Doldrums

I’m down in them. I am.
Sigh.
Time to bring myself up
by the bootstraps or by
some other means.
I’m tired of this place.
It is so dark and desolate.
I want
to feel the sun on my face
once again.
Oh I do. I do.

Sunset

All those warm hues intermingling
You know
it’s quite pretty but
Those clouds those colours are descending  they are dropping
Draping sadness all over me
bringing this dismal day to a close and I guess that’s ok because
I barely saw the sun shine today it was overcast
And cloudy
just like
the dark puddles that surround
My putrid
little heart.

Deep

In my wizened heart
There is still something  left for
you my only love.

You put it there
Mother, Father,
And so I must endure it all.

Come
Follow me
We will walk
Down
The
Shadowy corridors
Of my heart
Stop
Right here.
and listen
To the sad litttle beat
Of my heart.
Just
Listen. It’s a beat,  a whisper,
then a hollow thump.
Oh my
My poor, wizened,
broken heart.

It’s my memory
so I guess no one would understand
what that gesture
meant
to me.

All those years ago.
1975?
The prairies.
Grandpa and Grandma’s house
We congregated
Kids left to their own devices but sometimes
Grandpa would walk us to the park and sit with us in the knee-high grass.
We’d talk and play and he would say-go pick  those yellow flowers
I will pick them too
and bring them back to  me.

I did. I was so intrigued. The rest ran off to play

I dutifully brought my bounty back to him.
He took those dandelions
And braided them into a crown
and put them gently on my head and said, you are a princess now.

He said I could be a princess
For just a moment
With a smile and a lot of love he made me a princess for just a
Moment
In time.

And for that, Grandpa,
I’ll always be grateful.

I miss you

I hear you
Even when you don’t want me to.
It’s ok to lament.  To
Feel
Everything.
It’s ok to do that.
If you’re feeling lonely,
I can do that with you.
You’re not alone
Don’t be alone anymore.
Here I am.
Here I am.

Pansies

Five velvet petals
so soft to the touch.
They come
In a plethora of colours
Colours of hope but
They always have a dark center.  Pansies are so
Fragile .
Resilient.
These delicate little flowers are so
Like me.

This warmth surrounds me
because you are near and so
dear to my wizened heart.

On Canvas
Or
Whatever surface.
I spill paint and words
and I emote
I let it all bleed out.

Sometimes it’s pretty.
It’s Art. Artistry at its best.

A picture forms and it looks  like
a lovely moment in time.

Other times it’s a smear of dark hues
slaps of paint
angrily thrown on canvas.  


And other times it’s just a sigh.
A small stroke of pastel paint.
Looking for solace.

Every little stroke of paint.
Colour.
It’s me.
It’s me.

These Seasons

There is no misery under the sun,
by the sea.
It’s bright and warm
and lush and life abounds.
Yet
There is misery everywhere else.

Desert and drought  -
It is a morbid landscape -
the heat smothers the life out of every living thing.
Everything withers and dies under the oppressive heat.
Oh.
And the cold.
The bone-chilling cold  accompanied by
the bleak, grey landscape that is  painted in hues of sadness
and drab colours of death and deprivation.
A minute in wicked winter windchills
will take your fingers, toes , nose , or it might just
lull you into the winter sleep of death.  It’s all so
Wicked. So
Unjust.
These Seasons.
Where you are born is everything. Chance.
It all seems so terribly unfair.
There is no utopia. No equity.
Nothing
Is kind or just in this life
for the most of us.
Only for the few.
Why, my hopeful God.
Why is this so true?

The sun rose and set
And here we are again
It’s a beautiful day.
Smiles and acts of kindness
It’s just
Nice.
What a beautiful day.

