You put a bouquet
of yellow flowers
on the bathroom vanity.

Thank you.

They brighten my heart—
they lift my spirit.

Before the screen door factory closed,
we used to go down to the Dairy Queen,
almost every Friday night.

I lived in a frozen dream land of hope
and whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

Before the screen door factory closed,
we used to go to the drive-in theatre,
and watch movies, on Saturday nights.

I lived in a world of triple-features and warm beer
and french fries from the concession stand.

Before the screen door factory closed,
we had a home and a charcoal barbecue,
and a yard, where we'd sit on warm evenings.

I sat in lawn chairs and barbecue smoke
and smiled and waved to the neighbours.

Before the screen door factory closed,
the phone would ring and we would answer it,
and it wasn't the bank, and we'd sleep all night.

Life was peaceful, and it would go on forever,
and never have to change.

Before the screen door factory closed,
Life was good.

Thank you.
I have no place to stay.

I need to regroup;
to organise my life.

I really appreciate this.


*******.
I feel humiliated.

I need to be independant;
to stand on my own.

I feel really ashamed.


Thank you.
I am learning to be humble.

I need to shed my pride;
to lessen my arrogance.

I accept this humiliation,
on the road to humility.

I dream in colour.

My dreams are vivid,
       exciting,
              dramatic.
I travel to Agra;
I walk the Great Wall;
I eat baingan bharta.


I live in black-and-white.

My life is plain,
       ordinary,
              blah.
I travel to Starbucks;
I walk through Riverside Park;
I eat at McDonald's.

I cut my thoughts like diamonds—
Flaws chiselled away,
pure heart exposed.

I cut my thoughts like diamonds—
Facets polished,
clarity revealed.

I cut my thoughts like diamonds—
Inner brilliance reduced
to shadows on the walls.

I've done things to the Toilet Brush,
Things that shouldn't be done,
even to inanimate objects.

I'm not proud.

I ****** the Toilet Brush
into the dregs of my waste,
and it sweeps them away.

I do not want to write
a perfect poem.
I do want to express
my feelings and ideas.

My perfect poem would be
thoughtful and sensitive.

My perfect poem would be
bold and exciting.

My perfect poem would express
my feelings and ideas.

I do not want to write with
perfect form.
I do want to write
a perfect poem.

.
            ocular
                of the eyes
                    sight, vision
                        blindness



            aural
   ­             of the ears
                    hearing, audition
                        deafness



            nasal
  ­              of the nose
                    smell, ofaction
                        anosmia



            oral
    ­            of the mouth
                    taste, gustation
                        ageusia



            tactile
­                of the hands
                    touch, mechanorecption
                        anesthesia

If I paint a picture
I get the credit.

That's my painting;
I made it.

If someone else paints a picture for me,
it's their picture.

So-and-so made me this painting.
It's their painting.

If I shoot a picture with my camera
it's my picture.

Just hold on a minute.
The camera did all the work!

I just pointed it in a certain direction and
push a button at a particular time.

I cling to life,
to all I know—
to the only thing I know.

I cling to life,
hang on
even though I am gone.

I cling to life.
don’t want to go—
afraid to go.

The Voice beckons,
Don’t be afraid,
You’ll be okay.

Desk—screen,
keyboard and mouse.

Headache—pulsing,
right eye throbbing.

Tension—sore
neck and shoulders

Hands—numb fingers,
wrists on fire.

Mind—wandering;
sleepy and distracted.

Waiting—five o'clock,
weekend, retirement.

Life—wasted,
nothing accomplished.

World—rotting,
worse than ever.

Cheese?
Oh, please!
I know that trick.

I know cheese and
I know peanut butter
and chocolate and biscuits.

I even know oatmeal porridge.

Still,
sniff  sniff
I'm hungry.

Flippant, frivolous, funny.
Witty, droll, comic.
Jokey, playful, sportive.
Mischievous—a whole 'nother
can of worms.

Waves of embarrassment wash over me
from the top of my head, down.
Can they see it—feel it—
my lack of self-assurance?

Knots of tension
build up in my shoulders,
I try to make them laugh
with me—at me—it doesn't matter.

My hands are shaking—
I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing—
I'm afraid I'll betray myself.
But now I'm done.

"I'm completely speechless, " she says.

She continues, "I don't know what to say."

She goes on, speechlessly,
for another fifteen minutes.

I understand.

Sometimes speech is not enough
to express what I am feeling.
Sometimes it is sheer magic
that I am understood at all.

