In this vast echo chamber
I cry out the words I want to hear
Then I no longer hear the truths
That causes me to fear
The facts become a stranger thing
As truth has flown on fragile wings
And all sound reason with it

Echo, I cry out
Echo, my words bounce back
Echo, a controlled narrative

In this vast echo chamber
I cry out the words I want to hear.
Then I no longer hear the truths

Which causes me to fear.

The facts become a strange thing
As truth has flown on fragile wings
And all sound reason with it.

When a tree falls in the forest
And there is no one there to hear
Will it echo in the mountains or valley?

Sound, sound, sound on through time?

If no one is to lie against my chest, listening to its patter,
Does my heart really beat at all?  Beat at all, at all, at all.
Or are these things mere echoes throughout time

Without sounds?

The dank warm air stirs,
I hear sound echoing,

Moving towards me
Or am I moving towards it?

Dim light, tunnels of trees;
I am deep into the unfamiliar.

What is that sound
Vibrating through me?

Is it moving towards me,
Or am I moving into it?

An uneasiness moves
Up my body.  My blood

Is pumping, flushing me.
That sound engulfs me.

The echoes stir and I realize
It is my own heart.

Spires of dreams, space,
Time, to see beyond the seen,
A fourth dimension,
Daily we take a quantum leap.
Spacetime is just a mathematical object.
Who can escape the hanging pendulum?
Back and forth it and we go.
Does time flow at different rates
At different points in space?
Time relative to beyond the known,
General relativity predicts
What is yet unpredictable.
Is life itself just a mathematical theory?
In spires of dreams all is possible.

Embrace the fact that we

Are all the same
Are not the same

Feel the same
Don't feel the same

Act the same
Act strange

Because we are
We are from the same

Dysfunctional family

Em-dash
I look for you.
I cannot find you

It has been said that empathy is "Your pain in my heart."

Before we can have empathy for others, we must first recognize a couple basic truths.

1. They are human beings
2. They have the same feelings as you or anyone else.
3. They are deserving of the same basic rights as you.
4. They should be given the same dignity as any human should.

By showing empathy, you may help someone stitch their lives back together.

You make me ashamed
to ever write a line
and call it poetry.

Exquisitely, you drag
my heart from my chest
caress and replace,

Forever enhanced,
improved, and more pliable
at the experience.

My apiary buzzes.  On the breeze, nectar is wafting
Like an elegant perfume no money could buy.
They are as tendrils of the same vine,
A symbiotic call and response.
Their mission lofty . . .
Life

Every man fears the psychiatrist’s ****** cigar.
That fraudulent Freudian slip.  What freak-fantastic dribble.

Destruction of society imaged in a dream.
The apocalypse is light in comparison to his judgments.

Superlative pish.
Let this be a sockdologer.

How do you capture
A moonbeam,
The mist on the lake,

A baby's breath,
The exhalation of a lover,
Or glance from a stranger,

Smoke from a wildfire,
Fog on a chilly morning,
Attention from another?

The glimmer in your eyes
Tell me these are meant to be
Ephemeral things.

You will be outed
Whether as to truth
Or from hearts

Your funerary epitaph:
"He never told a truth."
Carved on stone in relief.

I am just an old woman who has read
And written poetry for many years.  
It is like daily bread to me,
Sustenance on which to feed
And to fill a deep soul need.

Poetry is like the essential oil
In an exceptional perfume,
Refined down to its essence.  
A distillation to what is pure.
It is the molecular structure,
The scent of the blossom.

Its scent deeply impacts all  
Who are privileged to inhale it.  
Smell a high quality rose otto,
Immediately you know it as a rose.  
You do not wonder what else it is.  
It is a note of singular distinction
Because it has been distilled down
To the very soul of the plant.  

Good poetry makes you feel that.
It does not rely on cliché,
Nor unsophisticated childish notions.
Poetry must not be superfluous.
But must be succinct, the essence
Of the feelings being expressed
Without the fluff.

You must tear a poem down,
Rewrite it, set it aside for a while
Then come back to it with fresh eyes.
Poetry is work and an inner struggle.
We must be willing to give the time
Each poem needs from our loving attention.  
They are our children, born of us, part of us.  
No child should go nameless,
Each one deserves a name to be given it.
We owe them nurturing as loving parents.

