let it wash us away
like the floods of the new age
**** all the mistakes
leave only perfection
all true honesties
that leave their residues of purity
right down the leg
of each other
your body cries
tears of merriment

She is breaking.
There's a void in her tracks
and no light ahead.
The conflict between love lust and love lost
is waging it's war on her fleshy shores.
She can't seem to choose a side,
it all looks the same.
"It's a trap" she chokes.

She is freezing.
Her frigid heart is icing over
and her brain is going numb.
A vicious cycle of meandering
through brackish monotony -
looking for a map -
leads to where it all began.
Repeat.
"Nothing changes" she sighs.

She is vanishing.
Whispered honesties go unheard
amidst the cacophony of cross talk
and empty words.
Her absence goes unnoticed
as a silvery ghost of her
robotically relives her daily deeds.
"Anchored in reality" silently.

She is caving.
Breaking down like glass in a relentless tide,
Little pieces of her
are left to join the countless sand.
She's finding there's no escape
from this earthly purgatory
for the damaged and ******.
"There has to be more than this."

Po-hymn


To whomever you pray to,
And if there is no such icon,
Then I hymn-hum to you, this tribute


Let all my mistakes, my typographical errors,
Like writing poem and getting back po-hymn,
Bring delights to keep, to grow ancient on my face,
For from every accident, we grow and bend,
New tree leaning towards our collective inner
Sun Ra.

I am no David, psalms and hymns,
Unreadily exist, so dug deep Lord,
To write this prayer, for my brethren.
Just one day, someday, let heaven
Grant only poets births, no passings took.

Give us goodness and grace
All the poems of our day.
Shed special light all about our faces,
From our shoulders, rise up insight inside our heads,
Brighten, enlighten, give us eloquence and sanity.

Let our missives dismiss the gloom,
Polish, remove the tarnish, we cannot secret
From the all seeing confessions taker,
Honesties writ daily but never published.

Give us meter, yes, give us rhyme,
To make sense of the grey days,
The black hole invaders,
Given iris-shine be our responsibility,
But a sweet nudge, prithee,
Enhance our impoverished ability.

This Sabbath day your fog-hide
Your gift of bay and beach
So quiet implore, beseech,
Keep the sailors safe,
And your poets saved.

I ask much.
But I ask for all of us,
There are so many such
That are booster-chair needy
That I am succumbed, overwhelmed,
Enormity fearsome needs help even from a deity.

Small words, big hopes.

If you cannot grant it,
Won't wait for intervention,
Do it myself, answer prayers one and all,
Best I can, starting now with this
Po-hymn.

July 13th for always

It was a yellow Corvair convertible
Ralph Nader's bogey
our ***-fueled chariot
our escape into the night sky.

We were strewn across a grassy ***** as if fallen from above
stars thick in the sky
still visible in those days
Page Mill Road
south of the City.

And all of the vanities
and honesties of brilliant youth
slouched about our shoulders
lit our speech
moved our *****
in the direction our fates intended.

It was freedom.  It was
escape. It was a foreshadowing
of much trouble
pre-dawn knocks on the door
handcuffs and the tearful call
home.

And a life leavened by sadness,
a constant sense of doom,

but a foreshadowing as well
of miracles dressed in second-hand
clothes,
but miracles just the same.

(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 29, 2019)

At the end, you always remember the beginning,
sleepless sweating and the dread of the new.
It was going into battle through the glass doors,
the receptionist on the front lines, the rounds of names.
There was always the fear of missing something lifesaving,
the cliffs of inevitable failures ahead of you,
the roster of duties and missions you would not be suited for,
the impenetrable maps, the bank of phones with fifty lights,
the script of survival at the skirmish, the awkwardness
in the dying role.

Figuring out your generals and where they stood
from their hilltop proclamations, this little trooper
finally learned the war machine, way too late
to take on the mission with any patriotism,
way too late to be anything more than a soldier
serving out the term. My badge of honor
became what I could not do, my efficient honesties
and the raw willingness to fail.

