bought me a woman off my bucket list
inexpensive as they go
she's so ****** pretty
she's got me giddy with excitement
a smooth, shiny, orange brown, maplewood body
with an hourglass figure
a long-necked rosewood fingerboard
a brazilwood bow with ebony frog
she wears her hair in a top knot scroll
held together by large ebony pegs
standing only on one leg
she’s tall for a stringed instrument
tune her up and rough up your rosin
hold her between your knees
hug her from behind
stroke her as she moans her mellow melodies
didn’t know if it would work out
but I love her so much I had to try
I’ve always loved her
but now I know
although I would hold her close
she sings her song for others
turning her face from me
so I can’t hear her voice
I have to let her go
let her make someone else happy
she was mine for a night
but there are no switches or dials
I can’t set my heart on temporary
maybe I’ll try again later
you can’t give up on love
perhaps an electric model with headphones
then she’ll sing her songs only for me

she reaches deep inside me
with her whisperings
sometimes when I feel her presence
I close my eyes to watch her phosphene light show
an electric ultramarine grid against a black field
capturing glowing molecules floating in the sea inside my eyelids
like a cast out fishnet catching tiny bright blue fire flies
perhaps blue is the color of her music
change overcomes me
calmness and clarity
free from fear and pain
I arrive at joy and creativity
moved to play flute, write poems
or work on paintings or collages
enjoying the stillness of the earth
realizing the oneness of existence
at times I’ve wondered where she was
quaking in abandonment's corner
growing older, I’ve come to understand
she never leaves me
I just need to listen for her subtle voice
and close my eyes and see

the strangest dream I had my mind did stir
   a faint symphony beyond dark distance
   black pearly gates of enticing luster
my entire essence pulled forward in ethereal trance
   as gates slowly opened to draw me inside
   held steadfast by intrigue I offered no resistance
progressing downward in pitch darkness a great sadness I espied
   song of great sorrow its melody did sway
   familiar voices, recognizable cries
the troubles and sufferings of others whom in life I turned away
   in trembling sadness the echoes permeated
   my body, spirit and soul did fray
a cacophony of pain and regret my eyes more exacerbated
   looking into a mirror stained
   reflections of hurt my own actions created
light’s pinpoint guided me from this valley disdained
   into a lake of fiery brimstone
   vengeance consuming me till nothing remained

for Steph and Mel

my white tea candle burns quietly at home
upon my TV tray
within an etched glass lantern
multi-faceted Moravian stars
catching an angle’s warm, yellow glow
a pinpoint of reflection of sorrows past
a window remembering a younger brother
passing before me

her mantle is ablaze in its annual tally
commemorating her first child
born too perfect for this world
on yesteryear’s Christmas day

reciprocity’s tradition
candles lit as offering for one another
a moment to bask in comfort’s connection
linking distant kindred spirits’ hearts
a sharing of sadness between friends
not alone in their grief and memories
honoring loss and life
and love

at curiosity’s urging
he found haven in haiku
a safe place where people listened
without judging
a thread to test truth’s waters
and tell his story
a 5-7-5 sequence as larynx
giving voice to childhood horrors

beaten regularly with a rubber garden hose
that left no outward evidence
bleeding so badly
he lost a kidney
too terrified to tell the doctor
with his father standing right there
it was a secret kept in the family
her verbal belittlement inculcated
“you should have never been born”
“we can’t afford you”
when he brought home all A’s
they said, “your classes were too easy”
his older brother mercilessly joined the chorus
and the torture
with parental approval

still, his eyes saw beauty
they saw river rocks as hippos
submerged in a backyard creek
they watched in awe at the flight of owls and hawks
swooping down on their prey
they described a “sapphire lake”
“so blue it was almost black”
“a jewel in the belly of the Sierras”
they captured trees and blades of grass
and fallen giants in petrified forests
they found a wife who loved him anyway
despite alcoholic binges and blackouts
his poems told of years of loneliness she erased
they spoke of her as sole reason for sobriety
he found peace in poetry
and used the internet to vent his wise *** ways
at times he even spoke of his family
as if they were decent

but every November remembered
his birth month dredging up the past
he wrote of whispering demons haunting his heart
and scars on the soul that never heal
I can’t imagine his pain
or sense of normalcy
they killed this kid when he was little
but it took him four decades to die
last Friday my friend took his own life

he called me a gentleman and a scholar
and formally thanked me
for encouraging his writing
he defended me in the face of trolls
even though we never met in person
I hope he knows how much we all cared
and I hope there’s a heaven
where he can rest in peace

