Take me first.
I stood witness at the bed
As Mammy withered
To a stick, so small,
She couldn't cast a shadow.

Take me first.
I was one to agree
To stop the whirring machine,
And stood there
As Jimmy flat-lined.

Take me first.
Marlene asked me
If she was dying.
Thirty-nine is too young
To give an answer.

Take me first.
Daddy left in a hurry;
No good-byes in life
Or in death.

If I'm not taken first
Before my girls,
I will surely be second.

I shared an outside table
With two young American graduates
On an amber Scottish day.
They were completing
The European tour:
Not unlike the Romantics
Walking the continent.
A cap to an illustrious degree.
One scholar was blunt:
Do you believe in God?
No.
Why do you say that?
His companion leaned in for my answer.
Because you asked.
Both reclined into a smile.
Of course.
Then settled
Into a half-empty glass.

This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.

softly humming and deftly proceeding
unobtrusive like a shy one at a gathering
i make myself obscure and inconsequential
though my heart tells me it's only a matter of time
before i make my mark and cause a stir among my peers
and before we hear the distinct sound of the bell's chime
as it calls upon all and sundry, far and wide across the land
to declare their love in soft tones and hearts serene and sincere
to look upon love with wondering eyes that burn with longing
and drink to the love of a lifetime in a sunset glass blown by a master
thereafter to sing a song that is a tale of love unlimited and hope eternal
the thing to remember is the image of a backpacker at some lodge
sinking with the yellow sun in an obscure room where he lays his head
though he knows it not, his ritual daily enacts our final days

this day has to be the day
when i finally  have my say
in the scheme of things;
it's all up to us earthly beings
                    i say
to love and savour what life gives
from its veritable bounty
today is my day of harvest
and i gather into my memory bank
the swishing of the wind
the whisper of the breeze
the lulling bird songs, so reminiscent
of the first morning on creation
the sound of the coming storm
that never ends
and the echo of the wisdom of the ages
that says make your foundation strong
today i cup the palms of my heart
to receive the showers of cosmic blessings
it's been a long hard road
but i never walked it alone
there was always another searching soul
so though today is my day of harvest
i still wonder how i deserved it