A shadow spread over us
as we lay there in the fields.

It ate flower, grass, and hill
with ohaguro teeth.

The world was soft and chilled
in the belly of the shadow -

we hid our hands
under each other's shirts.

When it moved we chased,
laughed among blonde furrows,

stumbled in the gritted ruts -
but it was gone. I think

we both know what it meant.
Where are you, now?

stars burn effortlessly
while poets scrabble
plucking words like agates
from the mind’s pebbled shore

they have in common
the pleasure of those who bask
in simple outputs
of mysterious affairs

all we have in common
are kindred thoughts
sifted from every scrap we’ve read
as we seek ideas to explain us

adopt them, call them our own, tell others;
we're ripe and designed to spread
through an inky vector
or letters, anyway  

if you do it well enough you get a piece of paper that says
you’re qualified
but one can partake au naturel
and still have a good time

this is my compliment to you:
i'll show you the worst of me
and you’ll feel perfect
in comparison

if i were a better friend, i’d practice
become a learned artist
to sing the best of you
barring that, i could cheat

you want to be a pebble,
i know the way
come down here
and i'll feed you something from my garden

it will probably make you sick
you'll use words like rustic or pastoral
when you mean shabby and feral
woozy from the earthiness of it all

you’ll be charmed into mistaking seduction
for enlightenment
a tragic folly
like warming oneself with spent nuclear fuel

but enough about my dissipation
let us laugh instead
a wink between old friends
that is nothing and everything

for this is my compliment to you:
remember you are devastating
even when an echo
is the only applause you hear

There was this message someone send
Saying that I'm loved, it's not the end
I'm fine, that was I pretend
But I took all my strength and send a mail, through darkness I went

I trust this good old friend all time long
And luckely, he didn't proofed me wrong
I felt, the there was no where I belong
But with this friend, I feel now strong

The Message went on, listen to your hart
And never to the dark
He reminded me of that song of a lark
That was lonely in the park

It said, you are not alone
You don't have to do it on your own
And through the Park whispers of angels were blown
Follow our voice, not the dark you known

thanks alot my good old friend
Was the message that I then send
In future I'll listen to my hart and not to the darkness, that made me bent
I'll look for help, 'cause my life isn't for the demons to rent

Time
           steals
                     moments,
                     lost
              in
     air,
Memories
               fade,
                 beyond
repair.

Grieving ones we never lost,
never had.
Absent Fathers...
Calling for memories that never existed
Longing is an emotion that tells us Love exists
Within us.
Whether there is someone to hold Her or not...
For we are Love and we are held...
If not by absent Fathers, by God Herself.

Chain smoking sadness, slapped by time.
Winter doesn't freeze the pain.
There was one thing that
Mom wanted desperately:
It was to have a
picture of her
seven kids all together,
in one place,
at one time.
There was an age
difference of 23 years between the
youngest and the oldest,
and 1000 miles separating us.

In December of 1987
two weeks before Christmas,
I held a picture of
the seven of us all together.
I put it in the
right front pocket of
her navy blue blazer.
After the funeral,
we buried her with it.
Oh, Mom, I wish we
could have done this
when you were alive.

Bad legislation

      Loud fallacious arguments
              
                                Ad Hominem wars