from full to three fourths, to half, to quarter
then from darkness back to new
all the moon’s phases in mere minutes
I’ve seen pictures on the internet
a beautiful sight to behold
to watch her silvery bleu cheese
turn into a reddish cantaloupe
perhaps her face is embarrassed
to admit its heavenly glow
is but the sun’s reflection
perhaps she’s forgotten her place
in the earth’s natural order
she is not less, but equal
yin to sun’s yang
lost in the moment
she changes her mind quickly
emerging from earth’s shadow
she feels contentment in sun’s warmth

once in January’s wee hours
so very long ago
I spent the night outside
as backyard astronomer
telescope at the ready
awaiting a comet’s promise
a party of others crescendoed
suspense’s energy and excitement
but their numbers quickly waned
with the fogging of my telescope lens
coldness prevailing over patience
I sat alone for hours hanging on to hope
in the company of trash cans
sitting in silence as solemn sentinel
they said it would light one third of the sky
ONE THIRD!
a sight never to be seen again in lifetimes
I waited for its brightness and brilliance
until dawn started to peek out
over the eastern horizon
just then a sparkle of light preceded the rising sun
is this it?
could this be Kohoutek?
it seemed to slowly climb into the morning
as it approached and grew bigger
I realized it was just an airplane
what a rip off
what a wasted night
I was robbed
cruelly cast in the role of Kohoutek’s fool
nothing to do now
but bring my frozen telescope inside
and jump into a nice warm bed

will she be kinder?
will Luna eclipse that memory?
will her heavenly glory
be worth the cold and the wait?
I sat on the edge of my mattress
gathering the covers upon my shoulders
should I go?
nah
maybe next time
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

ingredients were chopped
cleanly, neatly
with care
cutting tools were pre-sterilized
and pre-packaged
then wiped clean after use
he arrived in blue scrubs
and donned blue nitrile gloves
for mutual protection
it had been a while for her
her nails were long
she sat in an easy chair
with her feet up on an ottoman
a towel was spread before he began
to make clean up easier
the scent of an alcohol wipe
wafted as he worked
little did he know
we would finish what he started
after he left we gathered up the clippings
thick and fungal
we put them in a *** to boil
with sautéed celery, onions and seasonings
salt and pepper to taste
hmmmmm...delicious, home made
toe nail soup!

if ears had lips
mine would gladly tell you all the things
they can and cannot comprehend
they would explain the difference
between hearing and understanding;
just because they hear a sound
doesn’t mean they know what it is
or where it’s coming from
just because they hear a voice
doesn’t mean they discern words
they would ask you to please speak louder
and tell you that even though volume is their friend
if you take a jumble and turn up the juice
sometimes it becomes clearer
other times it’s just a loud jumble
they might tell you that writing things down saves time
or that texting works better than voicemail
they would tell you how much they miss
the rain’s incessant song
the wind’s sweeping whistle
a dropped pin’s pinging ping
earthy crashing blue green wave sounds
a lover’s soft whisper
eavesdropping’s noseyness
distance’s subtle sounds
footsteps’ proximity
a fire’s warm red orange crackle
freeway traffic’s rushing background noise
a phone call’s lively conversation
a tv show’s clever, non-closed-captioned script
a radio’s soulful catchy lyrics
live performance’s vibrant voice
the timbre of each note in a chord
as I strummed my guitar
they would tell you
how the ringing tones inside my head
compete with your words
they would speak of their frustration and indignation
when you ignorantly accuse them of selective hearing
they would apologize for asking you to repeat
and laugh with you at my disability
they would thank you for dealing with me anyway
they would smile in appreciation
for your exaggerated syll•a•bi•ca•tion
if ears could see
mine would overlook your rolling eyes
and exasperated sighs and expressions
they know it’s not your fault that they don’t work good
and hope you know it’s not their fault either

just a sliver of silver
the orb's bright edge
peeking out behind a dull gray silhouette
falling to the horizon
in line with L. A.'s flight path
the darkness came early tonight
will the stars come out
in the moonlessness?

once laid my back in pitch black
on the sand at the Salton Sea
sky gazing
excitment stole my sleep
as eye witnessed the galaxy
is it an illusion
like water in the desert
or are the stars so numerous they appear milky?

