Addict

I am tired of living
with your splayed try to
foist the spines of addiction
away

from me.  The weather
of your withdrawal is
unpredictable.  It talks
to the walls of silence
muted to the unfaithful.

Tomorrow is a deflated
balloon.

You fall on your knees in
supplication to the god
of *******.  There lies
missed opportunity. There
is your unmade bed, cracks
of daylight

in the seams of
misunderstanding
You, whom God made
is the unformed image
of life that lies on the

bed of unlove.


Caroline Shank
11.22.22

fear

of this and that
of nothing in particular
that no one else  will
understand

On this day of gratitude and thanks giving,
I want to say that I'm insanely grateful for
Hello Poetry and all the poets who share it
with me.  Knowing I can write my feelings
and emotions and share them with other
like-minded souls has been an almost religious 
 blessing in my life.  And I want to thank you
all, each and every one of you.
And wish you a very
                         HAPPY  THANKSGIVING

I saw an old man crying at
the precipice of his sanity,
ten stories above the sea,
and the world at his feet, a helo-deck:
a principality that had the worn out lay of home.

So trivialized.
So fantasized.
So immobilized.
Transmitting pirate-radio-waves eternally.

Seized the tower.
Hoisted the flag.
Crowned the queen.

"I've no blood right, only a passport," he said. "But do have the right mindset: I can't leave, we're so dangerous. Don't be a stranger now, we'll never be this dangerous again..."

Ebony birds with damaged wings
Fling themselves
Towards the darkened clouds
And find no draft to lift them.
Screeching in despairing cries
They slowly circle back to earth.

Second verse of same sad song
Echoes and reminders catch the light.
Unexpected findings ring the bell
That calls to life the waterfall.
Help is proffered by empty hands
To heartstrings that no longer tug.

And the clock goes round and round
And the Sun goes up and down
And the Moon grows somehow dim
On a path that only circles back
Into a room that has no door.
I’m home again, it seems.
ljm

let us look at things, differently.

often, we do things, no one ever sees.

that is you and me. two of us
dancing in the dark. it came
and went,

quickly.

light is wonderful


lifts the brain and  limbs

beyond


sparkles   rain  the morning


once again we have the repetition

of words


shapes fly

Lineman

You ride the poles of my
electric memory.  I feel
your grip on the wires
of my need.

I mourne at last your
absence.  The pulse
Is faint now.  You will climb
the last time soon
to dry the lines, wipe
the torn wires

and stop the
pulsing
of
your

aching name.

The pounding code
of a life

overturned.



Caroline Shank

is all a pattern, that keeps us safely,        moves us

onward.