I lie alone in these sheets
While you're roaming the streets, for you
No I will not lower my voice
It's my life my choice, not you
Society stares with judgmental glares
As I walk out the door and away, from you
I do not recall at what moment I began to fall
From a walk to a crawl, for you
Panic stricken as these chains thicken
But noting will hold me, not even you
I see victory within my reach
No I won't listen to others preach on behalf, of you
There will be no apologies in a whispered voice
For making my choice for me, not you
You took away the best part of me
Replacing her with a cardboard copy, of you
I am not clay I cannot be molded in a way
That suits only the needs, of you

what days are these
when we sit to ponder
lifes big and small mysteries
with tea brewing
in the ***
and biscuits crumbling
in our hands

we sit and watch
the colour leach
from trees
and grass wither
underfoot

we gather
old clothes and blankets
to give to those
whose houses
are sky and ground
whose airconditioning
is frost and wind

we dread the winter's
count and the summers
harvest of those elderly
left frozen and unfound

some lose just little bits
who needs fingers and toes
some lose more and more again
we puase to remind ourselves
a life is a life no matter the choice
of the living....there is a purpose
to be found in each soul set upon
the ground

so we gather small comforts
to be bestowed on those
who live harder and meaner than
ourselves  and then sit in front
of roaring fires and suppose
our good deeds become us

yet we have treated but a symptom
of the cancer that is fed by greed
we have tried to answer need
but while we give a pittance
with one hand, the larger
beings of this land,
take with both, leaving
nothing but grist and sand
and lives with little
have a little less

it is hard to live
on crumbs

harder still
when the
big end
of town
is blind
and numb

to those who
are suffering
they do not see
the social buffering
blinkers their sight
and so continues
the cycle

whilst blankets and swags
and soup kitchens  all help
something more is needed
to bring the homeless, home

the leaves are pretty this year

This house
slowly unraveling
peeling off in layers
            like citrus of sectioned
freshness
      squeezed out of bounds
                            my heart
                    all caught up
in rooms, furniture
f l y In g
no longer rooted
by familial gravity
My veins wrapped
in long strands of
              live wires
hugging each item tight
                 as if to unlock
       the memories that
scintillate within
and I
      radiate my  
            feelings of forever
to somehow imprint them
before they
whirl and swirl off
into the universe
Snippets of our lives
in angled slices
of colored mirror
a look
    a smile
       a glint in the eye
children laughing
               a garden surprise
               crazy kitchen singing
                      first solids and a bib
              first little sweet dance
      beatific smile from the crib
the bedroom for cuddles
little bugs wrapped in blankets,
so close and so dear
flanked by both of us,
guardians of light,
keeping out fears
Once, we claimed private time
velvet kisses down
trails of skin
hot lusted shadows
gently sliding within
This is how love corrupts
         how old batteries explode
            burning rust that erupts
                        as I break out
            from the mold
Now your words hit my skin
in bad chemical reaction
knives and arrows of rupture
as my bone marrow
                       gets fractured
Insides are spilling out
guts all over the floor
all this chaos created
as I split
     through
              the door

he moves the pace of the river,
his home a houseboat

he eschews dry land, for that is where
they are all buried:

a wife, his only son, the anonymous victims
of his rifle's rabid rattle

whatever ghostly litany lives in the lapping of waves
against his hull remains mystery to him

on the water he'll stay, drifting downstream
until he reaches the sea

where he hopes he'll have no memory
of hard earth and tormenting souls

I should leave here
but there's a hole needs burying

- a mountain of memories
and a thousand miles of pain -
it still smells like you
even after it rains

At the table by the window
where you used to read -
there's a whiskey bottle
that I'm trying to put away

There - is a hole that needs burying
one of these days.

r ~ 9/1/14

We just met but I enjoyed your company
You were with child and you seemed just a little wild

We spoke only a few times, but I enjoyed those times
You seemed happy and ecstatic; I wonder if it was just automatic

That you wanted to exit never occurred to me, I guess you wanted to be set free
It’s hard to see any light when you’ve made a mistake; you couldn’t wait for daybreak

Was the pain too much to bear, couldn’t you find someone who cared?
Did you suffer in the last moments, did regret this too?

Now you’re gone and your child is too, what if you had it to redo?
Would you return and live the life you were meant to have?

Would our conversations grow old together, would we be strong against the weather?
Would your glowing countenance be true, your precious moments not just a few?

I wonder about the life your child would have had,
Would your child be like you, would she share your world view?

For a memory of the old times, you now live in these rhymes.

Everybody called her
her baby's momma

She could never see so straight
always crooked
winding up in the slammer
apologizing all over the place

She's got a handle on it this time
moved into a clean and sober house
going to those meetings five days a week

But her eyes they burned,
You know
Her eyes they burned

Made a mistake
Went to see her ex old man
Got strung out again on that ******

Thrown out of the house
for nodding out,
coffee cup in hand,
never spilled a drop

She's back out on the street
Looking for the woman's emergency  night shelter
Texting with her daughter
trying to repair their relationship
saying
"It'll be okay this time"
She's got her brand new teeth,
a two day voucher to The Days Inn
It'll be okay.

Always the nut house
if the night gets too cold
At least until the Psychiatrist figures it out
And throws her back out into the night

It's tough being human
You know
You know

Her baby's momma
She's in despair
Looking for help everywhere
Detox filled
Got a ******* for anybody
somebody named Joe
Sometimes that's all she knows

Gather's herself against the cold
Swears that tomorrow
she'll get it together
she promises you

You know

Doing everything except what you're supposed to
Deal with it tomorrow

Everybody called her
Her baby's momma

When she sees you
She's in sorrow.