Love ignited flames, the torch threw
Sleep sweet, my Only - to rise anew
Faith & steady hope, I know to be true

But, my Only, I will be missing you
For my love, my Only, you died too soon
And I will wait, if need be, for an eternity

Hailstones
Ringing tones
Water flow
Windblown
Plane flown
Things that go
Sometimes fast,
Sometimes slow,
Life goes on and on

Our relationship never existed
Not in the real world
It existed in the ether of time
In a breath exhaled by lovers
In the brief mist at dawn
Amidst the weightlessness
Of a vast distant universe
Although it was tangible there
Within two minds in open air
Warmed by only the sun
Dried by breezes blowing upon
Our naked skin as we glistened

As evening falls a cricket creaks
On the crisp crest of night alone
And waiting in the moonlight.
His heart listens.

My heart listens.
I hear a frog singing on the bank,
See the sunlight filtering down,

There are miracles all around.
Who needs mysticism in life?
For life is miraculous enough,
And therein lies the mystery.

Evidence of absence
Does not mean
Absence of evidence

In the field

The gentle breeze
Blows the leaves
On the trees, they move

Lying on the blanket

Your touch, goosebumps
Appear on my bare skin
Branches rustle overhead

Now, alone

Even the thought of you
Can create the evidence
Of the heat of our passion

You wash in the flood of the tears of mothers.
We lay at your feet the broken bodies of children
And wrap you in the very skin of so many victims.

As you paint your face and hands in their blood
To add a million scalps to your beastly belt
You should not be called "leader", for you are not.

In time you will ultimately fail and you will pay
For when love prevails, evil shrivels and dies
In the dense darkness that was created for others.

Then you will take your final "perp" walk.

How long has she sat there, jam spread across her face?  I just looked
in!
The ice cream, there in the freezer has two deep finger marks dug in
it.
I don't even have to guess.  I saw, in the middle of the night,
By the light of the fridge a little girl who thinks no one sees.

Having been caught she says she didn't do anything.  I know what I saw.
"It's all right sweetheart, because it is all yours.  Whenever you want.
Anytime."  I buy her any and everything I think she might want.
I just want her to be as happy as is possible, feel secure, and loved.

I lead her to the bathtub, instruct her to clean, knowing
That I will have to wash that sweet face that I love so dearly.
After all, she made cobblers, cakes and pies for us when we visited.  
She wiped my face, washed my bottom, did my precious, Granny.

I thread the silken thoughts and notes
Weaving as I go like whispers
In a darkened room, in and out
The phrases go like shadows
Like broken lullabies sung off-key
I search for something no longer in me
Then, rock myself to sleep.

1: steadfast in affection or allegiance: Loyal//a faithful friend
2: firm in adherence to promises or in observance of duty
3: given with strong assurance: Binding//a faithful promise
4: true to the facts, to a standard, or to an original// a faithful copy

Choose the quality for yourself and in others.

You were ever strong, ever true,
Daddy. That was the man I knew.

You were never gone,
At least never for too long.

Daily, work did take you from home
Yet, once your hard work was done

Without fail, you always headed home.
You were steady, you were brave;

You were there for us in many ways;
With us until the day

A ******* limo drove you away.

A fearful thing
Has taken wing
And flown straight
Into my heart

The place it pierced
Will forever sting
A bruising wound it creates
Will always leave its mark

And my heart will never heal

It is feeding time.  Time to push the hay
from the back of the truck.  Whistling,
calling for the cows to come up.

I see the morning mist among the cattle,
smell the scent of pine hanging in the crisp air,
in my heart and mind, I want to be there.

The forested pastures, the open grazing fields
wrap around my soul memorized comfort, where
I can reach out to touch and to feel.

As for me, that place will always be there,
yet, it is gone.  Gone for many a year.  All gone,
the pond dried, the forest overtook the fields.

Gone is the truck, the hay, the cattle too.
Yet, my memory is a place where all it lives on.
And memories turn my thoughts to you,
- as they always do;

Beautiful you.  You are gone, too.

