We can conceal a broken heart,
demoralized faith,
shattered will,
a crushed spirit.

Pierced skin screams pain.
A plaster cast demonstrates healing.

But listen closely.
Some pains whisper softly.

Who said the grass was greener on the other side?
The one alone on the ***** soaked sidewalk?
The bearded man walking two paces behind
His wife while glancing my way?
The woman with the frown, the hard face
Eye rolling as the lovers smile into each other’s eyes?


The fast food nation dying inside out
The tilted heads, phone glowing, never noticing
The world around, the clouds, the sky.
The nation of talking heads stuck in the portals
The aimless many searching for nothing in particular.

The grass is greenest when freshly sprouting
Tender shoots reaching for the sky in hardy soil
Grass matures into a strong and vibrant pasture
Wild flowers and butterflies bouncing off sunlight
Its season comes and goes light and dark.

Pity so few stay long enough to enjoy its seasons
To see its growth to the fullest potential
Inflated expectations lead to disappointment.
Egocentric self-indulgence rolls along
Jumping one flower to the next.

Love is not feeling gratification
A heightened sense of intense emotion
Love is not lust, lust is not Love.
Love is not experienced in a moment.
Love lies in-between the moments.
Experienced in a lifetime.

That grass? No, it is not greener.
It will turn just as the grass you stand in
The faster you walk through it
The less you will understand its beauty and wonder
Between the moments.

Stony ground plantings,
surrounded by weeds.
They grow fast and wild,
don't they.
But bear little fruit.

As the sun rises
and gathers heat
they wither quickly. Yes,
Choked out by the weeds.
They thirst,
but cannot be quenched.

They are quick to sprout
with excitement,
but have such shallow roots.
Ah, and as the winds pick up
and the storms rise
they fell first and fast.
Oh, do they ever
tumble quickly.

Having no firm ground
on which to stand.
Such a pity really.
So much promise lost.

Still is the morning air
Heavy with silent moisture
Invisible state of being
Suffering no admiration.

Its muggy circumstance
No friend of the tender
Stifling energy willfully
Eagerly depressing and listless

What curse could be
We pray relief directly
Son of Astraeus and Eos
Gentlest of winds

Yet, Boreas appears coldly,
He comes bitter always
Accompanied stubbornly,
His biting demeanor chills.

Footprints in frost frozen
in place they are still
with uneasy eagerness they sit
waiting to dance again.

Come now if you will,
If ****** allows,
Come early if you please
Bring Flora alongside.

With flowers in her hair
soft and wondrous essence
carried in your arms
you’re gentlest of breezes

As I sit in this humid misery
in months you will take flight
I pray your willingness
in late summer dreams.

We count hours slowly
Hot humid air hangs leaden
The days thick and course
Persistent, overbearing
So eternally August

When recalling those hot still afternoons;
real life among the swarming millions.
Alongside her on the teaming sidewalks;
oh, my heart would beat a little faster.

Mommy, Mother, Mom:
Over years these words expressed,
Memoirs of my love.