Treading Water

My head is just barely
above the water.
I’m gasping for breath
and flailing
and failing
and oh my God
I might sink
I might lose this battle
but I’m kicking and flailing
and splashing and
I want to live I want to break the surface and breathe so I
swim hard, so hard and I
fight the current and
and drag myself
out of the depths of the sea-
this ocean of despair and I do.
I pull myself up and out and to solid ground.
I made it.
I’m
Here.
Grounded.
At least for a moment.
This is
My chance
to stand on solid ground.
I made it.
I’m ready.
Let’s go.

Can be found
anywhere but mostly
in places
you wouldn’t expect like
Right here
Right now.

Always a believer
Always hopeful
That there are intelligent beings somewhere
Out there
In the universe.
Because clearly there are none here.
We are simple.
Neanderthals.
All of us.
Mouth-breathers and dinosaur bashers.
Simple.  So simple.

I Write

I write it down.
Somewhat poetically.
Spill my guts.
Somewhat poetically.
And then I read it later and I’m promptly ashamed
to read the truth of it all
so then I delete it and
go about my day
And then night comes and I look for it but I got rid of it so I write it again.
And the cycle continues.
Emote
Delete
So I don’t have to absorb it
and live the truth
or deal with the  things
that are eating me
from the inside out.
I guess that’s just the way it is.
I guess
that’s  poetry, baby.

Elsewhere

In the
Nether regions
Of my mind
I remember
I feel
I live
It all. Every moment
In time
No matter
The pain
The cost to
My soul.
I just keep
Living and
Enduring
It
All.

I Feel

I feel my way through life.
Always have and I always will.
I listen. I reach out. Feel
Hurt
love
live
despair
hate
all of it all of it.
I feel
I feel
All of it
Every
Day.

Late

It is late, this I know
because I feel the chill of it
in my bones.
I hear the wind and leaves
tearing away,
stem to stern.  
It’s dying time,
It’s the fall,
It’s the ruin
Of us all.
The sun fails and
night prevails
winds wail and
then
It’s over.
And
Another day
Comes.

Forgiving

Children are
So forgiving.
Maybe it is because we forget -
we parcel away
all of those awful things
the adults did to us.
Maybe that’s why.
We forgive and forget.

Watch Your Step
so you don’t trip and fall
or worse.
Watch your step, my good friend.
Step
Lightly.
Carefully.
Carefully, now.
I’m
watching
You.

The touch of your hand
Upon the small of my back
Is all that I need.

I pick up the pen
and I write
because I need
to bleed my emotions
on paper and sometimes I
write
just for the hell of it and sometimes
I write because I just need
to talk to someone anyone
I just need to talk.

There are so many
Indignities that I have
endured in my time.

I’ve Had to Say

Goodbye.
A few times lately. Covid and the ravages of time.
Age and days
that have worn and weathered
our weary population.
Lots of goodbyes
Lately.
So many
goodbyes.

I Don’t Cry Anymore

What does that mean?
Have I lost my soul?
The thing that makes me human?

I don’t cry anymore.
Something dies right in front of me -
I mourn. I lament.
But I do not cry.

You throw barbs at me.
You are hateful and unkind.
I look at you with empty eyes and I am silent, but by God
I do not cry.

I don’t cry anymore.
The well has run dry.
I am but a withered and weathered
thing.
Twisting in the wind.

I’ve Come Undone

Unravelled.
Unspooled.
Undone.
Once upon a time, I
was tightly woven.
A part of the fabric of society but now.
Now I’m frayed. A loose thread.
Pull on me and it will all come
Undone.

I am Lost

My soul resonates
with the prettiest and darkest things.
I feel and hurt
and live and rejoice
and die and hate
and forgive.
I do it all
in a whirlwind of emotions so no wonder.
No wonder
I don’t know what’s forward or backwards or even what to say
Or do next.
I am so lost.

Autumn Haiku

It is dying time.
The leaves are giving way to
the end of summer.

