I have read
the poem of your life
as I have lived
my own.

You are broken-hearted.
You are lonely.
You are defeated.
You are in despair.

So be it.

Embrace your pain.
Hold it close.
Surrender to it.

If you evade
your suffering,
you lose your chance
for joy.

Joy lives on
the other side
of suffering.

Wake up each day
and soldier on.

Show up for life.

That's all there is,
but it's a lot.

~mce

breathe when steps up the climb redden.
see deep true endlessness forming waves.  
many abjurations will cloud alone,
to never green again.
taste dust sometimes,
enjoy sneezing--
cry.
play the moon;
know selfish worlds darkly,
grow flying genders into acts
sensing beneath ground live stars resting:
freely read to recall ancient ways to poem...
hidden wisdom gone stale speaks past
as poetic forests fall wilting.

i would cry out, give voice my wild rage
if that would loose the bonds, arrest her plight
but cowardice sustains a safer silence
long imbued complacency of guilt
--ensconced escapist narthex ease and shade--
i do not speak the secret all avoid
when speaking it condemns me to a pretense
loathe of self the ears that hear and do not hear
deep cloister  of a falsely sacred quest
to give into the hands encompassing us all
which hand it down again, below a conscience
as above removed, vacant as her eyes

The summer had come and gone,
And tomorrow, she was leaving,
Going back to the city to wait
The warming spring's returning.

At 88, she had decided it best,
Husband gone four years,
Two hips healed, but stiffening;
Ice forming on the ground
To keep her from walking;
Time to go back to the city to rest,
Hopefully to return when whooping cranes
V'eed north again in spring.

She'd packed her things
In two suitcases yesterday:
Simple clothes,
Her Bible,
A pair of shoes, or two;
Not much now,
No need.

She wondered if he'd do one thing
Before they drove away.

"My nails need a trim."

So, here he was,
Bent low to hold each foot,
To trim his mother's nails...

Memory, returned then,
Reversed four years
To this same chair,
In this same house,
His father struggling for air,
Needing help to dress.

He saw again his father's feet,
Frail and white and cool,
The nails long and needing care.

Embarrassed, the old man,
Despite the lack of breath,
Wheezed he couldn't bend
To reach his feet.

And the son had bowed then
To trim his father's nails,
And dressed him before
The three of them began the journey
From which only two returned.

And now, the week before Christmas,
The mother and her son,
Focused on the nail clipping,
Knowing certain chores,
However poignant,
Must be done.

Quiet night it is, as if it still
keeps the mystery in it's womb,
under the starlit sky we relive
the divine happening yet again.

Some, yes never miss the crux,
the truth of the story told in light;
but the fact remains that most of us
are only obsessed with the light.

So the stars hung high up shed
light in many hues different,
we just repeat the customs of yore
or add some more, feel contented.

The effect now is just ritualistic,
where does the mind hide?
allowing rampant darkens rule
making one another fight , it's sad.

A silver star is again born
in a far corner of the blue sky
and sheds it's light on all,we see
sky of our mind keeps on shining.

Do we remember to imbibe,the spirit?
of the rays of the cleansing star
are we aware that there is no
shadow to the star's light.

'tis the season
to be holy
'tis the season
to be jolly
'tis the season
to have fun
'tis the season
to be done
'tis the season
to feel stress
'tis the season
of such duress
'tis the season
of such renown
'tis the season
to seek ground
'tis the season
for the ultimate test
'tis the season
to seek final rest

Merry Christmas, the voice greets me
humbug I mutter under breath
greed hatred jealousy
only things you live with.

Keep to yourself your mirth
I sullenly brood
such lies are too heavy for this earth
done this place no good.

Relations under cloud of doubt
each soul bears a grievous injury
merriment had long gone out
the greet is just empty.

It's a pity you still find it merry
with all the injustice inequity
men classified quartered
children for food bartered.

Merry doesn't the word stink
while some choose what to drink
fuss about the flavor to savor
many reach it by miles' labor.

Merry can't hide away the glum
of human habitats in dingy slums
strewn on pavements under open sky
breathing refuses left to die.

Still, Merry Christmas to you, says the voice
the time is to give and rejoice
the world though truly is what you say
haven’t You, I, We, made it that way?

(sung to "If I Only Had a Brain/Heart/Courage" song from the Wizard of Oz)

I'm a ****** *******,
altho I seem quite merry,
I am always causing strife.
I've a rot for a banana,
But I'd smoke the whole Havana,

if I only had a LIFE!

I just love to cause division,
By other's lives derision,
I'll cause gossip to be rife!
It don't matter! I am toothful,
I don't claim to be that truthful,

If I only had a LIFE!

I would love ta get ta know ya,
But I smoke like Krakatoa,
You could cut it with a knife.
I will put it in my ashtray
And conclude another entry

if I only had a LIFE!

I've no girlfriend, it don't matter,
I'm as loony as a hatter,
I will never have a wife.
I've a teeny weeny shooter,
Can't make love to my computer,

IF I ONLY HAD A LIFE!!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/20/2015

My Dear who's come through winter
Growing with soft roughness
How you have become my kiss,

The pressing of my heart within
my breast,
And the pushing of my breath.

Oh Dear your hands are small
And move into my hands
With smallness, their pale beauty.

Dear, in Winter, who is dying,
You are life made skin and health;
Your lips are always playing
With softness as their wealth.

Wandering through
this electronic age
where no one offers
me sustenance,
I never give up
trying to feed them
poetry.

  ~mce