Not all was lost
to the beast,
nor to the silence
that sheltered it.

For deeper still,
beneath the rubble
of unspoken years,
the child remained.

Bruised, yes..
but not extinguished.

Hidden;
but not erased.

A breath still moved,
a spark unclaimed
by the darkness.

The beast does not feed  only
on the wound itself,
but on the hollow it leaves behind.

Gaslighting, scapegoating, silence..
all these are its masons;
carving out a chamber in the soul
where the beast makes its abode.

There, in the aloneness of the child,
it feeds from within,
claiming the silence as its fortress;

the emptiness as its throne.

And the door creaks again..
not always the first door,
   but another..
a new figure cashing in
on the void they sense.

Their entry feels like company,
   even love,
yet it is only continuance...
a repetition of the first harm.

Worse still when the creak
is painted with a smile,
when exploitation wears
the mask of care--

   The abode deepens,
    and the beast settles further
   into the soul.

Yet the fortress cannot hold forever.
The silence cannot smother forever.
Even the grave-dirt of denial
cannot bury it whole.

For the child endures
where walls collapse,
and the smallest cry
outlives the loudest lie.

The beast devoured much,
but not all.
And in what survives,
the future breathes;
a testimony,
a beginning,

    a voice
    that will not be hushed.

i screamed till my throat bleed last night
you knew that it was my birthday yesterday

now i can't talk anymore

my voice is gone

and i've gone mute

for you

early after-noon, she quizzes,
“would I be ok with
skinless boneless roasted
chicken breast, with sautéed
mushrooms for our dinner,
ce soir?”

so smile I,
for it is a favored menu
of pleasure,
from one who has never
presented us a meal
that is less than perfect

later, she shyly inquires,
“would be ok if we to eat
a little early, I have a salon,
followed by an
Argentine Tango dance milonga
tonight and one starts early (and
tango parties
end typically
the next  day?
(no|si, me, don’t dance)

of course, respondez in
the affirmative, thus
confirming our love with the
consideration that veins
out affection mutual

and then I add:

“instead of an hours food prep,
which distracts you from the hour
deeded for dressing
for dancing  motivation proper,
and add a little kick-her:

I love you so much,
would happily consume
your tuna fish salad sandwich,
every night, for the rest of our
lives together, it’s fast
and simple, a dis-less-stressing
concoction, that we both enjoy

she (s)miles a sweetened thanks,
after numerous reassurances,
that our love only grows
stronger with acts of smart
sensitivity to each others needs,
no standard of care breached,
au contraire, meant sincerely,
earning me a secondary
whiling smiling

and this true story is a poem,
has been writ a thousand times,
in a million different tiny gestures,
of which, I am proud

she exhales a breath elongated,
a release of an admixture of differing
pleasures released, and goes into the
night to dance in the arms of strangers,
which concerns me
not at all,
after all,
these  many years,
aware she moves exquisitely
in a dance that demands years
of practice, for it requires
intangible silent of the merest
slight finger  pressures to guide
the dancer what next steps
are coy coming,
and I have stolen this
knot of knowledge,
for mine own purposes,
secretly & selfishly,
employing these techniques,
for most of the time we’ve
been together

this poem of
tuna fish sandwiches,
becomes a dance of words
which is
my specialty, which she will
read in the morning l, maybe,
if I send it to her,
though obviously,
that is unnecessary 😉
as she returns to our bed,
me asleeping, she,
exhaustingly satisfied,
sleeeps deeper
secured by the knowing
that we, are both,
the beneficiaries of:
my learned dancing
practices
for such is

*the ways of the poet!

scavenger bride,
she counted periods
before the children came along,
but never suspected
eyes like bottles
beginning to blue,
a tangle of scars
hermetically sealed,
the new order of
a broken romance,
dead love cassettes
in the glove compartment,

her cold and empty
constellations,
like cold breath
passing through a beam of sunlight,
grid of points, pendulums,
the ratio of freckles to stars,
no subtle countenance,
martinis and bikinis,
soft ******* and ice cream,
slight, elusive things, on a beach
with no more meaning,

the repeating pattern of
her mistakes and reliefs,
a preservation of decay,
sustained by the tiny
human fault line
in that oneiric hinterland,
between dreaming and waking,

she draws around the noise
and the clearings,
she creates within that sightline
the way her sadness can feel
comfortable,
an extension of loss that turns
her ruins into a home.

