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"wish everyone was loved tonight
And somehow stop this endless fight
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days"

Better Days by the Goo Goo Dolls
<>
Yeah yeah. Dating myself.
Some reason find myself listening to the GGD,
(A less embarrassing initialization)
Heard it a thousand times,
Classic easy listening rock.
A sweet wish, everybody knows, ain't gonna happen>
But, In my hand, a -perfecta summer day,
Steady sun, genteel sea breeze, low humidity,
The insects tolerate a shooing away, go easy and disappear,
House empty, everyone doing something and
You know where I am, tip~tapping on my iPad,
Yup, in that room, where poems are fan circulated,
And fall, freely, from the wood ceiling directly
Onto screen, my only job, to screen
The screen for typoes and other such minor inconveniences

There is no time to calculate,
No time to measure, no errors to complete that can't be undone,
And To mourn,
And the Angels have come in silently,
The day so fine, their human side,
Returns for a sun tan and the heat that heals
Burns, wounds, fissures, and even stalling
Out the growth of the bad cells our bodies
Con~tain;
They do not run nor hide,,
whispering I am too pessimistic,
And the Day will bleed into sunfall,
With colors sublime and god designed,
And if ever there was an evening
That the possibility greatest that
tonight
Everyone could be loved,
Even me,
Even you,
Even us,
The air has harmonies in the air flow,
And tonight, will be the time
When we all remember with a sly grin.
that we commence by loving oneself,
And then cell splitting,
and saliva sharing,
following tears and sweat,
and cradling arms
will entwine
Only Love Poems
Res
For so many reasons;
When the wow creativity
Of the young, new baby poets,

Bursts all over me,
Making me question
My egotistical perception,
Not a slap, but a belly laugh!
At the old fool, who once thought
Ever so secondary briefly, momentarily,
Unofficially, of his own esteemed self-worth,
Only to be reminded, deaf~dumb & blind~sided
By the fresh air, the aggravating sight of new insight
The delicious!delight  of reading the whole of all night
The explorations, the baby hallucinations, the trembling,
Insights of the explorers of the old, not re!newed, but, but.
Made anew, re~viewed with perspectives boldly unknown,
With crazy wisdom to expound, here, you! right here, right now,
I leave you and return to delight, taste, new extra languages, that
                                               I must
                                         learn not to speak
                                       but to peak, even to
                                     Cry, Laugh even Smile  
    
                              In all my new native tongues



Friday, July 18
5:39 AM,
2025
In the sunroom

Dictated in one fell swoop, not a moment to lose, dispatched while
Still laughing at myself...
Frequently,
a reminder appears,
an app zap,

It's a good time to check your posture!
arrives with precise
ir~regularity,
when I,
couch prone
neck bent,
spine most unfine,
not in a good way,
it somehow knows,
which way my toes are curling

Got me a weighted vest,
to help me
grow down
straighter,
but realized,
already had one,
whole life long,
with the weights
maldistributed,
too heavy,
and the curvatures
of spine and line
was what made me
so unattractive,
were curved
with hard bad work
over decades,

Yes. Way to Late,
To be undone,
I Is What I
have become
undone by design
                                but I write not of my physicality, but
                          of mental posture, of my integrated thoughts,
                   the integrated consciousness of a lifetime of thoughts.
              deeds, desires, fires started and extinguished, acts summary,
as zeroes and ones, binaurally coded in my treasury of memory cells,
       edited by time, seasoned illusions, shame, with no recompense,
                totals of entirety and the totality of the net net of gains,
                          losses, courages *******, sticking points that
                                     unraveled by self~disassembling
                                     and the stench of actions untaken
                                    make me a bent soul, by ineffectual
                                    posturing, flim~flam, and eventually
                   the reminders to check my posture cease and desist
,
                                            with no word of farewell,
                                               nor a pose left behind
                                                          ­    <…>
“my poetry to protect me”^



an ancient teenage lyric
haunting comes, no longer shielding,
a gossamer consistency ironclad,
a tissue-thin papyrus,
my poetry to protect me

a clarinet reed, capable of swinging  
a highest pitch voice for turning
blades of clean steel clean away,
now stunting blunting no more,
indeed!

