shut doors closed windows hiding
play the music loud enough
only I hear it

going out for
only essentials
like flour and oil

cigarettes
beer and kitty
kibbles

shut-in by my own choices decisions
say nothing all day
just watch

how the web
in the corner
has grown  a foot

down farther into more
of the room nearing
the windowsill

now

the ashtray overflows
the black plastic bag
comprising

my day to day
spills out to reveal
all my decadence

but my mind calm sane
I see, must  be a tinge
of madness

in it, isn't seeking
or talking to corners or zephyrs
or back at the tv

just sitting here like the spider
in the corner
of a room

that needs painting
and a lot of bleach
to remove

this deadness
and the flies
bothering

My father and my uncle
grew up on the streets
of Chicago, tough streets
for kids to roam.

Uncle Sal was a lanky guy,
with a Pork Pie hat and an
attitude, he took no ****,
but had a heart that was pure.

At nineteen Uncle Sal
died in Korea before he
lived for real. I still have the
Bronze Star they gave him.
A **** poor exchange for
a life unlived.

I never got to know Uncle Sal,
but I sure wish I had, maybe
even just a little bit.

it matters little
the thoughts that
swim around
and haunt you.
take their chance
so fleeting
so impotent
you are not them.
You are not your
job or lack of one
you are not your
mistakes or your
successes you are
not your health
or lack of it
No you are so
much more than
all these things.

i am not, you aren't of course
the face in the mirror
or the composite of your pose
in that profile pic your best
side or a stand-in I suppose
that makes you look like aphrodite
with no attitude
and me I talk haha
I am Geronimo
with a hangover
perpetually
posed
because
innocently
I break the lenses
of every camera
that tries to
take my soul

It seems as if my mind will explode into flames of madness
And at times my  tear glands are pregnant with joy, anger and fear
Corrupt confusion
Iam a sodden mind of dry solitudeness mixed with hope
The future is too bright I cant see
Success is in limbo
When I think of what happened to Moses I drown in paranoia
All these fights, all these years, lost beer binging nights and not see Canan?
At this juncture I can't turn back
That has never been an option, I won't be a mound of salt
I am not Lot's wife
I hope to take off these shoes of lead and fly away
Soon
Let me melt away into the sky
And face reality
I will make you proud

Today was unusual,
while crossing a rocky
path, my 42 year old
son reached back offering
his hand to steady my
steps of progress.
A small thing at first glance.

When for all these years
it was me holding his hand,
guiding his path.
Age has intervened,
Now our roles have reversed,
as it does, as it must.

Accepting this reality
the only path to choose.

Falling into you I found myself
For with you I was never lost
Blinded by an unkind past
The present, tinged with shame
Became my only truth
Then... I saw you

You gazed upon me
Open and trusting
And I could no longer hide from myself
Your eyes peel me naked
And I stand bare before you
awaiting a judgment that will never come

You see what I thought I lost
What felt like it died long ago
You see who I used to be
Who I always have been
And because it's you
I believe it's true

Your smile is my hope
Your heart carries my heartbeat
Your eyes, so full of love
Prove that I am all I ever wished to be
All I was supposed to be
Before life beat the joy out of me

You found me and I knew
I knew you were mine
I knew you before I met you
I dreamed you alive so long ago,
And here in my heart, I fell in love
In your love, in loving you...

I can learn to love me

Wondering what I should write
and floundering in my own confusion
I thought – why not write about poems
that set me thinking what poems are
A poem could be anything.......!
at best, distilled thoughts put into rhyme
or a moment caught in time
a window glimpse into the world
an engrossing passion’s ardent curl
a snap shot of scenes from Nature- wild
or a slice of life, birth or death
      
sometimes it could be a yearning  
or an image long hung on a pole
a thought turned inside out
or the emptying of a mind about to spill
it could be the liberation of a fancy,
for long held in thralldom
a gnawing pain, long suppressed
or a secret, never divulged
      
As I pondered over the subjects’ enormity
and a poem’s vast scope,
I asked myself- ‘Why hesitate?’
soon I felt a stir inside,
my thoughts broke loose
a terrible block lifted off my head
my silence became audible
I embroidered these thoughts
into the pattern of a poem

Here it is before you, have a look at it
Will it annoy you or will you enjoy!