He was a non-judgemental man—
abhorred bullies;
helped any who came,
seeking their path.
He was light in a dark corner.

He continues his Spirit Walk.
Free of constraint—
knowing not the limitations
that the physical world imposes.
He is everywhere.

Truth is absolutely the most important.

Well, rhythm and then truth;
You can't have a song without rhythm.
Rhythm,
Then truth.
But truth is the second most important.

Okay, rhyming and then rhythm;
People like songs that rhyme.
Rhyming,
Then rhythm,
Then truth.
But truth is the third most important.

Wait, social media and then rhyming;
You've got to connect with your fans.
Facebook,
Then rhyming,
Then rhythm,
Then truth.
But truth is the fourth most important.

Farewell, so long, goodbye;
Adiós, adieu, au revoir;
Bon voyage, have fun,
I love you.

Sit alone—take a sip.
Lean back—take a sip.

Enjoy the shade—take a sip.
Look around—take a sip.

Pet the dog—take a sip.
Sit alone—take a sip—and drink beer.

I wrote a song by accident.

Where did it come from?
I don't know.

I wrote a poem on purpose.

Where did it come from?
I don't know.

I am an old thing.
I am all the love and concern and happiness and anxiety
of all the past generations.

I am a new thing.
I am borne from the differences—the spaces between—
all the past generations.

Last night I slept on the altar,
on the top of the temple.

Heavy rain washed my body
as sleep washed my mind.

I awoke to sunshine,
cleansed inside and out.

I feel cool;
              very cool.
I wear sunglasses;
              extra cool.
I don’t look cool;
              uncool.

I look
              in the mirror.

What’s up with the moustache?
You’re teeth are too small.

I laugh.

Don’t let the ******* get you down.
*You’re too cool for that.

What she really wanted
was to be loved.
The kind of love
you read about it books.
In happy books.
In happy, fairy tale books.

What she really wanted
was to be loved.
The kind of love
you can count on
The kind of love
that lasts forever
and doesn't hurt.

What she really wanted
was security.

Hum
Hiccup
Babbling
Gibberish
Gargle
Cough
Achoo

If you don’t mind, could we keep dancing?
If you don’t mind, could I hold you for a little while longer?
And, if you don’t mind, could you please hold me too?

It’s cold and it’s lonely over there—
over there with the wallflowers;
and, it's so nice here—
so nice here with you.

So, if you don’t mind, could we keep dancing?
And, if you don’t mind, could I hold you for a little while longer?
If you don’t mind, could you please hold me too?

You are strong.
You’ve shown that today.

Sometimes you are are afraid.
You lash out angrily
because you abhor weakness—
especially in yourself.

But, you are strong.
You’ve shown that today.

Sometimes you are enraged.
You rant furiously against
the injustices that you see;
that you’ve lived through.

But, you are strong.
You’ve shown that today.

Today you helped your most loyal,
your most devoted, companion
take the necessary next step
of her journey—of her life.

Showing, beyond a doubt,
that you are strong.

He loves her to the best of his ability;
She loves him as much as she is able.
They are as happy as can be—
as happy as they can be—
for now,
for as long as they are together.

Your bed is at least
as good for sleeping
as my kitchen crate.

Except when there’s a fire
in the wood stove.

You understand.

I wave goodbye to my neighbour.
I can’t hear her;
I have my headphones on.

I had offered her my pen
when she was having trouble
with her pen and
now we are connected

you
me
love
we
us
joy
two

you
me
hate
we
us
pain
two

I am thankful for the free refill.
I like getting something for free.

I am thankful it is so affordable,
and easy, to get.

I just had to join the club.

And give them my personal information.
and agree to receive their newsletter,
and promotional offers.

And then I have to buy
5 expensive coffees
and then I'm in.

And now, whenever I buy
an expensive coffee—
and I finish it
before I leave the store—
I can get my cup refilled,
for as free as it gets.

Where does inspiration come from?
From me? From you?
From the moon? From the stars?
From the divinity? From humanity?

Where does inspiration come from?
From awareness.
From interactions.
From everything.

you
you
you
you
you
you
you

It’s not easy to be rich;
                                      but,
                ­                           it is easy to be poor.
To be rich, I must
                            always
                         ­               be accumulating more.
To be poor,
                   they just do nothing
                                                     at all.

It’s not easy to be poor;
                                        but,
              ­                               it’s easy to be rich.
To be poor, I must
                             always
                                        be working or else how will I eat?
To be rich,
                 they just do nothing
                                                   at all.

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you
me
live
we
us
survive
all

Heart worms
eat my love—
I feel nothing.