re-formed my shield, re-purposed,
into a stabbing instrument offensive,
my poetry comes to ***** tearings in my
worn thin fabric tapestry, woven from
excuses of why I can’t, why I couldn’t

this is life

moats becoming drowning pools,
castle walls, people entrapments,
wrecking machines, bombardier hurling,
medieval defenseless against modern,
rhymes giving way to free verse onslaught

too late to apologize to myself, my words,
my protectorate, island redoubt, now ruined
by doubts treachery breech-birthed from within,
these verses hollow point bullets re-engineered,
Caesar’s words re-versed, you’re Brutus as well

1:52 AM
Mon May 18
June 2020
Manhattan Island
^I am a rock” Paul Simon
Nobody knows when
love will roll in and
waltz with your crippled
soul.
Nobody knows when
the chickens will come
home, or when the dog
will have its day.

I heard of a place where
silence blossoms into
flowers of wisdom, but
when I ask for directions,
nobody knows.

I taste the sadness of
the sky in every poisoned
drop of rain.
I was born to swallow it.
To be consumed by the
gray expanse.
I ask for the antidote,
the cure.
Nobody Knows.

What happened to the
street signs, the picket fences,
all the love and empty spaces?
People play games, and only
traces of humanity remain.
How do I pull the cord on
this parachute?
Nobody Knows.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBAZoRBDD9k
Here is a link to my you tube channel where I read my work from my recently published books:  Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, and Sleep Always Calls.  They are all available on Amazon.
He walks alone, the path unsure,
Yet sees beyond the present lure.
With eyes that pierce the veils of mist,
He speaks of truths the world has missed.

Clad not in robes, but thought and air,
He heeds no crowd, nor seeks their care.
A whisperer of winds and time,
He answers not to man nor clime.

They mock his gait, they jeer, they laugh—
Yet drink his words by quartered draught.
He is the stone the builders spurned,
Yet in his silence, worlds are turned.
An observation for the young and gifted Emirhan Nakas
Get maybe six or seven hours sleep,
wake and struggle out of bed.
Stretch to get out the kinks,
living with pain from head to toes
Visit the bathroom in a hurry,
urgent needs attended to.
Shower and shave for no real reason.
Put out the dog, let in the cat.
Feed both and give each a pat.
A bowl of cold cereal with fruit
Lactate milk, brew hot tea, one sugar,
a little cream, English muffin with
honey, tidy up the kitchen.
Turn on the morning local news,
avoiding the "Breaking News"
channels that mess with my head.
Maybe watch a game show or two, just
to lighten the mood. Return to the kitchen
and for a second or two forget why I am there.
I seem to do that a lot lately.
Mount the treadmill for 20 minutes or so.
Take my meds, drink three glasses of water,
hydration being very important it's said.

And so, it goes each day a duplicate of the
one before and the one tomorrow. A captive
caught in a repetitious bubble of advancing
age, kept company by a lifetime of memories
of all that I once was and shall never be again.

Not complaining, I have all I need, a good roof
overhead, food, a home of my own, family close
by, reasonably good health and I am not homeless.
Go to bed happy, arise the same way. No real regrets.

Getting old is a double-edged sword, it cuts both
ways and can leave some scars in the process.
Quiet pragmatic acceptance is the key, along with
realistic expectations.
I am not giving up on living, acceptance of reality is
not capitulation. Adjusting to change is merely a
rational intelligent decision. We cannot fight aging,
it's like being caught in a swift flowing river in a
canoe without a paddle, all we can do is hang on
and go with the flow, and if not enjoy, strive to
survive. I still savor every day, even though my
world is not as big as it used to be. I am OK with
that.
Open your heart to multi-dimensional reality
for when it comes to the soul,  
                                 it is not about frugality

Dive into new possibilities and transverse
into the abyss of new cosmic hope,
                        Oh! Being of light, diverse !!!
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