hugged a little longer
I wish I could trade my life for his
so that I could forget this pain forever.
for my biggest fear in life
is for that fog to settle down
for me to forget my father
and his smile that lit my heart
for my heart fire is slowly dying
dimming without his energy
and its ambers cannot be relit
without his godly spark
so now as years go by
a fire-y corner of my childhood
turns to a cold puddle of tears and dead dreams.

You wanted to know what
makes nibs bleed

You wanted to know what
blotting paper is for

You wanted to know what
makes commas full stops

You wanted to know what
makes ink clot

You wanted to know what
makes poets pulsate

You wanted to know what
makes Judaists predators

You wanted to know what
makes the Islamists prey

You wanted to know what
makes evil live

You wanted to know what?
Palestinians want know why?

on the canvas. I was
wet and dripping like a feral
kitten. My creator didn’t lay me
out in the sun. And so, my colors

run. The red and blues
look purple. The mother’s milk
curdled. Throwing me up as *****. And so,
I left a stain. Beaten by the brush

I lost my sense of touch. Now
I’m oily. I’m a spill in a broken
frame. I hang on the wall as
a flower. None admire me. But I haven’t
nerves to leave.

Yes, it is a new word which
describes a visibile trait in
those who cry wolf and growl.

This has been Israel’s modus
operandi since time & memorial,
The Poor Me’es, but it is over.

The schizophrenia has to stop,
no more tantrums, you were
given your own field to play in.

If your ball comes over the wall
it will be thrown back, no need
to send a battalion to fetch it.

                        O