***** and broken
dreams fall like
slanted rain in
a hurricane.
Mud-faced youth
plummet to the
ground.

Mum..

more than any minor star
YOU were the SUN
around which we all orbited
and when lucky enough
to be touched
by your light and warmth
to be shined upon
no brighter or warmer place
existed in any of our universes.

©J.C

I stood up from my chair in class
With anger and passion and pain in my eyes and my soul waiting to be let out and to be freed
To be seen
And heard
For ideas
For minds to be change
I stood up from my chair in English class
And I spoke from my soul

I said what wasn't fair
That we are so molded by our surroundings
That we should reform so much
That our minds are being filled with unnecessary knowledge and unbearable pain everyday
That we are looked down upon
That we are treated as possessions
But that we alive
All of us

I spoke of the fisher
Who killed the fish
So it would float and follow the stream
And of monsters in our minds that our peers are luring out every day

And the kids laughed
And I think I saw a tear in one eye
But I also heard the sounds of clapping hands from most

And my teacher simply said
"Liana, I can't do much and I know that
Buy I thank you
For trying to change the world"

I smiled

I engraved her name on the picnic table
Then I engraved the stone over her grave
I engraved the memory of her face on my heart
I engraved the words on the walls of  my prayers
Then out of desparation I engraved her memory in poem

I hope to stand,
a few years from now,
where I once stood
frowning,
growing old
and reliable,
able to walk
on my own two feet
without flinching
at the rot of memory.

I hope the wind
still carries a tune
and maybe the smell
Of jasmine,

And somehow,
some way,
I’ll see my reflection
not just in tinted windows,
or puddles that ripple
with passing cars
but in the steady gaze
of someone kind,
quiet,
willing to stay.

Maybe, just maybe,
I’ll be wise enough
to see myself
in the tired eyes
of a stranger,
or the half smile
of someone I used to be.

And I’ll sit beside him
on a park bench
or a broken curb
Or the bridge above
The high way
Glaring at headlights,
and tell him

everything will be okay.
Not perfect.
Not painless.
But okay.

"Love is the worst religion,"
croons the dying television,

with no further explanation;
well, thanks for the news -

I see myself in emptied glass,
a bust carved rude and inchoate,

poet, captain, lost apostle
of the worst religion,

baptized in changeling pools
of day and week, scribbling

my night's peak breath
on the flypapers of insomnia.

Sun over sainted skin,
stars where evening eyes were,

swain's vespers, all of it
splitting like new ripe fruit

in sticky hands of the acolyte,
ardent hands of little silver.

(A repost from 2019)

My favorite aunt is dying.. cancer, quiet and consuming as a flame..

Seven short weeks ago she was easily doing an hour of step aerobics, unaware of this intruder, this murderer within. Now she's lifted from bed like a rag doll.

She is my mom, well, a near twin—only smaller, funnier, serpent sly, more heavenly childish, sapient with sweet attractive grace and modest pride.

I am in total awe of her. We're kindred spirits, two sillies among the dull and endlessly serious.

I feel her, see her, day by day, slipping away like the hastening angel of heaven foretold.

This is too big for me, too awful and too close.

I am struck helpless, nothing moves, I sit, hardly feeling, and watch her sleep. Death's cruel process suddenly made visible.

I silently rage at the loss of it—my loudest vehemence pointed to this ravenous, lurking enemy pursuing her inwardly like a swarm of deadly hornets accidentally composed.

40 and still stunningly beautiful, she lies surrounded by computers, iPads, phones, faxes, intercoms, notepads, friends and care-givers. Her life reduced to escaping pain and making arrangements for her soon to be orphaned children 4 and 6.

Fentanyl and other pain blockers are her nourishment and seem to work better in the daylight as lawyers garner powers of attorney, bankers conjure trusts and estate planners build foundations to protect small children from a mothers loss.

As if they could replace a single hug
.
.
Songs for this (Gospel music):
Order My Steps by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
Jesus Loves Me by Whitney Houston

corporation against company,
train rider against commuter,
the animal's instinct is to destroy
and somewhere between a beer and 2 hotdogs,
cigar smoke and chatter,
joe got hit,
his legs bent,
and his *** hit the canvas.

...and somehow through the roar of a 1000 voices
I can see and hear
the ref
counting
chanting into joe's wondrous brown eyes
"1,2,3...

"oh ****," joe laughs a bit bemused
perched on top his vertebrae of stairs,
"oh ****,"

and he climbs back down those bones
into the quiet night...
there is distance were a building once stood
and the field that was the farm
that made way for a factory
is a field again
where no wheat will grow.

I kick the ground trying to unearth
the ashes of joe's fire
but the angry earth just bleeds dust...

...and down at Marty's grill
the shadows lean forward
and with one quick stare
drink up the dreamer and his dream...

when I leave Marty's Bar
there's a boy beating a dog
with a baseball bat.
the yelping, howling dog
and another swing of the bat,
a home run.