my sister thought my mother
had died on her lap;
she walked to the bathroom
inside that depthless hospital hotel.

the putrid smell of life and death
all through-out this concrete heaven
and hell.

at the age of fifty-four
my mother's bones would
carry no more weight.

her gentle heart
her forgiving mind
her words so strong

but mine,
they are forced out
by constricted wind-pipes
and angry words

i glanced down at the cot, where my mother died
as I made contact with my mother's pale-blue eyes
she looked at me with the most helpless,
childish face I've ever seen.
as if to say:
"he isn't here.. where is he...
where could he be?"

she lived thirty more minutes.

he arrived a few hours later, asking:
"how's she doin'?"

never take for granted,
someone's borrowed time.

I don’t think I fear anything more than being rejected; I have been rejected more times than the counting a 5 year old knows

Little kid isn’t afraid to jump in puddles, splashes of mud cake his jeans hems and droplets of mud line on his chin to cheeks to his hairline and

He does his little dance out in the street if he hears his favorite song play, he sings lullabies in broken voice, messing up all the words, but smiling nonetheless

He is fearless, careless and blind to the world’s cruelty.  what happens to us? Does society change us to such an extent that I rather not post anything than post 2 lines on which I am going to judged mercilessly?

I hate it, when you don’t reply to my texts, I hate that I am left hanging up in the air, hands outward, toes clinging on to metal bars so I don’t fall off

Tell me what is wrong with me? I am not afraid to hear it. Just tell me why can’t you like me?

What is so wrong about me? Days like these I want nothing more to go back to being a 5 year old; I had nothing to worry about,

just pouring flowers into white sheets ,colors that ran out of petals and trees that looked more like a nest of green lines

And dancing, round and round, like a ballerina, laughing, giddy, looking upward in the sky, smile so wide that if lifted my mom’s health problems and money problems that plagued my daddy

I don’t think I want anything more to be just wanted and needed; nobody ever makes me feel that way,

I always feel like I am an extra, on the movie set, I just really want to be ****** of someone

For just once, I want to be free, away from the clutches of ravens, I want his fear of rejection to just vanish, and so I can do crazy things, and figure out who I am and who I am supposed to be

in our rocky mountain vistas
and certain landscape
paintings
our imaginings are captured

sometimes clear and ordered
in others stormy patterns
hiding then revealing
dark and jagged forms
almost hearing the hawk's
invisible circling call

imagining ourselves on
precipitous mountain paths
blown by shifting icy winds
vertigo and dark crevices
fearsome obstacles foreshadowing
impending loss     then

most suddenly we return
to our observation places
warmth safety comfort
as before
our imagined landscape fears
now engulfed transformed
within a joyous
pervading light
a jolting new experience
mysteriously named by some
as the sublime

the word a gentle quiet
merging
of beauty and twin terrors
fear and loss

might we then find
in this our landscape viewing
a rehearsal
for life's dark confrontations
and on a promising day
enfold transmute and
with ecstatic labor
discover true beginnings
new births
reaching this time
a friend
we know and name
our sublime

The day arrived, the sun was out
The sky was perfect, calm
All was as it should be
No resistance 'fore the storm
A winter gone, a spring in bloom
Things were as things should be
Fresh paint and banners hung out
For all the world to see
Bunting just the way it was
On days like this before
It showed off baseball's history
No less and nothing more
The lines were crisp and dedicated
The foul lines and the fair
The team logos were painted
Silence hung in the spring air
A church for fifty thousand
To revere this game they'll see
And if each single seat is filled
There'll be fifty thousand forty three
The boys of summer own this field
New history shall be made
While fans scream for their favorites
As the game is being played
A chess game on such pristine grass
At this park it's real
At others you will find that it
Is plastic...and lacks feel
The players, some are new as well
They were not here last year
The owners changed the line ups so
Your favorites are not here
Fathers, sons, and daughters
Share this circus every spring
It's a rite of family passage
To most a holy thing
New jerseys, hats and banners
Showing where alliegance lies
There is no joy in Mudville
As each person chooses sides
The umpires, too, begin anew
They must be on the ball
Today's game is most scrutinized
You cannot miss a call
The sense of pomp and circumstance
In this annual ceremony
Breaks out all of the rituals
In a loud cacophony
The teams announced and anthems sung
Color parties raise the flags
This is what baseball's all about
Home plate and three new bags
The smell of ******* jack and beer
Hot dogs and candy corn
Soon start to infiltrate the park
And they break up this fresh morn
The players sit below now
Waiting for the game to start
Cliche speeches break the air
As the managers play their part
It's time to all get ready
Put this years "uni" on
And to rid your self of buttlerflies
And get that feeling gone
You check yourself before hand
Make sure that the outfits good
And you go over the ground rules
And know exactly what you should
Your'e as important to this game now
You are the holder of their fate
For your job is most important
You let the patrons though the gate
The actors in this rite of spring
Are varied in their roles
From players, umps and concessioneirs
They all make baseball whole
The opening of each season
Shows off every single team
From the players out there on the field
To the ones behind the scenes.
You put your best foot forward
Because you want them all to say
That baseball is just special
Because of Opening Day.