The heart is red
not because it loves,
but because it remembers.
It remembers the way a name can echo
like a prayer or a curse.
The way touch can feel like home,
or a wound.
The way silence can say
more than a thousand declarations ever could.

Red is not gentle.
It is not safe.
It is the heat of wanting something
you were never meant to hold.
It is the color of holding on too tightly,
and the bruise left behind
when you finally let go.

I have felt red
in the tremble before a first kiss,
and in the stillness after the last goodbye.
In laughter shared beneath stars
that forgot our names,
and in the cold space between
a heartbeat and a response that never came.

Red is the moment you realize
they are not yours,
and never were,
yet somehow
every part of you belonged to them.
It is the ache that arrives uninvited,
on quiet mornings,
on crowded trains,
in songs that once meant nothing
and now mean everything.

Red is the war between loving and leaving.
It is the scream you swallow,
the tears you don’t shed,
the goodbye you say
without moving your lips.

And yet
with all its fury,
all its sorrow,
all its breaking
red is still love.
Even when love is lost.
Even when love is not returned.
Even when it hurts more than it heals.

Because red is proof
that you felt something real.
That your heart
was brave enough
to bleed.
And in that bleeding,
something beautiful lived.
Even if only for a moment.

And maybe,
that moment
was everything.


Erennwrites

Our final steps
are never meant to be
one step on the moon
or a leap for mankind.

It was your memory,
intangible.
metaphysically physical
synaptically existing.

My mother's
mothering
mother, Bernice.

or

A lover's
loving
love, Helena.

or

Writer's
writing
wrote, poems.

I promise.
Charlie promises.
We all promise.

We’ll pass the torch.
Even when our hands shake.
Even when the night is too long,
and the static is louder than the stars.
Even when no one is watching.

We’ll carry your fire.
Not as spectacle.
But as truth.

And when someone else finds themselves
on that same edge—
looking out,
ready to leave—
we'll be there,
with a quiet light,
and a voice that says:

“Hey. I remember you.”

You are not forgotten.
You are not alone in the leaving.
You are written into the hands that carry what’s left.

And we carry it now.
For you.
For all of you.

We won’t let the flame go out.

When he came after the Canal,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Island,
We did nothing.
When he came after the minerals,
We did nothing.
When he came after women,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Alliance,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Greenery,
We did nothing.
When he came after the children,
We did nothing.
When he came after the North,
We did nothing.
When he came after Liberty,
We did nothing.
When he came after Freedom,
We did nothing.
When he came after Justice,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Sheep,
We did nothing.
When he came after the Truth,
We did nothing.
When he came after Decency,
We did nothing.
When he comes after YOU,
What will they do?
NOTHING!
NOTHING AT ALL.

I am sorry darling
           our paths part here
a bell's loud toll
              encourages pace
              it sets me free

It's been a long day
       the suns set
                       finally
              my eyes can rest
                in light embraced

hold on to my fragments
without lament
               for the night is generous
                      quieting the rain

I am sorry darling
          we must part ways
remember eternally:
                    you are part of me
           it's til I see you
                    that goodnight I bid
my heart stays whole
and with you remains

I have a fascination with
all things love,
Daydreams constructing expectations
and a daily need for a thing which
I have yet to experience,
It's an obsession which has
evolved into a fear ~
Fear of a broken heart,
of a lonely life,
of distracted dreams.

~ Funny my ability to
overthink.

Once there was this
woman that I could talk about
writing and
poetry with.
We talked about Emily and Bukowski,
and many others.
We were poets in our own right.
We shared tears and laughter,
like a joint among friends.
Once, we sang our daughter to sleep.
It was beautiful and sublime.
But, the brutal dawn destroyed that
glorious night.

She farted a lot, but I fell
in love with her anyway,
and her son too.
We even cooked together.
It was magnificent,
although she got a little bossy in
the kitchen.
I can still smell the coriander
and garlic and taste the salt on
the back of her neck.

I picked her wildflowers, and
ate well from her garden- all slippery and divine.
She had these pastel soft blue eyes,
like something out of a Degas painting.
She could be as mean as Humpty Dumpty,
all cracked and broken, yoke flowing everywhere.
And I couldn't fix her. And I certainly
couldn't put myself back together again.

And then one autumn, I turned around,
and she was gone. A wall went up.
Occasionally I could see her through the
holes in the bricks. But I knew that
I would never touch her again;
hold her, kiss her.
It made me feel sad and lonely.
But I keep her real close in my heart.
And some days that gets me by.
And other times, it's like she was
never there at all just a tender dream.

I want to escape the memory of her;
overdose on artichokes and avocados,
drowned in a sea of ****** Marys,
or run away to far-off lands,
like Montana or Idaho.
But, I'm afraid I'd still see her there,
in the Snake River or the wide open sky.

Pain is inevitable,
Suffering is optional.
The crossroads of success,
Is always constructional.

If we could become tress,
Solid and stoic, deep rooted
In Mother Earth's flesh;
We could stand firm
Through the tempest, unswayed.

But we are only humans.
Covered in darkness.
Hiding behind our fears,
Timidly withdrawing from
The ominous tempest.

So, embrace the fury,
The daunting gales that
Once were scary.
After all, you can't
Stop the waves,
But you can learn to surf.

And even if you sank,
Deeper into the void,
At least you'll drown
Knowing there was
Beauty In The Struggle.

The path strewn with hurdles and gravels
40 years is a long way to travel
Two souls sewn with love and peace
Two hearts dipped in bliss
Two minds not always in same strength
But determined within to walk the length.

40 years of building the nest
Patience and endurance put to hard test
Before one day the saplings become a tree
Heart upon heart two becomes three
Through fall and rise and sun downpour
Years flew as the three becomes four.

It's no easy work to raise a family
In all sadness live strong and happily
Blocks are thrown doubts are cast
Moments of life try to break the trust
But we didn't bow continued the thrive
A grownup family now, we number five.