i woke up today, yesterday was what it was
another day of living my life for a buzz
i'm always surprised to see the morning light
when will i ever live my life right

what tomorrow brings is never on my mind
i search and search, then find what i find
eye to eye with the devil isn't a fair fight
when will i ever live my life right

stuck in a pattern that's set to repeat
with demons closing in and feeling the heat
my life ends up another day, another night
when will i ever live my life right

It was a graveyard and overcast sky
and I sat with book and accordian in hand,
hearing the world with its screams
swallow up around me.
The people whom I had loved and lost,
Papa with his silver eyes
Mama her sharp tongue and tough love
Rudy whose hair the colour of lemons
and questioned why, the living and dead,
worlds apart, yet both did not have a choice.
I stood and screamed so that everything shook
the burning rubble and ash and dust
willing my words to bring it all back
but it did not come, and my breath rose in gasps.
Death had looked me in the eye and said,
“It’s not time yet.”
I would shut my eyes to the world
only decades later.
I will understand that there was hate and pain
there was sadness
but even more so, there was love and joy.
I will know that the people I loved had reason
to kiss goodbye
whether it was their own hurt
or saw it as a necessity,
but they were never truly gone from me
always somewhere nearby,
in the thick and thin
frail and worn
of times.
I would learn
to forgive Death that day.
I will understand that
and I will be hurt,
but I will be okay.

~

Not all deaths are sad.
Some, meant to ease their own pain,
Are called freedom.
While some,
Meant to ease the pain of others,
Are called love.

© BT

At dusk I hang up
a worn blue work
shirt that smells
strongly of love
of dirt of the earth
melancholy, sweat
yesterday's brews
the blues, regret
twenty cigarettes
black breath
of the bone moth
old blood, moon dust
spring pollen, summer
grass, Autumnal ****
winter's cold blast
sea salt and pine needles
mountain laurel, desert air
my dog's hair, I swear
I can't bear the thought
of washing or throwing away
all the stains, the growing pains
the laughter, the sorrows
these history lessons I need
to get me through tomorrow.

we, all of us, are born to die
some just get to tell a better story before they do.
the end is never dignified, never clean
we cry, we bleed, we scream, we beg
we lay, silently, beside our loved ones, all praying we'll open our eyes just one more time
just one more time.
one can only hope there's more beyond it
something else, something different
a new life, a continuation, a god to smile and say you're here
you made it, I'm so proud of you
even a nonbeliever can hope
someday
that you can find the end you're meant
that you're not forced to be martyred to meet someone waiting for you at the far end of it all

I don't know why I write poetry
all I know is that writing poetry makes me rich
enjoying -- not possessing
the ever-expanding universe
without fear of inflation

in the sky --
white clouds
singing larks
whispering wind
the tender moon and twinkling stars

on the ground--
mountains hills plains gullies
lush green red brown yellow
oceans streams lakes ponds
splashing gurgling burbling
the blooming flowers
the vacillating leaves
children's innocent laughter
cats dogs chickens ducks birds
jumping chasing croaking singing
all are parts of my life's fortune

of course, there too are
ferocious dark clouds
harrying eagles
howling storms
withering flowers
roaring guns
and piercing screams
the shadows that lend dimension
to poetry and life

In fact, I don't write poetry
poetry writes me

i fall in love
every month or two
i never turn down
a fresh heart
to consume

it's not enough to have your love
you have to have my pain
because love is fickle
one day it will fade
but you'll still have my sorrow
happily long
forever after
I forget your name