Streaks

from worn out wipers

dented cans, plastic wrappers

the glow of a cigarette ****

lying comfortably 
in the ashtray

white knuckles tight

on a weathered wheel

empty roads

cold and black

eyes tired but open

like trucker stops

or roadside diners

with the neons

still on

I keep driving

teetering between

my existence

and a sweet dream

I’d slip into that slumber

if not for the passengers

still fast asleep
in my back seat

So I keep driving

as quiet 
and as lonely

as it may be

I keep driving

because 
somebody

is putting
 their trust
 in me

We were misfits
the neglected *******
of a backwards world
that rejected us
not because we were sick
demented or dangerous
but because we didn't prescribe
to a preconceived notion
of what a functioning citizen was.

Not rotten enough to spoil
behind the bars of a prison
just competent enough
to work menial jobs
and drown our sorrows
at the corner pub.

We swallowed this hard truth
the same way we drank our shots
with no chaser
and at times it burnt
maybe even made us tear up
but we never let it beat us
(too strong for that)

We were beautiful
resilient beasts
that could carry the weight
of the world upon our shoulders
and it was heavy
but we would tell ourselves
"doesn't every world need an atlas?"
so we went on holding up the sky
when no one asked it of us.

Nimble fingers feed
plastic buttons
through fabric slits
then zip up zippers
and tie ties.
Raised brow,
steel eyes,
cannot help
but wonder why
I am incapable
of loving just one
woman at a time.

This was a fishing village
when people were speaking
the king's English, dead
like the fishing industry
Now the tourists have accents

Truth be told
this was a fishing village
long before that
But we don't speak about
what those folks spoke
Something Algonquian
or another dead language

When the tide is out
I walk the shore and look for remnants
Pottery and stone tools, and such
I find a lot of plastic
and bottles, plenty of those
We've been a drinking people
for a long **** time

Once, I found a child's shoe,
sodden and filled with sand
It had a blue lace,
still tied, and a smiley face
as the tide was going out
Kind of sad, really.

r  ~ 8/28/14

If
Life throws
You a hard
Ball, catch it and
Throw back in its *******
Face, and say Catch that *****...

In the grand scheme of things…


Maps are folded and re-folded into pocket sized
destinations of our own heart’s desires

Routes become numbers and numbers become moments
as the planning cycle, with yellow highlighter in hand,
presents a “look forward to” scenario

Beyond windows of curtained belief
and hedges shaped like poetic scribblings calls to me

The sidewalk of chalk marks in hopscotch etchings,
faded from the sun and foot smeared play dates,
leads to that place of affection filled dreams

And I see over the next sunrise a highway,
empty of detours and beckoning openly

To this heart, from another, on windswept invitations
penned in frilly fonts and colors of imagination,
reaching deeply inside and holding tightly

A glance back at what is left behind brings a smile,
for what waits ahead is now everything new

In the grand scheme of things, what is found chiseled in fate
proves that destiny is a destination of dreams, of hopes and
of love… if the journey brings me to you

She sews..her needle hot
Stitching her words
Into my thoughts

Repairing a tear
Here and there

A knot drawn tight
Nimble and quick
Thimble silver
Her verse sharp

A rip in the heart
Stitched in time
To stop the flow

My lips sealed
with silken gold
Threading gently
Into the night.

r ~ 8/21/14

Like block shaped wheels our lives stumble at the chapters we write
Corners seem dark and teeming with doubt,
alleyways call in echoes of our name,
as if tempting us to crawl when we cannot walk

                “Fear begins the parade at our fragile hearts”

Shades are drawn and slotted with eyes watching,
voices ring the halls of the buildings looming large,
rumors of pointed fingers find our ears in colander fashion,
dripping fear at our feet

                “Waves conduct sound, crashing vividly as we hear”

We cry,
hoping these tears will somehow wash the pain,
fill the gutters and move out to sea,
casting waves upon unsuspecting shores

                “Wishes…more waste than want…at least of these eyes”

When of the shadows a touch,
softly at first, then strong upon our shoulders fall…
comfort leaps to our hearts in sing song praise,
wishes become goals and finish line adventures

                “What is this light, soft yet sure, found within”

We are not alone, darkness hints at light
and butterflies fill our air with prism’d colors and soft breezes
collecting on our damp cheeks and drying the aftermath
of our understanding of reality

                “Dreams of these nightmares fade into happiness”

We find footprints in the dirt…two which are not our own,
closely, yet affectionately following our way and bringing direction
to our dreams, yet the nightmares still flourish
but we do not feel so alone

                “Fences built may keep us in yet… may keep us out”

For this hand, from a distance,
climbing mountains and fording rivers
leads our hearts to the safety of love just beyond the bricked wall,
the ivy covered monolith, the chain link disaster
which once stood locked

                “Finding that a breath may exhale peace…again”

Now stands open of the arbor of hibiscus
blooms and teapot pourings fore our eyes…open and hopeful of the coming truth
once lost beyond our dreams…and we breathe
for it feels right to breathe while standing in the darkness…not alone