heavy rain from a darkening sky
and buildings  fall

no one knows what will be left
running down the nowhere
where dreams die
on a metal tray
at the hospital morgue

trouser leg pushed up
the search for black ink
and a child's name
begins

perhaps the arm
the hip

the back?

and the children plead,
lie to me,
tell me,
i won't die,
today

and the silent screams
are left in an eternity of why?

foul and bitter hearts
will prevail
on both sides,
this is the poetry of death

Poets love poetry
but that is as far as it goes
Poems love the attention
Anything else just blows

Poems feed you lines
telling you it's the truth
while lying out of the corners of their mouth
Don't believe ? How uncouth !

Poems fill up books page after page
About their loves , betrayals , pains , and rage
Don't believe them !
Its all been staged !

It's not their masters they despise
That's not the thought going down
It's all in black on that feeling of white

They are always staring back at you without a sound daring you to put them down

Goodnight sweet taste
of yesterday of last night
and three months ago

Your allure lingers on
my fingertips as a dream
upon wake will fade

In memory throughout
the day light wonders
and with that becomes

Like a word one can not
think of when describing
a certain experience

To pass through this
timeline into next year
and be a forgotten name

Which was never known
to begin with so goodnight
and farewell, I say

Thank you for what
it was and now I turn
to something of present

To take my attention
further away and will not
forget about what fits

the sun has that certain haze
as if it were the dead of Summer
and heat radiated through the air

but

this is a tease a reminder of those days
because indeed the air is fresh
and sharp as it should be in Winter

at the seaside a roaring song and dance
those distant waves appear as a range
the ridges of a desert mountain top

and

silhouetted at depths with the vibrance
of sunset hues bringing shade to the wild
while preparing for the cool of night

the reflections are shorter now
and I lose sight of that glowing orb
as far off clouds take shape to dip

then

colors shift to violet, navy and maroon
leaving a bruise to bumps in the night
and dream of an August day by the sea

Did you hear that distant murmur of imagination?

The door is open wide to make all the dreams you can possibly dream, a reality

This mustn’t be of surprise because every time you set your mind on a goal it eventually becomes part of the present

Apply your wildest hopes to the checklist and start moving toward those, you shall find them easier to attain than you once thought

Truly it is all within your grasp and the only barrier is of ruminating upon fear

Let there be no distance between you and your imagination

Allow yourself utter freedom to find joy and create space for making it all happen

Now, right now… please

For through these moments
and all of this time

Was an instance of
releasing the control

Of looking for sincerity
in spontaneity to be real

To seek instead a way
of being that just flows

And in doing so giving
trust to the surroundings

With hands and heart held
open to whatever happens

So that there is no worry
no contemplation, no undoing

Instead what is found is
simply grace and easiness

Then the calm rushed in
so silently yet instantaneously

With sweet dreams of the
sunshine tomorrow brings

You are more than
the fear that holds you back.

You are more than
the sorrow that you carry within.

You are more than
the pain that keeps you away
from yourself.

You are more than
the anger that consumes you.

You are more than
you think you are.

Unsure as to why that is
it unravels itself openly
unreels, uncoils, unfolds
even spills itself further
into this shallow dish
foolishly as always
and impetuous
not careful
or measured
just emptied
out

For the first time in my
life, I saw colors- not like
normal people see colors; my recent woman
sees colors all the time.
This morning, there was
purple splashed all over my room.
Once, in her sleep, she said
the word 'purple.'
I asked her what it meant,
she said, 'Knowledge of the future.'
I know she will try and ***** this
sickness out of me; God Bless her.
What do I know about the future?
I know it looks bleak, and the
doves are crying.