I look for him in winter
three close stars in a straight line
Orion watches over scorpions and dogs
I follow the Big Dipper
pointing to the North Star
sky's center
the mother of all constellations
they encircle her
each telling her their stories in turn
the Ancients looked up and listened
transcribing what they thought they heard

now-a-days
with science preferred to mythology
and exact measurements to imagination
the stars twinkle silently
mocking us in mute mystery
and unshared secrets
gaze upward in wonder of the tales they hold
paying homage to their beauty and tranquility
listen carefully and patiently for their whispers
you may still hear a story or two
as they teach us to dream

you helped me find my voice
I will not easily discard it
and your "suggestions" resemble commands
what you call a comfort zone
is me
my feelings
my way of thinking and speaking
my representations to the world
declarations of who and what
I am
contentment can be found there
for there is peace in me
success is formulated
not in well-rounded-ness
but in focusing on one's strengths
and many of my poems were not written
in or for comfort
they were labored in life's pain
I can write in other voices
the full human spectrum is inside us all
I can try different styles and forms
experiments and departures
I have a whole heart
with lifetimes of experience
to draw upon
but in the long run
in the end
even posthumously
I can be only me

not one flake on my outstretched hand
the snow can't decide when to fall
despite Doplar's predictions
a chill is in the air
the first feel of winter
the taste of pine trees
traveling on the breeze
downhill to my front porch
permeating my senses
invading my nose and tongue
coming out of my ears like steam
sticking evergreen needles
into my mind's eye
'tis the season to be cold
draft's crispness creeping under the door
sending a shiver up my spine
slipping sleepiness into my yawn
with two feet of snow soon to be on my lawn
time for storm windows and fatwood
and to check my chimney's flow
as Meteora lights my fire

one crisp morning commute
driving down Rodeo Blvd.
I came across a cloud of leaves
a city block long
hovering like hummingbirds in the street
jiggling to the beat
of each passing vehicle
caught up in the car's drafts
rush hour traffic
would not allow them to fall
hundreds of small green and yellow dots
standing at attention
waving like beauty queens
twirling like dervishes
leaping and spinning in pirouettes
doing cartwheels and somersaults
each tumble tickling my delight
as playful patterns emerged
you could see their musicality
fallen foliage dancing to a silent symphony
suspended in mid air
out of sync with reality
as I, in turn, drove through in slow motion

for everyone
for Barbara

you extended yourselves to me
when I was scared and in need
and oh so tired
waking and walking in a fog
lacking in appetite
but hungry for meaning
saddened and lost
my spiritual core shaken
I no longer knew how to pray

I was taken by surprise, then
more recently
when I answered your call
I felt your pain
and that of your family and friends
I remembered all your thoughts,
prayers, well wishes, hopes
and wise counsel
it was all stored up inside me
waiting like a wellspring
its energy emanating from my hands
as I offered your cache of prayers
to others

in that instant I understood
the nature of empathy
the power of used shoes
you walk in mine and I in yours
the essence of each-other-ness
helping hands near and far
a body of spirits
a connection of souls
calling on a higher power
to help
to heal
to comfort

she dreams of him
strangers seated at long tables
repast in her residence
a wake awakening thoughts
eminent signs and symbols
of transitioning

she thought he was calling her
never imagined he would take her son
fourth of five
sixth of nine overall
seemingly the healthiest among them

a year and a month later
a series of medical mishaps
emergency rooms and hospitals
x-rays, ultra sounds and CT scans
tranfusions, colonoscopies and CT colonographies

he returns so often now
strangers in the house
awakening concerns
for a proper last will and testament
she no longer fears him
it's life's sufferings that frighten her
not a welcoming but a readiness
impeding her fight
she feels her time is near

precipitation's anticipation of change
diffused morning light
the mustiness of first rain
a misty visibility hiding distant hills
a graying of the cityscape
skyscrapers in clouds
construction's crane quieted
in the mix of old and new
a slow rush hour
washing the street's grime
a coolness to my eyes
a slight chill in my bones
Autumn colored leaves swaying with breeze
on half empty trees
slanted raindrops incessantly blustering
a beautiful day
where only seagulls dare to fly

eight peeping eyes with healing hands
too good to help her to the restroom
"I'll call a nurse"
they just poked in to take a peek
feel her leg's edema
and inform me of possibility's progress
a colonoscopy?
a transfusion?
time keeps asking for more time
morning meds
an IV
a blood draw
a blood test strip
another trip to the restroom
a kind older gentleman's help
he thought I was her father

it's raining hard again
gutters like rivers
storm drains splashing white water
more skyline has gone missing
umbrellas wrestling wind
raindrops rilling down a picture window
as afternoon sheds it's light

as I watch sleep's breaths
her hunger awakens and feistiness returns
"Don't they feed their patients here?"
they never told us to call food services
another blood pressure reading
another blood draw
another trip to the restroom
and it's all good
a colonoscopy evaluation
maybe Thursday or Friday...
looks like time got her wish

