It's all too much.

I don't know how to say it better
than saying it like that, because -

How do I wrap all the ends
of the universe
into a napkin
and pass it over to you
without spilling something?

How do I scoop the depths
of humanity's depravity
into an ice-cream
that won't melt
down the sides
or crack from the pressure?

How do I tell you
how terribly awful
it must be
to have to argue
with people
about whether
mutilating the genitals
of 5-8 year old children
is right or wrong?

How do I tell you
about the terror that seizes you
when you talk to someone you love
who honestly believes
that pigmentation,
geographical location,
religious affiliation,
****** orientation,
are reasons
to be killed,
beaten,
detained,
condemned?

How do I describe that
sickening feeling
that I feel
when I'm going about
my coffee-cup flavored,
pill-prescribed diet,
acting like the day is normal,
when I know:
people are being bombed,
sleeping on the streets,
set on fire,
beheaded,
******,
dying,
for doing
or being
the same things
I am going to do and be today
right after I finish my latte?

How do I live with that
knowledge
that girls are kidnapped
for going to school;
that four-year-olds
are holding assault rifles
when they should be
holding dolls;
that five-year-olds
are being trained as soldiers
when they should be
playing with toy soldiers;
that children
are giving birth to children;
that every 9 seconds
in the United States,
a woman is beaten
or *****;
that I have an iPhone
that can do a billion things
and there are
food riots in India,
that -

That I could keep writing
until my fingers were whittled
down to bone
and I wouldn't finish
that list?

How do I describe that,
all of that,
except by saying,

it's all too much?

Love is a fire,
finally caught,
an like a kite taking wind,
it's not something that's bought,

It's that most breathless feeling,
the kind that is sought,

An from the heart of the poet
that love
freely taught.

Ma Cherie © 2017

I have so many musings
my hands they are complaining,
cuz I can't get them all right,
an so quickly jot them down,

An I feel that I'm connected,
to all my friends and my dear neighbors
an all that I can hear is just is that sound!

Of sweet snowflakes as they're falling,
in the silence sweet n pure,
an so softly as I hear them,
touch the ground,

An soon I'll imagine,
oh a winter wonderland,
in a covering in all you see around,

Those lovely floating wisps,
are so intricate-amazing
those parachuting sprites,
here they abound!

If you ever catch one close up,
well you really really oughta,
cuz the labyrinthine in sight
it will astound!

They are happy little ships afloat,
with an octagonal shape,
landing on all  life,
once sorely browned,

Every child and adult,
is now looking up in awe,
as there smiles turning up ,
instead of frowned!

I thought that I was lost,
an I'd never get to see,

but in poetry it seems-
that  I am found!

Ma Cherie © 2017

His morning sun just cracks awake,
up an at 'em she crows happily,
looking down on him gawking,
so cozy in that lazy plush bed,
while soft yellow lush sunshine,
says "wake up you sleepyhead"
as she rests easy on his shoulder,
as it blazes through,
and her fury getting bolder
burning holes in his tired brain,
and yeah it does make him happy,
sometimes regardless,

Of where and when,
all things same or not,
save for presently,
this sunshine is burning hot,
where he sits pensive,
in this melancholy morn,
as that sunshine is trying,
her heart it must be torn,
and in her torrid,
and dear desperation,
in a friendzy guy kinda way,
acting crazy just to stick around,
just a chance to have him,
take a grasp the bright,

And shiny illusion she's trying,
to force on him -
molesting his memories,
caressing with spindled refractions,
offerings of her warmth to shade,
truth slipping through,
the complex damage,
created rifts maze his mind puzzled,

Faulty places they say,
probably weakly built with no real,
chance of a brighter day,
no access to better materials,
some doubt his sincerity,
maybe it's just his way,
flawed in creation possibly,
fractured by grievous trauma,
definitely he's affected though,
by the endless seaming drama

