Where did my brother go?
He never shared his coat with me
When I was cold,
But so was he.
He didn't have much, you see,
He's spartan,
He's no TV,
He has no means to e-mail me.
He's chameleon,
Look will you please,
Call me if you spot him.
I'd like to get to know him.
But I should not enter there,
In his lair near the bones
And genie bottles he has thrown.
(To think that I shared my tea);
To appease me, he often ate my bread,
And stitched his days
With invisible thread.
Let me know
If you find him brother,
We'll claim our grief,
Then bury our dead.

~
he who is a little ahead of his time
whose treasures of the words random
romanticism is in the blood, marrow,
his mood is as the autumn clouds

he who has lost his path within path
drowning with dreams, sunk you within dreams  
again holds thousands of lost dreams
fly the colorful kites in the blue sky

he who hide within himself
**** in his naked poetry
In forms humorous,harmonic  
as a portrait of the Vincent's starry night

he is a pilgrim who has lost himself within spirituality  
holds everything with the love  
who is for everybody so everybody is for him
But in fact there is nothing in all his

he who is simple straight as the waterfall
when in complex grew hard stone
who broke rules for building rules,
knows himself within the other life

whose words never be end
again he moves on and on
who laughs in the moonlight
again swept in pain without thinking any gain

who looks the life
as a grain of sand
and see the sign of love
in the footprint of a fossil

he who is a poet -
~

As one groweth older,
So doth their pain groweth to..

At St John's church in the year of 1843
The priest Father O'Day couldn't rise off of his knees
The congregation did attempt to stand the man upright
Yet he'd not be relieved of this his stuck plight

Some in the congregation checked out in the back
Hoping against all hope that it wasn't that
But the sacramental wine was filled up to the brim
Which had them wonder further as to what was wrong with him

Like the sculpture of Mary Magdalene his position was set
Of the rigid state he'd never ever forget
All the alter boys offered prayers for a solution
Being quite disturbed by O'Day's poor kneeling elocution

Was this a trance or was he deep in prayer
Given over to the circumstance did it really matter
They called up Mother Superior to ask of her advice
As it was fish Friday, she said some other time

From out of the fathers prayer book a letter it did drop
The contents in it was not news that he could readily cop
A decrease in his annual stipend had on this day been proposed
On reading about it his knees quickly became indisposed

As he wondered how he would pay for his chalet in France
Or the expensive clothes he liked to wear to the local dance
Along with his butlers and half a dozen maids
In all of his high living never once did he think to save

A litany of poor monetary decisions had brought O'Day to his knees
No divine intervention would undo his futile freeze
Coveting the high-life on a paltry priestly wage
Would awaken him to a lesson of that more like a sage

Instead of falling into all man's sinful desires
He should have first consulted with his Higher Power
We all see it so plainly there's not much you can say
Except another valuable lesson learned from Father O'day

Please don't mind me..
I am just here to observe..
I hope I do not make you nervous in any way..
But to witness what you are about to do only happens in 12 of our lifetimes..
If you succeed I will show you the next beyond..
And it may come as a surprise..
But the next beyond is where you stand..
Sub atomic world under your feet..
Just as you have found that you yourself are sub atomic also..
You have found your God..
Just as I have found mine..

It was like a
nuclear explosion
the day vision
caught fire,  
atoms were fusing
  and reverberating
titillated skies were
  in accordance,
the force of power
    by which poetry
       is reckoned,
eyes full of mist
heart ground to grist
at least 1000 lonely
   teardrops kissed
mind overflowing
with notions impossible
then it occurred to me,
   words are unstoppable -
irrepressible as
  hot steam locomotives
   and star combustion,
  waging a crusade 'pon
fire breathing dragons
'tween undulating cloudbursts
       of empyrean's ' stardust
amidst the conformation
       of an unrestrained utopia

Finding words I like and putting them in my everyday talk  has helped me to re-find my inner nature leading me to my sepremer self.

I recently saw something I wrote published in Poets online under the name Pamela Hope. Does anyone know anything about this person, or did I mistakenly write a famous older expression into my work? I don't recall that, and this is why I am reluctant to post any of my better efforts anywhere but in a published book.