from here you can see the ocean
a distant dulled blue mesa
standing still, yet running
an offshore marine layer clouds the horizon
dark gray cumulus with fluffy white tops
mimic snow capped mountains
clean bright sunshine illuminates the earth
a cheerful contrast to yesterday's rain and gloom
the city is alive with light
as morning fills the room
awakening my mind
with expanding consiousness
a feeling that I AM
gratitude and thankfulness abound
rising emotions remind me
thoughts become spoken words
"I love life"
"I love myself"
"God, I love myself"

she smiles for me
she was born beautiful
with golden hair and green irises
but when did she get so pretty?
a pleasant upside down triangle smile
a collaboration of lips, teeth, cheeks and eyes
shining in affection for me
for happy childhood memories
singing Disney songs
painting unicorns and waterfalls
stringing beaded bracelets
and learning how to draw good
because she "keeps on trying"
at times she was the devil's child
incorrigible
other times she was the sweetest
little chatterbox
at the corner drugstore
I couldn't get her to stop talking
"Why are we following that man?"
she said within his earshot
"Because he knows the way out", I replied
at four years old
she could beat me at video games
truly a kid from outer space
now a young woman
at life's threshold
with doubts and questions
and confidence
and more strength than she knows she has
working and going to school
I have no fears for her future
I know she'll keep on trying
till she gets what she wants
that was my advice
spoken so many years ago
to my little niece
my Godchild
Dani

awoke from a dream last Wednesday
strangely refreshing and uplifting
resounding in music
the notes still reverberating on my heartstrings
it was the first dream of my brother
since his passing
it may be my first dream of him ever
he was laying in bed
contemplating his demise
don’t know if he was speaking before or after the fact
guess it really doesn’t matter
with one simple sentence
and just a hint of anger
“Life is stupid”, he said.
implying remorse and resentment
for still having so much to do
I backed away to give him his privacy

as I readied myself for work
he got up out of bed and found me
happy and smiling, a sparkle in his eyes and teeth
corroborated his contentment
he was walking around the house playing his guitar
it was acoustic and unplugged
but the sound was electric
he was playing a Mexican folksong
his ex-wife appeared, singing the refrain:

“Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores
por qué cantando se alegran
Cielito Lindo, los corazones” 1

his song struck a chord whose message was immediate:

“sing and don’t cry
for singing gladdens the heart”

his daughter’s seventeenth birthday is today
with a party this weekend
timing is often coincidental
but it seems to me
this message was for her
and everyone at the gathering

for those who would listen
Terence would tell us:

“Life is stupid...so sing and don’t cry”

it was her eyes
bright beautiful brown eyes
the kind that draw you in
and lock you down
they called me from across the room
to my surprise my heart did swoon
I wasn't looking for anything
but her eyes found me
I can never forget the moment
though things didn't work out
her eyes captivated me
and held me prisoner
though we weren't meant to be
those eyes
kind, inviting and lonely
in a roomful of people
her eyes
passionate and compelling
embracing
a moment I will never forget
it was her eyes

tears to remember
with candles lit to honor
heart's memorials
a ramdom act of kindness
from a very special friend

my candle's aflame
a warmth that spans the distance
from my house to yours
with roses and baby's breath
for a very special friend

whose flowers are these?
who brought them to the gravesite
and arranged them with such care?
placing each flower individually
every week a kaleidoscope of color
pastel petals wrapped in green stems, leaves and ferns
bouquets speaking softly from the heart
conversations of love and respect
unspoken words of connection and affection
painting a picture of impressionistic serenity
amid grass and tombstones
who cared about him this much, besides us?
who cares about him still?

expectant eyes turn skyward
to a faint familiar sound
the falling snow hypnotizes
as I breathe in it’s cleanness

the calmness in me begins to grow
on my cheeks a cold blushing glow
as delicate feather soft flakes smile
and sweetly kiss my lashes and face

lace upon lace builds a quilt of ice
weaving a blanket of fresh fallen white
standing still, I listen so intently
to the quiet hush of snow falling gently

I can still get very sad
if I think about it too much
even though it has been months
I allow myself to cry
at the cemetery
or alone in my office
the thoughts creep into my eyes
the tears' flow is gentle
but unstoppable
the numbness is fading
the insulation wearing off
I was trying to be strong then
now I'm just being me

Thanks is for getting
for blessings received in life
I give humble thanks
for family and friendships
and friends who become fam'ly

for the laughs and tears
for the learning together
for light and glow of
genorosity's spirit
reminders of angelhood

wouldn't have made it
through valley of death's shadow
without your kindness
but I thank you most of all
for being just who you are

I miss you my dear
forgive the desecration
couldn't help myself
you left me so suddenly
leaving a hole in my heart

