outside the winter storm is pelting down
with ancient power recalling us to true
vision of our places so then we rue
both the larger anger and the lesser frown
each gout of pressure under which we drown
unheeded here withheld from public view
still grasping for some force that would renew
each broken heart and smile at each sad clown
tonight we’re promised snow that will not stick
to the warm ground and ice that will not chill
for any length of time the naked skin
yet winter ‘s taking only the first lick
at these soft hides there’s still much room for ill
since we are in a race the clock must win

Our souls
are one thousand firecrackers
each stick waiting to burn.

Sometimes our souls are quiet,
and the firecrackers are stagnant
and wet.

And sometimes we burn slow,
the firecrackers smoldering sweet and terrible,
the ashes falling in poetic teardrops to the ground.
We are tied down and the firecrackers
are screaming to burst out with a jubilant
expression of WOWWW!

But they are denied.

Until that one moment when all the pieces are set
and finally the firework of our soul is
let loose and explodes with loud, sulfuric glory,
spreading its light and smoke and wonder
across the quiet plains.

If only he could paint what he feels
deep within, and not just what he sees,
his paintings would be transcendent.
But anymore, what he feels is elusive, hidden
somewhere beyond the descriptive,
beyond the stroke of his brush and the
complexities of his paint, beyond his ability
to put emotion and insight to canvas.

He's begun to question himself,
no longer the confident painter but now
far too introspective and unsure of his talent,
a talent that used to reveal itself with flare,
color and a successful style. Melancholy
has set in, frustrating any attempts
to get beyond the feeling of hopelessness.

Someone who would never equate
himself with the great painters, knowing
the limits of his own talent, he
nevertheless wonders - could this
be how Van Gogh felt in his despair?

--

If I'm swallowed by the sea and my heart
ceases to beat,
I'd have you know a thing or two about me.
Tell my mother and my brothers that
they colored up my life,
and be sure that my poor father knows the same.
Be sure my father knows the way
I tried for him most every day,
and when my mother starts to cry won't you won't you
comfort her?

Tell the boy I love all the times I almost told him
And hold my best friend's hand when they pull me from the ocean.
Read the notebooks in my room
Laugh at what I thought of you
Give the gods and all the angels my regard.
Smile when you see a bird
wheeling in the rain,
and think of me when you think that spring won't ever come again.
My father's only daughter who is so scared of the water
will dance with you when you're asleep and dreaming.
I'll see you when you wash your face to rid yourself of my ingrace
And I'll hold you when you bend, begin to scream.

s  t  a  r  s
       a  r  e
   f  a  l  l  e  n
drops of tears,
got enlightened
overcoming fear

I watched my father from a distance
Being mauled by a bear
And even from this far away
In his eyes i could see fear
Pure ******* fear

I listened to lucy tell me
The worst thing Ive ever heard
About how 2 men grabbed and  ***** her
Is that worse than being mauled?

I do not know
But i guess they mustve screamed
So loudly into the distance
She was only thirteen

Only thirteen
And I was twelve at the time
I asked her if it hurt
I should’ve known better
Instead I made it worse

I met Daniel at a party
He showed me his scars
He said his father shot himself
So he decorates his arms

And monica paints pictures
Of skies so beautifully blue
Though she herself is dying
Just skin and bones and truth

I asked her if she found it
In all the painting’s she created
Did you find Daniels father?
Was he cremated?
Did you find Lucy’s innocence?
Unburdened her of her shame?
Can your paintbrush do that?
Can it make you sane?

What about my mother
Does she have a say
Can she ever get back
What was lost that day?

Can you paint my eyes
So they un-see what was seen
Can you paint the sounds
Of Lucy's silent screams
Can you paint Daniels arms
Make the scar's disappear?
Can a ******* painting
Ever make things all clear?

It’s like looking for a heart,
In a metal junkyard,
And getting cut in all the glass,
People have walked on.

Even asked the wizard of Oz
If he knew where it may be
But all he said was
"Look inside child, you will see."

I looked for it in pictures,
Of me smiling with my friends,
I looked for it in winters,
That never seemed to end.

I looked for it in boys,
Who thought that they were men,
Even looked for it in monsters,
Under my red quilted bed.

I looked under the rain,
In my brothers eyes,
Looked to my father,
And said “I never cry.”

He said “I know,”
As I began to weep,
“I know,”
I heard him repeat.

I looked for me in shadows,
In the past and present dear,
Looked for it in music,
I never seemed to hear.

I looked for it in children,
The only thing that made me smile,
But all I found was 7 pounds of,
Useless blood, muscle and denial.