I stepped outside
To see the view
The sky still dark
The rain just thru

Then the sun
Burst out its rays
And they shown down
Thru all the haze

So it appeared
As if next door
The arc those blazing
Colours bore

It seemed so close
I could just reach
And with my hand
Those colours breach

And as I stood there
In the light
It was so clear
It was so bright

The air was fresh
So clean and pure
I was amazed
By its allure

My nostrils flared
My senses peaked
The moment seemed
So quite unique

But as I gazed
More clouds appeared
And then my rainbow
Disappeared
BOEMS BY JA 218

When you were a phosphorus angel
     There was almost light,
And your glow became like the Fallen.
        
When you were holding my hand
       Your prints took over
Mine, like a stolen identity...
Willingly.

       And I was,
Because you were my existence
    In the abyss,
And your luminous spirit a breath
      Underwater.

And you were the storm
     That I left the shelter for,
A little grey can go a long way
      In a rain of sorrowing embers.

I was the reconstruction
     Of your project,
Rebuilding is never easy
But you stayed til I was me again.

       Life is big,
But so little in time,
     I am because you were,
I was because you're gone.

She tells me,
"You're very self aware,
You know what, why and how you do things,
Yet you continue to do them."

I explain to her that I never learned how to ask for help
So I only ever knew how to look to myself for the answer
Which has led me to become pretty creative with metaphors
As well as entertaining internal monologues,
Like when I explained to her that my parents look at me
And see a knot of misfortune
Without looking at all the threads that I'm comprised of
Which led them to this conclusion of me.

She asked me if I ever thought of harming other people
To which I noted that I tend to play fruit-ninja
With peoples faces
In my head.
Though I'd never actually do anything,
Just as I'm able to keep a professional demeanor
Giving no hints to
The constant stream of expletives in my head.

She asks me why I don't feel like I have friends,
Which leads me to disclose
That I can't tell if I work too much
To spend time with friends
Or if I do it to distract from the lack of.

I laugh when I regale her
With how I recently bought a yoyo
Because it is relaxing
And makes me feel like a cool kid
That would be part of the gang in Hey Arnold,
Stating that it's been helping me with my panic attacks
By focusing on making my yoyo
Go around the world,
Pretending it was me,
Circumventing my lack of coping mechanisms.

Iliana looks at me, with her mouth slightly turned down
Attempting to keep a straight face
Though her brows still knit together in slight confusion
As she asks me how I'm able to say all of this with a smile on my face,
"Well," I state, "I don't have time to be depressed."

noise is a good deal on my mind
today.
I don't mean the sounds
that people make.
Just that rumbling, growling
scream
that comes up from the middle
of me.
I got so I didn't notice it
until it is a little absent.
This morning I found three slow
gray snails on a bush on the woods-trail.
And while I was weeding the mint
the wind started blowing
dandelion seeds toward me
and they grew wings and flew away.
Turns out they were termites.
Ordinary miracles-
until you figure in the absence of noise.

it started out innocently enough
herb gardens
and vegetable gardens
interspersed throughout the fort
in various stages of disarray

I started putting them into shape
one by one
pull a few weeds
put the toothache back
pull a few more
plant some feverfew
catmint and chamomile
and several other herbs later

and I find myself
compelled to pull weeds
wherever I am

maybe I need a multi-step program

co-worker started to holler across the way
about my **** addiction,
but heard it in her head
before it came out loud

but I really do think
I need help

your absence is
like the aftermath
of the storm

i'm left to wonder
whether i prefer
the desperate
insanity you blew
into my life

or the deadly
silence.

i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****,
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.

You all bring , Great Joy to me your encouraging words.
For your words are beautiful, but your friendship is Great.
I have been so blessed, but getting to know each of you.
You each have truly blessed me as well as inspired me too.
You are all very amazing people, I want to thank you all.
For you all are very special to Christ and to me, friends.
I just do not want any of you to forget the most important thing.
That each of you , are truly gifted as well as being amazing people.

As I rise, cumuli are my clouds
Purple rippling through hot pinks and gray
Waving to me in tattered shrouds
Above horizon of shadowed trees, come day
Commit to memory ether and solar play

For never could a photograph
Or great master’s paintings depict or imply
Phenomena of heaven’s autograph
Inferiority, obscurity shadowed in my sky
What wondering adrift, now present to eyes

Sensational this morning’s vividness
Ballyhoo applauds first light of dawning
Awestruck I am within this immanence
Call forth  flash of conception spawning
Clearest notion of  earthbound belonging