~my poet friends and friendly poets~

(written in anger, then sorrow,
tinged with regret, but in the end one
has no choice but to forgive and forget)

<•>

the ghood poet knows no boundaries,
lays down tracks of a New England
pond of nirvana,
or across Siberian froze wastelands,
another
salves the wounds of dying soldiers,
and gives away comfort to the dying
with the freeing oxygen of
comforting words

the world of self,
that thing we know best,
thus encouraged by the textbooks,
well,
to have at it, plays whacamole
with your  owned flirtatious emotions,
none too imperious or low down or
garbage dump *****, that yet
cannot be validated by exploratory
over-the-line words pithy

even the florid, tiresome nickel & dime ing
rhyming scheming crutches,
we so oft employ,
yields up stuff that ain’t half bad,
periodically,
though, the blunt of words well crafted
needs
no such delimiting amusing playthings
or imprisoning
I-am-amoebic-pen-tata-meter

take you inspiration from here and there,
the proverbial deep dark of the mind’s recessed corridors of
corrupted consciousness,
or, the
contrail whiffs of the steaming steaming of the contradictions of a
newborn first day’s contrast of-
the wet dew on toes cooling,
while the simultaneous sun warms all
the cheeks,
heats the blood with
a thanks-god-I’m-alive
overwhelmingly overall tickling,

or
not.

write with the tools you have, but keep
them well sharpened, with
insight and revelation,
exploring the rain’s windowed
navigable rivulets,
the musical tempos
of waves and their multi-mystical variations,
and the readers will come like
pilgrims to your  holy land,
wearied and yet so delightedly hopeful,
with tingling contrasting dictions,
to capture and release,
by shattering any
stale notions of adulation
will bring your
audience of holy voyagers and voyeurs
to imbibe so deeply your creativity for the quenching, and the
amen gasp escaping tween
their lips is just a simple holy,
gentling thank you

discard the bad words as ornery and
distracting, veiled in pomposity and
highfaluting, self-saluting, arrogance of
those deeming themselves critical thinkers,
who thrive in the low mud flats of
self-pretension and the reassurance
of a mirror’s reassurance

write straight from the heart,
fill our eyes with the
complexity of the simple
and
grant us the write to share,
in your humanity

craft the work
and
the work
will repay
so stealthily
by secretly
crafting you




                                   nml

If you are married
Or in love
Valentine’s Day
Comes from Cupid
Angel’s up above

Deliveries to work are gifts
Of candy and flowers
Evening plan a romantic
Candlelight dinner for hours
Followed by
Hugs and endless kisses
Many sweet untold wishes

However if you are
Alone or single,
This day is an empty heart
That sadly tingles

One by one coworkers
Received their deliveries
Their glances of pity
Only added to my misery

Their words of sympathy
Only deep into my pain
Hoping the day would end
Before I go insane

Now
Hurtful memories of
Old versus New
Dinner for one
Instead of two

There was a time when
I too receive my deliveries
Before the days of
Now and my misery

My gallant man,
love of my life
Did not come home.
I spent Valentine’s Day
Staring out the window alone
Waiting by the phone.

I cried myself to sleep
I thought life
Could not be more bleak
For a young newly wed wife.

He came home
After a night at the bar
He had bought Flowers
But left them in the car

The next day
When I awoke,
Not a word between us,
We spoke

He had retrieved the
Flowers from the car
placed them in a vase.
You should’ve seen
The look on my face.

A dozen
Once beautiful
long stemmed roses
Had wilted
Like our love
Empty and jilted

I silently took
A pair of scissors
From the drawer
by the bed

Cutting the roses
one by one
At the base
Of the bulb head

My husband
Said nothing,
Only
Shook his head

He
Closed his eyes
To the
Shame blame
Game

I set the
Scissors down
Without
Placing blame

I made it clear
I never want roses
On valentine’s Day  
We never spoke of it.
What was the point
Anyway

Valentine’s Day
Is a memory
Rubbed in my face,
Bittersweet sadness
Takes love’s place

Today 2025
42 Valentine ‘s Days
We whether together

We have learned to let
Our hurt go
Only then
Can we trust and grow

Our love
Carried us through
All the turbulence
If you only knew

A relationship
Takes it’s toll
Staying together
Instead of letting go

People ask,
what is your secret
for staying together?

Forgiveness patience
And unconditional love
Are gracious gifts
From God
In Heaven above

Every Day is
Valentine’s Day





Inspired songs
1970-1989
These are love songs from my life
There were too many others to list.
These will suffice.

1)she believes in me Kenny Rogers
2) always and forever Kenny Rogers
3) through the years Kenny Roger
4) in our old age, Kenny Rogers


Footnote
The first draft of this poem was written in 1987. It was our second year married. I rewritten this poem in several different versions and formats tweaking it along the way still never finding it right but each time getting a little closer to perfect perfection.

i'm so tired
of hurting people

i'm so tired
of hurting myself

i'm so tired
of my own thoughts

i'm so tired
of myself

i'm so tired
of others

i'm so tired
of missing someone who doesn't think about me

i'm so tired
of my family

i'm so tired
of school

i'm so tired
of winter

i'm so tired
of sitting in my room

i'm so tired
of having no energy

i'm so tired
of being alone

i'm so tired
of eating

i'm so tired
of looking at myself

i'm so tired
of my body

i'm so tired
of taking care of myself

i'm so tired
of waiting for a sign

i'm so tired
of living