Be still...as the rain falls, steady in the storm, fearless in the dark, mindful with love, soft with every touch, wise with your actions, thoughtful with your words, forgetful of your worries and doubts, slow to your anger, weak in your judgement, strong with your passion and passionate with your life.

Is this you in the wedding
Photograph? Yes. St Mark’s church.
1951. Late June.
Your hair looks nice, and the dress

Looks fine. Not mine. It was the
One my mother wore and her
Mother before her. A white
Handed down family gift

For marriages that end in
Doom. Your husband looks dapper
Hanging onto your arm like
Grim death. Don’t waste you breath on

Him he’s gone now. Was he no
Good? He thought he was the dog’s
Dinner but he was the pig’s
Backside and no mistake. Gone

You say? Dead? Long since and no
Regrets. Why keep the photo
If it was bad? To remind
Me of that fateful day and

His thin sickly smile. Why so?
Why keep it thus? To remind
Me of his premature death,
The grimfaced miserable cuss.

(Poem composed in 2008.)

If I could fall
There would be arms at the end.
A light in the tunnel.
Windows, instead if doors.
My eyes would not open closed,
No sound would escape my world.

If I could hope,
I would never reach an edge.
Home cannot be made of paper walls.
So easy to burn through.
Start from underground.

If you could stay,
I might stop laughing at cuts.
Look again,
There's a horizon.
A group of clouds we had never seen.

If all of this were true,
I might have the strength.
To look at my hands and see them broken,
Crippled claws.
Who can grasp even sand without will.

Remember,
All know the truth.
Brush it off,
Burry it,
No matter.
It comes as it will.
The darkness that consumes all.

Did you forget?

I had.


Pleading,
Break down the door.
Begging,
Save someone.
Everyone else.
Myself.

The
worst
time to
have an
existential
crisis is when
you're home, broke
and out of cigarettes.
The smoke can still my
mind and it can clean my
soul. It's funny, the cleaner,
the more sober I get the dirtier
I feel. I think it's because
in these sober moments
I learn more about the
crystal I sniff into my
nose and I learn
more about
myself
and I
learn
more
about
the
world.

I cant write anymore
The words just won't flow
I have no anger- well, I have it
It just won't show.
I don't got no tears to shed
Ill just sit here, for hours on end.
If I did something drastic
The words would flow again