I couldn't let go
just had to keep you near me
I dug up your bones
on our anniversary
it would have been our 13th

beautiful in life
a beautiful skeleton
I took your femur
then reburied your remains
I hope you don't mind, my dear

I cut off both ends
burning them down to ashes
ceremonial
rubbing them into my skin
wailing and wearing sackcloth

hollowing the rest
burning holes in their places
forming a new flute
haunting, soulful melodies
bittersweet consolations

she exists now in a dream state
unaware of the horror and the passage of time
wind rushes through broken panes
moaning mournfully
floors creak and door hinges speak
announcing her presence
this was her house
once a place of light and love
full of family and friends
cotillions resonating with music and dance
and lively conversation
a grand kitchen to prepare the feasts
of pheasant under glass
a gazebo for laughing in the rain
arbors for moonlit meetings with owls
a pond for lilies and croaking frogs
gardens for picking her favorite peonies
a nursery for her children
all this now nothing but ruins
from happiness to a home for bugs and bats
crawling with silverfish, centipedes and black widows
shrouded in cobwebs
drowning in dust
suffocating in stench of rotting wood and desolation
decorated with 100 year old bloodstains
she never saw her killer
never saw the spurting of her arteries
never heard her children’s screams and death rales
she sees her house as it was
and every night she roams the rooms
calling her children’s names in long, haunting whispers

endlessness of blue
oceans stretching seaward
eternal skies
mating at the horizon
in a place so far away

today is deep blue
in gray matter's recesses
permeating me
invading the core of me
deep down to my apple seeds

need to release it
let it leave me through my spine
kundalini dreams
breath of fire expressions
feel the power in my hands

on a starless, moonless evening
a fissure quakes open
as time stands still
stench gasses hiss

a fissure quakes open
the earth moans hauntingly, eerily
stench gasses hiss
an unmarked corner of the cemetery

the earth moans hauntingly, eerily
an unspeakable evil imprisoned
an unmarked corner of the cemetery
hidden from the vaults of hell

an unspeakable evil imprisoned
stone angels stand their ground
hidden from the vaults of hell
great is their power

stone angels stand their ground
an aura of authority
great is their power
without words the trembling ceases

an aura of authority
quieting the yawning earth
without words the trembling ceases
closing its lips tight

quieting the yawning earth
silent sentinels prove their worth
closing its lips tight
no evil will escape tonight

silent sentinels prove their worth
on a starless, moonless evening
no evil will escape tonight
as time stands still

mud from the cemetery
everyday on his boots and clothing
and everyday he'd wash the shovels
muddy water like a river
muddy red waters
the graves are dug deep like a cliché
six feet under
too small for a back ***
so down he jumps
digging deeper
from cemetery to cemetery
in rain or by moonlight
he works hard every night
till his calluses bleed
a muddy white truck
and muddy wooden handled tools
the perfect cover
you'd think he worked there
he scopes the obits
looking for fresh funerals
he prefers meat on the bones
there's no profit in grave robbing
no one is buried wearing valuables
and there's no market for dead body parts
he just likes the smell of formaldehyde
the vacated looks on their faces
and the occasional surprise
when he finds one with open eyes

they found a new playground
if only for a visit
******* jagged rocks to climb atop
as king and queens of the hill
they came in the morning
and stayed beyond long shadows
no telling when they would get another chance

they reached the summit with the skill of goats
shod in P. F. Flyers
jostling but no shoving
well aware of the precarious danger
taking turns at the highest peak
laughing, talking and telling tales
blowing up bubble gum and balloons till they popped
friends just hanging out on school break
city kids enjoying themselves
out of doors in the fresh air of summer

the Housing Authority was repaving the parking lot
they piled the dug up pieces high
a mountain of broken asphalt
in the days before yellow tape was invented
the Projects kids took full advantage
like a glee filled day at the beach
on a rocky New Jersey Shore

time moves forward
winding through galaxies
coursing through milkyways
pulsing through universes
hanging on heartbeats
yesterday, today and tomorrow
happening concurrently
burned onto disks stacked on top of each other
lifetimes skipping tier to tier
peeking through veils of reality
scoping inward to Brownian motion
zooming outward to life’s whole
energy flowing freely through meridians
navigating congestion and voids
finding balance in life’s peaks and valleys
like electrocardiograms
my lifereadings on paper
lately I’ve been flatlining
routines can be boring
drudgery stagnates
maybe I’m just physically tired
maybe I’m tired of life
caught behind a rock in a river
awaiting a cataract to break me free
and restore the song of life’s flow
maybe I’m an insignificant speck of dust
a blip off life’s radar
or maybe the smallest piece of jigsaw
is an equal part of the whole