Joy  or sorrow
    ease or pain
    in your mind's tranquillity
    be indifferent

I am an Eeyore

Trying to be a Tigger

But I usually wind up with

Something along the lines of

"Oh...Bother"

🍯

One day
I’d love to be
Eaten, defiled, consumed, delighted in
The very same way
I do
A mango

I want for someone to be so overcome
By my deliciousness
That they must eat
and eat
eat and eat
Until I am spent
And they sit back almost ashamed
At how they were swept away
Consuming me with such vigor
Rakishly, sheepishly
Wiping wet from their lips
And wishing they could have a bit more

Awaken to a cloud filled sky

Memories of blue hide away

Fire tinged wisps hug the horizon

As countless gods cry

For another angel lost it's wings today

A battle raises; heaven's uprisen

A flash of lightning declares the war

Many unexpected things are in store

As the trees shake their branches

To keep our evil minds at bay

And the tear drops soak our skin

tongue hanging out
he runs around in circles
grinning
old Jack the Dog
after answering the call

I told you that there's light outside
You turned to me
and slowly replied
Can't you see it's the fire in your eyes
Where it comes from only you decide
But nothing shines
nothing shines brighter than
the fire in your eyes

When down, and
Disappointed
With the world,

Remember

The scarecrow
Had a heart
All along.

There was indeed
A heart within
The straw.

(I know it was the Tin Man.)

When I bite into you I cant tell if your sweet or sour
The juices flood my mouth
So addictive is what you are
You are my forbidden fruit

The temptation to keep enjoying you, every touch every taste
Desire runs so deep with in me it almost bursts out
A room of flames surrounds us but we keep dancing
Til our desires are met

In the dark i see your outline and want more
Want to eat until im satisfied
Every kiss the fire deepens
The desire in our blood is never over

Our hair is twisted and tangled together
Every breath i feel makes me more tempted
I run but always return back to my forbidden fruit
There is nothing sweeter than your taste

All my soul is being taken from me by the addiction I have to you
We’ve reached the end of every lie
We are so much stronger than anyone knows
My downfall is because of my forbidden fruit,
you.

its birthplace, its origins, the where the whence,
these clues are inclusive of
sources of inspiration which
are like handholds,

Even,

"incidents and accidents /
There were hints and allegations"
but you knew, you knew in advance,
you,
Can Call Me Al"

eye easing offerings, kindly giving kindling,
to the overwhelmed reader burning eyes,
ease the struggle, hire/higher the insights,
just hints of the wherefores, if the whys so
desperate must remain secreted in your heart alone

you are so right!
the greatest poems ever
go oft,  without stepping stones,
why not mine?

If you anticipate scholars centuries later
explicating your poems, well then, they
most of all, will  need a leg up about your
disco~

graphy

Hymne aux morts de juillet.

Ceux qui pieusement sont morts pour la patrie
Ont droit qu'à leur cercueil la foule vienne et prie.
Entre les plus beaux noms leur nom est le plus beau.
Toute gloire près d'eux passe et tombe éphémère ;
Et, comme ferait une mère,
La voix d'un peuple entier les berce en leur tombeau.

Gloire à notre France éternelle !
Gloire à ceux qui sont morts pour elle !
Aux martyrs ! aux vaillants ! aux forts !
A ceux qu'enflamme leur exemple,
Qui veulent place dans le temple,
Et qui mourrons comme ils sont morts !

C'est pour ces morts, dont l'ombre est ici bienvenue,
Que le haut Panthéon élève dans la nue,
Au-dessus de Paris, la ville aux mille tours,
La reine de nos Tirs et de nos Babylone,
Cette couronne de colonnes
Que le soleil levant redore tous les jours !

Gloire à notre France éternelle !
Gloire à ceux qui sont morts pour elle !
Aux martyrs ! aux vaillants ! aux forts !
A ceux qu'enflamme leur exemple,
Qui veulent place dans le temple,
Et qui mourrons comme ils sont morts !

Ainsi, quand de tels morts sont couchés dans la tombe,
En vain l'oubli, nuit sombre où va tout ce qui tombe,
Passe sur leur sépulcre où nous inclinons ;
Chaque jour, pour eux seuls se levant plus fidèle,
La gloire, aube toujours nouvelle,
Fait luire leur mémoire et redore leurs noms !