What could it be this haunting,
an unbearable long buried truth,
to uncover it to daunting,
or perhaps a recently breached,
mausoleum of memories,
was looted in hate forming,

That creature lurks behind corners,
sneaks up to scare even the bejesus,
tapping him on his shoulder,
softly darting away and back,
eyes BULGE like he's looking at money,
or high on his other white lady,

Light now curving,
becoming more seductive as the day pains,
in the tempting sun's light,
remaining and creating,
a silky dark silhouette,
moving in a lovely shape,
in a shape shifting pirouette,

Beautiful dark ebony woman,
shadows form enchantresses,
sirens in traces of old wolf,
grey skies drift in the air,
of smoking cigarettes and ****,
an he's high flying too on these,
as nicotine-stained tongues burn,
wishing for the night,
his heart will always yearn,

Before he's feasting heavy,
being a glutton for punishment,
savoring thoughts on what never was,
as his alter ego now dances,
seductively for her daylight,

In an iota of darkness expanding,
blots and traces of ink stained,
hearts with crackling finish,
pigments revolving and rotating,
a ghostly apparition appears,
diluting the light forever,
and alleviating any fears,

Terrified though he is so still,
it looked so nice outside,
and now it seems she's broken,
down his only needed will,
who could have known this,
everyone is about their day,
he's so haunted and alone,
an that shiny lady has gone away,
as this heavenly highwayman,
has come to find a home,
a real menacing spector of yesterday,
just takes completely over,

He realizes and submits,
to the possession of his body,
forever becoming his shadow,
to wear it well that's too gaudy,
better to be who you were -once,
than nothing at all,
he figures looking into the mirror,
at his new "normal"
and gratefully bowing down,
to the cold truth of his life.

Ma Cherie  © 2017

I crawl into worlds of words
to escape the one world to which I'm bound,
burrowing deep inside pages
that carry me away from this cursed ground.
I'm sorry, darling, truly,
that I still run away into these places unknown,
and that I leave you, here,
to face the flames of this burning house alone.

I know that we both thought
our love would give me reason enough to stay,
but my god, I've never learned
to rely on only my spine for support each day.
Forgive me, love, I do not mean
to retreat into the forest growing in the library from you,
but without these daydreams, these
intricate mansions of imagination, I don't know what I'd do.

You can always come with me,
or you can find a heart that does not roam
to the fields beyond reality -
one not used to calling inked castles their home.
Know that when I'm absent, I am
peacefully swimming with the papyrus' tides,
or building a fire of hardback covers -
but I will always return when you call me to your side.

The old songs don’t feel right
wrong key, out of tune
somebody wake Sinatra
reclaim these wayward melodies
My Way, New York
New York
seat of the Queen
a gilded new King
everything he touches
Gold

money equals tower
Freudian crystal skyscrapers
the fitting measure
of a brittle man
who has not strength
to speak the truth
recites instead from
a book of fables
the moral to every one
those in glass houses
shouldn’t throw stones

the town crier proclaims
the truth does not matter
no one cares

hold tight that red hat
lest it be snatched
by a rebellious wind
see it now, a symbol
framed in white and blue
rising above the crowd
boots on the ground speak
shiny brass buttons
on a pert military coat
don’t a revolutionary make

the peddler of lies is just
a liar once-removed
“alternative facts”
brash fabrications
with a fancy semantic bow
such a pretty package
such a pretty family
the biggest crowd
in all of history
let the whole world

Witness

this most
perfect union

I look inside my skeleton
Love-hate bulging
eyes out of my face
Two warts of ambivalence

I want to hug my skeleton
Heart twitching in a rib-cage
Admire the asymmetry
of every piece broken

Dear beautiful skeleton
In veins runs the river
In a stream of excitement
I flood in disappointment

I talk to my skeleton
I tell it that I love it
Rub my head against it
Lungs violently sighing

I believe in you, skeleton
in the blood of your tongue
A kick in the stomach
Everything is working