he steps forward to bless us with song
benediction’s serenade
binder clips and clothespins weaken wind
as sheet music tries to take flight
with each strum he was fighting it
emoting with sad lips and blue eyebrows
taking deep breaths let out with heavy sighs
but holding steady
singing and crying come from the same place
as he sang the sun sneaked out
shadows surrendered their stronghold
a moment of warmth shown upon our gathering
near the pine tree at our father’s grave
Terence’s ashes to be interred with dad
a musician, an artist, a writer of songs and poems
a technician, an electrician, a wood worker
his many gifts now only spoken of in past tense
a son to two, a brother to eight
an uncle to many
a father to one daughter
his passion relived in his writings and works
his essence reflected in her eyes

it’s somewhere inside you
the place where poetry comes from
creativity’s corner
you search for it
playing hide and seek
with that spot in your brain
that area of artistry, inspiration and heart
“It’s a hemisphere shift”, they say
but they can’t tell you how to do it
how to make the jump from left to right
from logical to visionary
from specific memories to everything ever experienced
it seems to be a mysterious, unexplainable act
but it’s really quite simple
discovered incidentally
while getting into writing mode
just diffuse your eyes
changing your perspective
look at the things in front of you
survey the scene
focus on the big picture
drinking it all in
then, without moving your head
look elsewhere
put the big picture in the background
hold it in your peripheral vision
focus on one thing visually
or focus on nothing
practice it again and again
go from big picture to small picture
from infinity to macro
it’s like being inside yourself
like focusing on a phone call
instead of the world around you
or like indulging in a daydream
so go ahead and try it
narrow your focus with your mind’s eye
and step through the looking glass
to a place where ideas shoot like stars
and explode like sky rockets in a midnight sky

been feelin' lousy lately
lethargic
lacking in energy and appetite
nauseated
something is wrong
it is a virus?
or a backlash from all that's been going on?

the interment was hard
my oldest brother presided
he's a former priest
my youngest brother sang and played guitar
he almost didn't make it through
but as he sang
the sun broke through the overcast
they put his ashes in a small white sarcophagus
afterwards, mom wanted to bid her farewell
by resting her hand on the "coffin"
my oldest brother led her there
they seemed to linger so I joined them
with one arm around mom
and one hand on the coffin
it had been a full month since he died
I thought I was all cried out

afterwards, we had a backyard potluck at my sister's
just family
four generations in attendance
and two gracious cousins
we were quite a crowd
it was good talking with my nieces and nephew
they're growing up
I don't see them nearly enough
like when they were kids

now there's only the future
yesterday was my birthday
at my age I used to dread it
and try to ignore it
but my younger brother's death fomented an urgency
to live and enjoy life
so happy birthday to me
at times he was my best friend and my worst enemy
my partner in night time bike riding
my parent's squealing pig prince
that got away with everything
good bye Terence
for the good times and bad times
I thank you

worthiness of stars
ants and lillies of the field
little gray sparrows
the sun is a speck of dust
universe's perspective

all encompassing
He rains on the just and unjust
throughout life's puzzle
but the sun's gotta shine on
a dog's *** sometime, ya know?

it seems so unfair
trial and error parenting
consumed by harshness
lashing out with cruelty
in never ending cycles

who you have become
seeing the things you hold dear
the flight of an owl
a sapphire bluest lake
a woman to share your life

you know who you are
the person you are inside
you turned out all right
an intelligent wise ***
handling demon's whisperings

somehow you made it
some kinda way you found out
learned it on your own
inspite of evil's face, you're
worthy of every good thing

~blessed be

it had been awhile--years
he doesn't believe in visiting
he's not there anyway
it's only remains
ashes and dust

he couldn't find the tombstone
a small slab of marble among many
his eyes walk around
reading a matrix of columns and rows
searching  for his name
his steps mindful of sacred ground
keeping balance in uneven hole-y-ness
the crab grass is overgrown
feet sinking into layers of runners
rendering footing unsure
it has to be by that tree

he finds it finally
just where it always was
they already marked it with white spray paint
a spot to be dug up
for his brother's interment
he will join Dad tomorrow
in a ceremony of guitars
this was his last chance
to visit alone with Dad

he stood staring
reading the engraved words
the stone is scarred but holding up
so nice to see it again
induced feelings of connection
a pleasant surprise

he took out his flute
drawing it close to lips
Dad never heard him play in life
perhaps he heard it in heaven
if not, maybe he'll hear it now

an improvised, sorrowful melody
fingers thinking out a tune
reverberating through hills
all the way to the ocean's sky
dissipating into wind
whispering on breezes
after pausing to read the name again
another song
he wonders if Dad heard him
then realizes it doesn't matter
he played it for *him