Gloire à notre France éternelle !
Gloire à ceux qui sont morts pour elle !
Aux martyrs ! aux vaillants ! aux forts !
A ceux qu'enflamme leur exemple,
Qui veulent place dans le temple,
Et qui mourrons comme ils sont morts !

Juillet 1831.

but i was the first to reach out
(i'm tying a rope of words)
around my own neck
if you reply,
(please reply i miss you, i miss you, i miss you,)
don't try to lie
(i'd fall back into your fantasy,)
the one that lines my tears and heart
i am a weak woman
you can walk all over me,
i'll pretend not to notice the fact
(i am the other woman)
**** me off
tell them i'm crazy
(tell them i'm no one)
im fine with being no one
i am no-one
but the other woman
to you

Everyone has  bad days.
Sometimes, the day turns vicious,
Making one feel
Like hiding from the world  a bit .


Sometimes, we shed tears,
Condemn the day,
But it's like a storm:
Intense, alarming,
Yet always with an end.

Between tracks and lead
By the trains of life
Where geese are cackling

This is no invention
Welcome to the trauma of kindness
It became bearable

Between signposts and tracks
By the cackling geese
In the heart of Europe

No blessing
No curse
Just another page

A locomotive rushes past
On the wings of this moment
The wind breathes out love

Between trauma and healing
Yesterday the wound was bleeding
At the celebration of a child

At life’s track
Where geese are cackling
Here the wind breathes out love

I'm  never doing it again
I 'm not doing this time
This is the last time
Im doing it
It's a bit of a shame really
It's the only thing
Im fluent in.

First for writing and always
Now for all parts of good mental and physical health
Viewing Nature and basking in the quiet
Sometimes accompanied by music
Petting and greeting dogs of different breeds and sizes
Sometimes with company
Usually alone by choice
In all kinds of weather
Walking

i went thrifting the other day
i found this cute sweater
it looked familiar
but i bought it anyway
i knew i’d seen it before
maybe in a store or on someone i know
but i put it on td
and i got a whiff of it
and then i knew
it was her’s
the girl he left me for
which is why it looks so familiar
she’s worn it before
that’s why it smells like him
i shouldn’t care tho
it’s just a stupid sweater

​गूंजता है धड़कनों में
आज भी तेरा ही नाम
जैसे खूबसूरत सा नगमा कोई |
वो दिल जिसे फूलों की तरह
सजाया था कभी
टूट कर बिखर गया क्यों ?
​ख़ता क्या हुई मुझसे
जो दिल तोड़ कर चल दिए
एक बार भी मुड़कर
क्यों न देखा कभी ?

Firm and steady
Handshake Faith
Life sometimes throws complexity
Understanding can feel far off
Gonna Be Alright
People will see you and walk away
Not understanding how you got through
Nothing you said nor done
Gonna be alright
Extreme storms will arise
It won’t be weather
Your storms within
Gonna be Alright
Rain will fall
There will be some cloudy days
Through it all
The sun will come out
Skies will become dark more and more
Gonna be alright
Praying will seem Heaven doesn’t hear
You will feel the Lord isn’t near
The answer will come
Gonna be alright
Satan will ponder doubt in your mind
You will feel his rage of fire in anger
You won’t burn
Gonna be alright
You need a healing
Total intervention
Gonna be alright
Faith is the key
You will be alright
As one walks in God’s goodness
Your paths will be directed
Wonders you have never seen
Blessing after blessing shall arrive
You are beyond alright
Welcome to deliverance of all time.

No gravity
Freely flowing
Loosened soul
Barefoot bassinet
Sweet golden sand
The smell of her cheek
No gravity free flowing love
I met myself today
The real me
Deep pool floating under the stars
Her sweet cheek I kissed
No gravity free flowing, deep pools
We floated together

A marvelous beast is the giraffe,
Whose neck seems to stretch by the half.
He nibbles the trees,
While swaying with ease,
And makes other creatures just laugh.

Stained are teeth, and fingers yellow,
Softly whispered lies we keep.
Smoke unfurls in breath so mellow,
Promising but sinking deep.

Coiling tendrils, soft and clever,
Lull the mind in fleeting grace.
Cinder ghosts that warm, yet sever,
Leave their embers on the face.

Every spark—a pledge unwinding,
Every drag—a weight we bear.
Sworn to comfort, yet confining,
Clinging to a thinning air.