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Little Bear Apr 10
Taking a little break from Hello Poetry
I am a front line/key worker and it's taking it's toll
But there is work to be done and with the support of
my work family, we are truly making a difference through
this quite frightening time.

I am staying home when i'm not at work,
Please please
where you can,
stay at home
and stay safe xxxx


And to add another reason to the mix
I have met the most beautiful man :D
who has filled my life with
all i could have dreamed of :)
and more **

I smile as i write
my heart has been filled
to overflowing
he is my soul's mate
my truest friend
my greatest love
i am at peace
for the first time
in forever.



Take care
i will be back
but reality beckons
xxxxxx
STAY AT HOME, STAY SAFE. XXXX SENDING YOU LOVE XXXX
Little Bear Mar 29
omission of truth
blundering white
jagged black

tears falling
with blatant
breath

i see you
though
answering yourself

congratulations
are in order
well done

well done
seared skin
****** within
lies

even your truth
is a lie
because
you try
to conceal
who and what
you
do not deserve
to be

twisted
lies
caught like flies
in your web of
deception

one two three
how many more
are thee

a forked tongue speaks
twice
writes in triplicate
sings lullabys of deception
a hundred fold

the little lambs wool
you have pulled
so they cannot see

i pity thee

crocodile
serpent
bad wolf

liar
a long day... and it truly has been eye opening
Little Bear Mar 18
the streets are
quiet
fear
hangs in the air


dust motes
flutter

anxiety
stutters

droplets of
breath

invisible
death

settling upon
skin

too scared
to breathe
in

in fear
of what settles


i love you
stay safe


breathing
in
fear

exhaling
panic

i love you
don't die


bring back
some
pasta
I work in retail... Bring help...
  Mar 14 Little Bear
Jonathan Moya
My wife doesn’t allow me
to watch her when she cooks.
The dog is her silent admirer,
sitting patiently for crumbs.

So much of it is filled with the
aroma of her mother, Geri’s  cooking,
the recipes etched in memory’s stone,
rituals not shared with a family of men.

The scent of garlic and onions,
meat sizzling in a hundred previous
kitchens for fathers waiting at long tables
makes me regret that I am just a man.

My mother, Elsi was a lousy cook,
and my tias knew it, consigning
her to wrap the twine around
pasteles in their banana leafs.

Where Geri passed down her recipes,
Elsi bequeathed me her heart and
compassion sautéed in bitter-sweet
sorrow dusted with ‘Rican seasoning.

I think she saved a pinch for Krissy,
for succor is her strongest flavor,
and I feed off it ravenously when
I need the strength.

The scent of spaghetti squash
roasting in the oven fills
my imagination with the need
to eat, live beyond just sustenance.

I crave to know the secret of her kitchen
but she brings the squash to me
on a plate hot around the edges
and we eat it, contentedly on the bed.

One day, I will sneak into the cocina
and maybe cook a picadillo finer than
her great creations, doing it
like all men, strictly by the recipe.
Little Bear Mar 12
writers
are powerful creatures

they can make you believe
using in your own imagination
that they
can warp and then stop time,
they can make you old
young
and die

they can construct dreams
made of ink
that terrify,

dreams that span eons of time
keeping you
wide awake
never sleeping
for
one
second

they can summon dragons
and storms
create armies
and legions
build castles
and empires

they can burn
your village
to the ground

and everything
you hold dear...

will be dust

🍃

they can make you fearless
Victorious!
Triumphant!!
Leaders of men..
Warriors in battle...

Gods on High



mad

...



they can make you fly
make you crawl
beg for mercy

wish for death

and then...

when you thought
they had done
all that they could

vicariously
they live
their darkest fears
through
you

by making you


love

  Mar 12 Little Bear
Caro
Hope starts in small things
and becomes a river in spring –
the bright green pop
of a dandelion mandala
pushing up through the asphalt,
the cold March wind which says
hold on, brighter days are coming.
So maybe we live in dark times.
This morning the birds
and the crocus flowers
turned their faces to the sun
and sang, regardless.
Winter is tired:
she longs to lie down
in the arms of spring
among the sweet white blossoms
and the ripening buds
of new beginnings.
There is sap rising up in the bones
of this body, this land.
This is where transformation comes,
where shoots grow from old roots.

So the wind blows.
Maybe it brings change.
Hold on.
Little Bear Mar 7
:)
i don't think he knows
how much
he fills my
heart;

how
his movements
have made themselves
at home

he makes me want
to push back
the furniture

just so
i can watch
him dance
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