Maybe this is a mark of a mature conscript,
the luxury of modesty, the last days
of having nothing left to prove.

another dark adventure
with magic in my stare,
wearing all black and
beginning to prepare.

yesterdays socks, he talks
                                in knocks
like winds breaking boxes
                                       the ones we locked ourselves into
debates. locked debating
                            contemplating:
which move to make next?
can you answer me, or be a cancer beam?
or are you listening and losing steam?
burning mass before me, the brightness in your eyes...
I had never been so mesmerized.
I can't forget the feeling of the
winters snowflakes,
the wake and bakes,
the give and takes
the honesties...
which turned out to be fakes.

it's perfect timing to arise:

I can forgive the things
that cut my strings
because like hair
my heart's in springs.
restlessness thoughtfulness,
but the ways you are true
send me blue and undo
the pain from the casting,
cloudlessly and cruelly,
again and forever may stem
from the light in your eyes,
blooming sunflowers in
orchards of the greenest grass
you'll ever find.
so unwind, and relax,
calm down the feverish sight,
dim your eyes before repeating
such devilish lies.

(happy  belated first birthday, po-hymn)*


To whomever you pray to,
And if there is no such icon,
Then I hymn-hum to you, this tribute


Let all my mistakes, my typographical errors,
Like writing poem and getting back po-hymn,
Bring delights to keep, to grow ancient on my face,
For from every accident, we grow and bend,
New tree leaning towards our collective inner
Sun Ra.

I am no David, psalms and hymns,
Unreadily exist, so dug deep Lord,
To write this prayer, for my brethren.
Just one day, someday, let heaven
Grant only poets births, no passings took.

Give us goodness and grace
All the poems of our day.
Shed special light all about our faces,
From our shoulders, rise up insight inside our heads,
Brighten, enlighten, give us eloquence and sanity.

Let our missives dismiss the gloom,
Polish, remove the tarnish, we cannot secret
From the all seeing confessions taker,
Honesties writ daily but never published.

Give us meter, yes, give us rhyme,
To make sense of the grey days,
The black hole invaders,
Given iris-shine be our responsibility,
But a sweet nudge, prithee,
Enhance our impoverished ability.

This Sabbath day your fog-hide
Your gift of bay and beach
So quiet implore, beseech,
Keep the sailors safe,
And your poets saved.

I ask much.
But I ask for all of us,
There are so many such
That are booster-chair needy
That I am succumbed, overwhelmed,
Enormity fearsome needs help even from a deity.

Small words, big hopes.

If you cannot grant it,
Won't wait for intervention,
Do it myself, answer prayers one and all,
Best I can, starting now with this
Po-hymn.

July 13th for always
Pohymn.    Such are prayers born

I just need to lay down. And be quiet. And listen. And learn. And your beautiful eyes make me want to leave. If I had a choice I would rather be in love with the stars. Something you can't touch but can look at is better than something you can touch but won't look you in the eye. I want to write prose about the gap between my friends tights and the chafing between another's. (I don't love you.) I want someone else to miss your lips and tell you their secrets through mouth to mouth. God, you make me feel like an angel in hell. Can I lie about your honesties? You're not worth my time. One day I stood up and everything you told me fell down. But I already realize a long time ago that some humans aren't able to care for their own.

let my seeds push through the crevices of entrenched doubts

let my stems poke at the cobwebs of rusted assumptions

let my thorns sting back at the chill of raw honesties

let my petals conceal me like the kisses of ambiguous flattery

let my branches bridge me across the creek of negelcted assurances

& let my roots hold me down, in the soil of what is certain

Did I,
in many honesties live through a thousand sweat filled nights
whisper 'it will be alrights'
and wake to walk away?
Did I,
imagine differences where light meets truth and fades and did I dig with jewelled ***** a grave for 'yes boss' in the shade of a stunted bush?

Did I,
in hastiness,rush to fast ,to meet the last of summer?
if so,
What was it for?
this sojourn where we burn it,turn it then to men again as we must go and tell me,who will show me,
what was it for?

Acceptance, is what I see
When I look into your eyes
My heart was so heavy
From all of the lies
I spend time alone
thinking of you, in my head
All I want is your mind
spread, across my bed

For all the mistakes that I've made
I'm surprised I'm still alive
Its two o'clock in the morning
All I think about is the time
My days get better
Every time I see your face
Makes me feel like
I'm finally, in the right place

Cause, my sweet
You make me, a better man
Hard choices are easy
When you're my reward, in the end
Speak from the heart
And live with your scent
When you are around
Time's better spent
Together with you
I feel like I know
That if heaven, were real
In the center, you'd glow
So I don't feel like
I need to say any more
honesties all I have left
and My dear, I'm yours