moving forward from A to B
to eternity
from milliseconds to eons
from a tick of the clock
to a heartbeat
to a lifetime
each measure, a length of string
determined by Fates
or a burning wick
in a roomful of candles
where nothing can be earned

time spent
time left
with universes in between
life's images captured in a puddle
harmonic resonance ripples through the calm
radiating outward
energy rebounding and returning to stillness

reflections of a harvest moon
on white rushing waters
blue electricity crackling on crest tops
as waves unfurl on shores
and return to oceans
a vision viewed since antiquity
moments of time shared with ancients
and generations
tallied by stars and grains of sand

just inside the door
he gasps for air
laboring, I think, not to hold on
but to let go
his heaving, quickened shortness of breath
disheartening
each movement a moment in pain
his wizened face and body
recognizable
but so very hard to witness
the family is stronger than me

just inside the door
his mother and daughter
holding his hands
to give him whatever peace they can
not a comforting for themselves, but for him
one he can sense and feel and know

just outside the door
we wait with other waiters
groups of other families congregating
visiting and supporting loved ones
but mostly waiting
as death seems not impatient

just outside the door
people are talking and laughing
little children are playing
life goes on
as we hold back the tears

just inside the door
there is no hope for recovery
his cancer incurable
his suffering long

just inside the door
a drug induced peace
a restlessness
as hearts are kept waiting
to bid a final farewell

candles are burning
in vigilence and reverence
as beads are counted
measuring remaining days
with hopes of eternal life

alone in the dark
feeling the infiltration
porch lights and lamp posts
softly glowing through curtains
stealing onto the ceiling

robbing me of sleep
streaming, churning mindlessness
a holding pattern
clenched fists grasping on to night
keeping tomorrow at bay

melancholy muse
peering into my blue heart
softly whispering
songs of beautiful sadness
poetry written on sleeves

familial fractal
mitochondrial pieces of self-similarity
irregular patterns of DNA
each piece clearly resembling the whole
mirroring mirrors
an illness in the matriarchy
reflecting on each member
rippling and radiating
in family circular airwaves
time disrupted
suspended in hope
souls standing still
so quiet you can hear a heartbeat

thoughts, prayers and well wishes
pouring out to fill in the gaps
of uncertainty
pillars of strength in my weakness
as I drown myself in caloric comfort
I’m not too good with life and death
haven’t had much practice
we’ve been lucky

energy’s vibrations
the universe’s common thread
everything is part of everything
each person a contributor to the whole of society
each person contributing to the soul of the individual
psychologically, spiritually, physiologically
we affect each other in ways
not immediately apparent
truly, everyone is part of everyone
connected in oneness
your outpouring of kindness reminds me of that

poetry is heart speaking
her deepest wisdom
or lightest whimsy
traditional form or free verse
let souls sing
sprinkle metaphor and simile
if you are a poet, write like one
words are music
let them breeze like a melody
color with mix-matched sensory
don’t stay inside the lines
see sounds with eyes closed
hear flickering of fireflies’ light
smell beauty in distant mountains
taste majesty of flowers’ bloom
touch forgiveness
bring personification to life
“she” is much sweeter than “it”
and a seat cushion may have a roundness to her
throw in some high speech
make someone grab a lexicon
delete those extra words
‘I’s and ‘the’s especially
alliteration can create cacophonic chorus
while similar sounds of assonance
tie hoards and scores of words together
although there are no rules
try your best to use poetry’s tools
with this above all else:
let your truth ring
let your insights and revelations
be a healing to self and reader
let experiences resonate in hearts
and harmonize voices

self doubt and questions
in an introspective mood
turning life inward
"Do the things I do matter?"
"Am I making a difference?"

the sun still rises
with the moon taking her turn
the seasons cycle
Winter waits for Spring's rebirth
Summer strolls till Fall's harvest

the world in His hands
in a plan to be trusted
yet life is our own
we're each in charge of ourselves
responsibility's choice

questions disappear
when I look at the children
reading their faces
discovering who they are
searching for identity

a compass points North
but life happens everywhere
guidance is needed
helping hands to push or ****
as each living map unfolds

the look on her face
with all she's been through lately
holding her breath in
hospitals and waiting rooms
clutching to uncertainty

the look on her face
as she smiles at simple things
her father is home
fighting hard for normalcy
he has someone to live for

mortality's taste is bittersweet
as death's brush paints life's new lease
impressionistic could haves, should haves, would haves
minimalist suprematism shapes dreams
surrealistic hopes
time's urgency hammered home by temporal clarity
top 10 lists glazed to topography
as future blends to present amid trees
a familiar CICU
a family gathering
beds with tubes and wires
monitors flashing and beeping
refreshing past's distance
with updated parking prices
will the ending be the same?