Bumped into an old flame the other day...inspired this nasty little poem...;)

Oh first love,
how I want to crush you beneath my heel.
Grind the little pieces of you into the dirt until the soles of my feet bleed scarlet red rivulets of my blood-my life-my energy-that I wasted on you.
Come on over-
I’ll take you up in my arms and crush you against my chest-break your ribs and smother the air out of your lungs. Crush you against my body until you fall limp and then I’ll release you.
Let you slump in an inconsequential heap at my feet.
Exactly where you belong.
If you ever come back to me
I promise you this fate.
You took me up back then and
pulled me all the way down.
I scrambled up and out of that pit of despair you condemned me to so don’t.
Don’t come back to me.
You’ll regret it because I’m ready and willing to make things right.
Square things away -
so just don’t.
Don’t you come back to me now.

That’s where I like to escape, often.
Pick up a real book-this thing with paper and a cover and bindings and a frontispiece and I just dive right in.
Turn off all the background noise and I just waltz right into that exposition and sit myself down and watch. Listen.
Become a part of the narrator’s carefully crafted tale.
Cheer for my protagonist and wish the worst for my antagonist.
I hear it all, and feel it all,
eat and breathe those words, those scenes, that rising action.
I’m right there for the ******
and falling action and the eventual denouement.
And then I let go.
I set that book gently down on my bedside table and I let myself come back here. Regretfully, always, but at least I know that another world
is just a page or two away.

Would You?

Would you reach for me
if I were drowning-
even if it meant
you would be pulled down into the depths of the
sea
with me?
Would you
reach for me?
In my most
desperate moments,
if I asked for you,
would you respond?
If I called,
would you respond?
I don't think so, anymore.
I guess I wanted
more from you
than you could
ever give.

Lost

I'm so lost that I cannot be found.
No one will ever recover the bits and pieces
of me.
I gave way to the night awhile ago.

I let myself be buried
many moons ago.

And now
I'm just a bit of the dust and dirt and earth beneath your feet.

Look down now, and you'll find me.
There I am.
There I am.

Cobwebs

Just before
the night claims me,
errant thoughts usually traipse across the landscape of my mind.
There's always
bits and pieces from my conscious day that play out and then there's the bits and pieces that creep and crawl  in
from the cobwebs of my subconscious mind.
God, how these thoughts plague me, harangue me.
And it all twists and turns internally in the twilight of my dreams and I battle through it all.
I fight and I struggle and I break through the surface and I breathe.
And I awake. I stir, I struggle, and then,
and then, I decide
that this day
is another day
that is worthy of my time.

Stitches

How can I weep
for something I have not yet lost?
Perhaps it is because I can feel it slowly, surreptitiously
slipping away from me, and
I do not want to let it go.
I truly am endeavoring
to stitch this tear in my bedraggled heart,
but I am no seamstress.
I do not know how to mend or make amends with myself,
and I really don't know
if I want to.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow will be a better day.
It's such a beautiful sentiment, really,
that I want to repeat it again and again in my mind.  
And I'll listen and hear it anyways-
even when things go crooked-even when my light gets diffracted and when everything goes upside-down.
Tomorrow will be a better day.
I know it.
I believe it.
Tomorrow
will be
a better day.

We Made History Today

We
Spoke out.
We
Rose above.
We
Said no, not good enough.
We
stood tall
and
We
won't fall
for falsehoods and ignorance.
We
will move forward.
Protect our loved ones
and
We
will
prevail.

Mirkwood

This is my forest.
My Middle-earth.
My fantasy woods filled with wicked things and winged creatures.
It's the dark forest of my imagination.
It's the little annex, attic of my mind.
Mirkwood is where I go when things are darkest and when I need to delve deeply
into my soul.
It's where I go when all things go awry, when they go so awfully awry.

Haunted Haiku

I will wait for you
in the darkness-in the still
of this wicked night.

Corpses


The wind whispers and whimpers and wails
throughout this ******, ****** night.
It cries and calls out and it cackles a cacophony of croaking, dying voices.
It hurts, it hurts and bleeds.
This night echoes voices- the throaty
voices of the dead and the gone.
The dead and gone and
the gangrene and rotten, ruinous souls that haunt us all.
The rotten.
The ruinous.
The souls we've left behind.

