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There is a committee
up the blue creaky stairs.
He dares correct the voices
as they stare in despair.
Oh Dear, come here! you
silly little boy.
Joy it is
to think that,
life could
be so coy.
You will see
when you are
eighty-three
like me,
to simply
choose to be
happy,
sounds like
the perfect
thing to
plea.


-a.j.León
 Nov 2015 James Marcro
Lady Bird
the mind it possess the tempo
of each poem that will grow
the poet hums silently as
the inks flow of harmony
tries so hard to unleash
the un-sung thoughts
wanting to break free
 Nov 2015 James Marcro
Jacqueline
You bring light to my life and he brings laughter.
Your strength carried me on my darkest days and he pushed me to move forward.

Two lives woven into one thread, never crossing, never knowing.

I have two hearts now. My mind split in two directions.

You bring light. He brings laughter.
I can choose to live in darkness or I can choose to live in sadness.

Two monsters inside of me having two separate appetites.
Which do I feed?

For now, I silently throw scraps of myself behind the other's back.
My monsters don't know each other. They have never met.

My monsters love me, because I can't love myself.
I am never going to walk up and say hi. I'm honestly too shy to even look at you. And unless the great cosmic forces of projects with predetermined groups bring us together, then we're not talking before the end of forever. I wish I was bold, not put off by your feminine features; I wish I didn't think like an overflown beaker... So I would do and not think, so a split-second look wouldn't make me shrink. But i'm meek, with a heart petite, I shrink away in fear of being pushed back. I'm sorry, but this is goodbye before hi, and I think I'll just wait for the end of forever.
Tonight, I walk

I make my way up vista ridge
The sinuous road that winds its way
Through the hills behind my home
I pass the many old homes built into the ridge
Overlooking the city

I see through a window an old man in his kitchen
His grandchildren flutter around him like fireflies
The delicate dance of youth
Their glow illuminates his face with laughter
And joy
I would like to be him one day
When enough years have passed
As time begins to steal the light from my face
Only to have it replenished by the joy of family
And new life
And still endless possibilities
Even as my hair turns to silver

The streetlamps flicker on with the dusk
Casting a path down the lane
Illuminating autumn leaves
As they fall among the houses and parked cars

The lights of the city glimmer below
The entire world seems to crackle and spark
That which is not flame is tinder
Ablaze with life

I make my way down the lane
On feet that seem less content to touch earth
With each step
As I remember the incredible lightness
Of living
The world laughs
And I cringe
What a waste
There I sin
A bad wire
Locked away
****** in the head
Burning on fire
What am I suppose to do
When it doesn't make sense?
No one has a clue
It has all been spent
Farther I go
The lesser I feel
Love is hard
Is it even real?
Cast into reflection
The torment of my soul
There is no affection
Just a loneliness I've been told
And I feel strange to say
What a ****** up day
So perplexed I throw a fit
There is just way too much *******
I ponder what it all means
And pray on my knees
That it's all meant to be
Some kind of purpose
****, if I can't see
Then all is hopeless
And this rambling is free
Upon the threshold of a tree
I'll keep my insanity
It's the only thing real
Here, there, to hell is how I feel
And listening to all kinds of tyranny
I find no solice in thee
I grieve for you in the cold quiet of winter
My absent child, my long lost son
Warming my hands over dying flames, frost covered smouldering clinker,
By the wood where icy streams run
Through the shrunken sedge, and barren fields
Stretching for miles, empty of meaning.
The landscape like a worn photograph yields
Your tremulous smile, then nothing.

Here, you ran with startled steps
Through the yielding sheaves, yelling with surprise,
Chasing indifferent spiders, and discomfited birds
With hatred in their pebble pool-dark eyes.
Querying awkwardly spoken words, small
Tenacious fingers that caress and clutch
Every passing object, loudly chuckling, wisely playing me for a fool
A silly father who loved too much.

On the anniversary of your leaving I required solitude
Partnered only by memory
Away from familiar crowds, the booming, barking fusillade
Of the present day commonplace urban itinerary,
Where only the crackle of snow
And the fleeting trajectory of birds
Distracts my slow
Marshalling of comforting thoughts.

The cottage where we lived haunts the shallow glade,
A shrouded ghost swaddled by the half-light,
Positioned squarely like an old man, its cladding beginning to fade,
White branches like dead-fingers that gleam in the night.
In the closet are your dust-sprinkled toys, a yellow plastic duck,
A cheap skateboard, ancient video games,
A guitar you never learnt to pluck
A chess board on which you pulverised my endgames.

In the preserved furnishings of your bedroom
Your school work gathered into stacks
Barely visible in the gloom,
Our life together in disorganised packs
Denoting year and level
Development and academic achievement,
If any, (but I mustn’t once again cavil)
Indicating, even in your earliest years, a specific bent.

Standing on the mantelpiece, propped up against the wall,
Are brightly coloured, polished pictures
Of you. Plump, blonde, agreeably small
Dancing, standing, jumping, grinning, absurdly wistful mixtures.
A bitter echo resonating from the shadows
A cold thought darkening into memory
The spectre of your voice disappearing in the meadows
Having left all of us! Having left me!
But the road is a dead end.
The raccoons rampage your cooler and
The compass moves no more.
The stars stay in a moving place.
Circumnavigating your home upon
Every hour.
The poor, poor girl wanders the
Desolate halls. Books strewn on the tile.
Where shall she go? What shall she do?
The toothbrush moves redundantly so,
Updown, updown,
Updown.
Free-verse haikus, a figment
Of the imagination. Five-seven-five
Forever.
Molasses spills from every orifice,
The throat's opening blocked by
Slop and gunk.
Will anyone help?
One would like to think so, but
No such luck.

Stare in the mirror and
Comb your hair, your train
Is boarding now.
You
You are my biggest yes-
and my strongest no.
I hate your ghost.
but I love you
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