You’re casket lies open ,
You’re bones have grown cold ,
In silent whispers the curtain unfolds .

The days of walking with you are now O ,
the evening shadows fade ,
for my days with you are gone now ,
let the yellow daffodils fade .

So soon you were gone ,
left me without care due ,
a broken heart ,
a closing door ,
an empty chair ,
without you .

I still look for you when the starlings nest ,
when busy people come home to rest ,
when the telephone,
just missed a call .

An empty house nights curtain draws ,
When God sprinkled starlight on heavens of old ,
Skewen towns lights shimmered like gold .

For you’re home coming awaits no table or stairs ,
no cups to wash ,
or socks to fold .
Where no child wails for his ma ma in the night .

Palaces of Gold for you my love ,
Heavenly songs of Gods great love ,
and though you lie in casket cold ,
just once more to hold you’re hand ,
for you to say ,
“I loved you so “.

eating fast food as I watch you wear your old Hawaiian t shirt you adopted from the bottom of a bin at the local thrift shop because everything has always been comfort over style and you can't change now
a fry falls onto the lap of my thighs and you ask me when the last time was I used my kitchen floor for dancing instead of pacing around but my mind falls short into the drops of condensation sweating into a couch that I hate sometimes and admire for the sturdy way it always manages to **** up my back
I'm already what I want to be but I pretend that I throw around my identity like a knick-knack hacky sack and I'll always blame you for the aftershock effect of feeling like I've been spun in a tumbler and left to be drunk by the gnats you breed by never throwing old fruit away

Sun times I understand
the bounce the break
thru

The lapel of passing
folded over
has

Matched your eyes
you'd know if you'd oh
pen

The morning's sleeve
this green that blue
sneeze

Entangled seeds
wave away not purple
glint

Forever sinters now
into self
meant

See the crimson petals
Dance to the floor

Selfish in nature
Thus labelled a *****,


A pardoned disguise
I pity yet adore her

Her blossom tongue protected
The sweet scent of ammonia

Spit it out in a spray of characters,
Shuffle those thoughts onto coherent lines
Share your pain
The ****** purge
The biting bile rising
The filthy **** of
Disparagement
Legs spread wide
Slippery wet ploys
sleezy
Manipulative cuntery
The rotting festering ire
******* on the page
The purge
The last word
Leave it here, the rage
The injustice the disrespect
The insolence All left here
On this ******* page.

Summer fun;
blazing sun;
Screaming children --
No thanks, ***.

Closed blinds;
high minds;
Peace and quiet
MY time.

Dry heat;
mosquitoes;
***** beach
and mojitos.

I prefer
Gin and Tonics,
Hello Poetry
and tons of chronic.

Summer bummin'
Fine with me --
Avoid discomfort
& be happy!

A lady on the street who
lives in an apartment, asked
if she could have a little
section of our garden to tend.

This morning we were alerted
to an almost fragrant opiation,
the plantings came to fruition,
her Stocks are our Share.

If you could only let it drop
we would not need to bear it:
that holy hoity-toity
illiberal burden you announce
from where you wear it.

Would you then be able to live
with your fellow citizens:
fellow toilers in rhyme
buying gluten-free time
at Whole Foods
US; your citizen-neighbors
online cloud of witnesses
Looking at used Subarus
and paying our dues
with you
at the dealership.

Could you only see
through deplorable eyes
and love with a deplorable heart
you would appreciate the art
of the real deal,
loose the seal
of your own apocalypse;
let love reveal
landscapes your pride
has kept hidden for too long.

If you could let your hatred drop,
Slough off the smug and the sneer
If you could stop
signaling to your own
long enough to know REAL diversity, and live
perhaps you’d give
a thought to your own fallibility
lost in a forest of woulds, failing to see
Your neighbor’s Tree of Life. . .
But you are busy perfecting strife,
screaming Timber!
before the axe has even been laid
at the root of your poetry.

If you knew, as the rest of us
how often you have shouted thus
you could understand why
we tend to ignore your warning cry.

Perhaps it could be feasible
to stop blaming
that orange source of all unreasonable
derangement, cease from naming
your neurotic projections
as they are unscrewed
to reveal another inside:
crazed conspiratorial Russian doll
of your own
discredited obsessive offended perpetual alarm.