Come to Me

For shelter. For love.
Come to me when you are in
dire straits -when you
are as hollow as a shell. When you are but an echo of your former self.
Shapeless. Hapless. Forgotten.
Come to me.
I will wait
for you
in the shadows of your soul.

The Sun Always Rises

and the dark always
gives way to the light.
Remember that,
in turbulent and troubling times.
Like these times
right here and right now that we are immersed in.

We are wading through this sludge with trepidation and angst and with the fever
of revolution.

Do we fight? Retreat to our separate corners?
I say fight.
Be bold.
Be ****** and resolute and be belligerent in thought and word.

Do move forward, kindly, and with the spirit of all that have ever been repressed- with the spirit that breaks the chains of uniformity and oppression.

Fight for freedom.
Fight for love.
Fight for a hopeful future.

I write
from all the corners of my heart.
I write from every chamber,
from every ventricle that pumps the blood
that circulates throughout my soul.
I write
when I am succeeding as a human being
and I write
when I fail,
and sometimes,
I fail on a grand scale,
but at least I write.
I write.

Life is Messy

I love you deeply
and greatly
but lately
I'm lost
and floundering
and fooling
myself
that I'm sane
and I try in vain
to straighten my path
and still my wrath,
but alas.
I
have
failed.
I have faltered, my love,
and
I do believe
I have completely
fallen
apart.

Without Love

Where would we be now?
Right here, perhaps.

There's chaos in the streets and confusion in our hearts and fear, oh so much fear.

Too much fear.
There is far too much fear.

We need to find a way-
let everyone have their say.

Love conquers all.
Love brings down walls.

Hate divides
like a disease multiplies.

Love is the cure.
Extend yourself in kindness,
why not?

What have we got to lose
besides our humanity?

Stand Up for Equality

Guess what?
You can be white
and hungry and
underprivileged.

You can be African American, Mexican, Asian, Indian... and on and on and
be hungry and underprivileged.

We are all in this place.
We are all human
and struggling
and wanting so much more.

So let's do it.
Let's break down these walls-no, we won't build them.

Let us break down these walls and embrace our humanity and our inherent love for one another.

Let's just give each other a helping hand for once.
Let's all just stand up
for each other.

Let us just stand up
for love
and kindness.
Let us
stand up.

It's Still a Beautiful World

...full of beautiful people.
Even though the news tells us otherwise.

So let's come together-
those with hearts that
radiate
love and kindness.

Let's embrace the angry and the forlorn
instead of fear them
and hate them
because we cannot, have not
walked a mile in their shoes.
Just stop.
Think.
Breathe.

Reach out.
Extend yourself in kindness and
maybe then,

maybe then we can staunch the blood
that flows from this wound
we all created.

I Don't Want to Fight Anymore

I don't want to fight with you
anymore.

I am just projecting
the ugly tangled thoughts
that plague my mind.

It's easier to make you hurt
than to feel it myself.

It's easier to access the ugly
than embrace the beautiful.

Most of the time,
it's easier to just hate you
instead of give you the love
you so deserve.

Colour Blind

I don't see the colour of your skin.

I see
the colour of your heart.

Is it dark and putrid or
is it the color of a soft and lilting tune?
Is it filled with warm tones,
or cold?
Hues of ice and snow,
or gold?

Do you give or take?
Do you love or hate?

I don't see race or faith,
I just see you-
your energy, your words, your actions.

I see you; I just simply
see you.

Look at Me

My countenance,
my mien
says
leave
me
alone.
It says I am stoic,
stone-faced. Shut
down.
All doors are locked.
Do not enter.
No trespassing-
but it's all a farce.
I need you.
I need somebody,
here,
now.  
I'm no good on my own.
Truly.
I'm no good at all.