October 11, 1944
mission Mt. Cauala
deep in the Appennines
veils of midnight
curtains of torrential rain
her rivers rise to block our way
the Vezza roaring like thunder
brilliant, blinding lightning baffling
stealing all sense of proportion
torn up roads like chasms tripping
dropped equipment lost in mud
visibility at absolute zero
feeling forward for each step
the man in front of you disappears in darkness
as each man to the rear gets lost
this blackness of night had not been foreseen
lightning flashes strobe the mountains above
thunder explodes like artillery fire
completely soaked soldiers stumble around
some find an abandoned shack
shelter near the Sera
rest until daybreak

as we enter Seravezza
our regimental commander cautions
the entire town under enemy eyes
scoping our every move
enemy machine guns sweep streets
heavy artillery regularly rakes buildings
some of our men already wounded
reconnaissance and plan of attack
Company I right, L center, K left
by 2310 the last man slips
into Sera’s icy waters
then climbs necessity’s ladders
built to negotiate the steep Rocky Ridge
jagged, knife-like edges rip clothing and tear flesh
as men try to find footing in blackness
chaos in the ranks
platoons and squads scattering
leaders have no way of knowing
if men are turning back
getting spattered by enemy machine guns
or losing their footing and lives
to the rocks below
calling out to each other
pinpoints our positions to enemy ears
drawing more accurate fire
by 0730 we are all atop the mountain
the German counter attack begins the day
fanatically, despite our heavy fire
they keep coming from three directions
expected flank from 1st Battalion does not arrive
still, German mortar fire and grenades
cannot dislodge our men
despite dwindling ammunition
we hold our position
BAR’s, Silver Stars and concussion grenades

a dozen volunteer for ammunition supply detail
as we approach the hill
a machine gun rakes our position
manned by two, our fire takes out one
the other carries him away
onward to hill’s base
progress paused by tremendous barrage
we crouch for a time before continuing
half way up we’re met
with more mortars and machine guns
shrapnel flying hot
burning into clothes and skin
the smell of gunpowder and cordite
burning into memory
our ammunition mission fails
forcing return to base of hill
with men from rifle companies following
at 1600 our own heavy artillery barrage falls short
striking entrenched remnants of companies K and L
this friendly fire is too much for tired men to take
they withdraw at opportunity’s first chance

darkness falls
soldiers roaming aimlessly
battle’s horror in shocked eyes
efforts made to gather wounded
seventy casualties in just one day
scores with battle shock and fatigue
but numbers never quantify
suffering, broken spirit and loss of life
trained men and officers killed
unhappy AWOLs and disciplinaries
find themselves as front line replacements
inexperienced men growling greatly
morale tanks

The battle of Seravezza crushed 3rd Battalion
despite several efforts
we were never able to take control
the Germans repelled every attack
soldiers were angered by impossible tasks
seemingly sent on suicide situations
we knew they knew where we were
we knew we were to face heavy bombardment
we knew we were without sufficient firepower or manpower
command knew we were out gunned
in the end
the Germans controlled the mountain

scent of prey is nigh
an innocent young couple
alone in the woods
oblivious to danger
he's kneeling down on one knee

silent is the chase
the look of terror in eyes
trapped in fearfulness
there is no place left to run
they stand trembling, holding hands

the growling surrounds
too easily they are caught
ripping and rending
with tooth and claw and bloodlust
as the forest is sullied

awakens groggy
the smell of death upon him
his heart is heavy
he feels the weight of horror
he watched it all from within

looks up with sadness
another full moon tonight
after so many
he is doomed to change again
howling echoes pierce the air

sneaks in stealthily
to palpable emptiness
takes a look around
ah, all the familiar sights
it's nice to see the old place

the stains on the walls
clean spaces once protected
shielded by portraits
decor of dust and cobwebs
the smell of yesteryear

peeling wallpaper
ageless soot on masonry
hearth tools left behind
creaking floors whispering names
echoes of her heritage

broken windows breathe
as she groans for visitors
she still has her charm
this old house out in the woods
this home built by rustic hands

an old lady lived in the neighborhood
spewing spite from her window calling out
I'm sure she would tell you her life was good
atop the world she would tell you no doubt
her meanness revealed the hatred within
her blatant name calling would never end
pointing her finger at everyone's sin
secretly wishing that she had a friend
even her family wasn't too keen
her two young nieces would visit with care
she chased them away creating a scene
they considered her home a witches lair

she lived by herself, was buried alone
in an grave unmarked, without a tombstone