My wounds were generally not self-inflicted.
Most represent lessons learned, many from people that I love, still.
Now that I am older, at times, I will locate the scars,
Seeking them out, reaching into uncomfortable regions
To feel the now smooth flesh-covering,
Wrinkles in the brain.

A female is very different than a male
In human physical makeup.
There is no shame in that.
It does not need to be defended,
But it does call for an explanation.

Compare: Can the rugged bear or stallion
Sprout wings and fly?
They were made to plod the terrestrial,
Earthbound;
Their brutish power, ever recognized.

Throw a stone and you get a mere snort
As they decide if you should live or die.
But here is where the weaker sings.
The bird, that lilting tiny powerhouse,
With its fragile hollow bones was made to fly.

I'm addicted, an addict in the night.  A rift, a fault, a weakness,
Something makes me fall.  I crack.  

So sad to be so intelligent and, yet, to be so stupid.  

In the middle of night you say to me, that "it just is."  I am blind and I am deaf.  
I cannot know what "it is" if I cannot see it, feel it.  

It just isn"t...O, love!

I once knew a brilliant young man who put a piece of wood under his chin
And played beautiful music.  

I wish that you were him.

I'll give you fifty shades of Love
In many brilliant hues

The beauty of a love,
Which is honest and true

My love is unfettered
It has no need to be bound

It reaches through the mind
Until the heart is found

Can you not feel my happy mouth speak?
Reach with your fingertips.  Seek!

Until all the world falls into exquisite darkness
You will remain my spark.

The velvety richness of you next to me
Is like trying to fill a thimble with the deep blue sea.

It is too much.

A Hunter's moon is rising.
And it struggles to shine.

Out of a ladened sky
Descends rain as clouds cry.

Though, I will not fret, nor fear
What the night might try to hide.

For the brightness and beauty
Of which you now emit

Far outshines any sun
And all my worries quit.  

You my love are the only one
Who can fill my sky tonight.

Cultivated soil
Rich in love
That first seed
Planted
We will never
Be the same

With a soil
So rich
We plant again
Our harvest
Was precious
As we reaped

This fruitful
Field of ours
Thus became
Complete
We will never
Be the same

We are a garden

Watching you
My checks still flush bright red,
Fading into pink. Do you notice
When the vein at the base of my throat
Pulsates with excitement?
Or when my green eyes brighten
And glisten with love?
Do you see me anymore?

Fleeting moments which cannot be captured,
Never really possessing true permanence.
Those Haiku-like moments that can only  
Be experienced but never touched by hands
But remembered within the poetry of a mind.

Fleeting moments cannot be captured
Never really possessing true permanence
Haiku-like moments experienced
But never touched by hands
Mere reflected glints on a heart
Recalled within the poetry of a mind

And in a moment, it is done
It has passed like the rising of a sun
Like a season full-blown or a flower
In its last few hours

Like a frozen waterfall
Or a stopped river impeded
Or an ocean held within bounds
Only the mind can replay its reel

Misses Pifflewhiff was a strange old gal;
She was away with the butterflies
Most of the time.

(I know what you are thinking.)

No, she never went with the fairies.
No fairies for her.  She preferred butterflies.
And on their wings, the old gal would fly;

In her imaginative way of thinking.

Now is the time to
"Break glass in case of emergency"
Anybody got a hammer?

Fling back your sling-backs
To me!  Ain't nothing gonna bar
Your unbridled joy of runnin'
Through that cool grass.

You shouldn't long for the past,
- They say
But, I long for it anyway

I close my eyes, drift away, not good
- They say
Not worried, I do it anyway.

I  see it is only normal, it's okay
- No matter what they say
So go ahead, just drift into times past

As long as you do not stay

There is gold in the wings,
This Gossamer, which floats and stings
Hanging as if on invisible strings

Suspended in nothing but air it seems.
My mind tries to catch the wonder of this thing
But it sips then zips and always eludes me.

The swallows fly out to catch the little eddies of spring;

I close my eyes to the sun as the clouds part above
And let the warmth gloriously take me.
Days, weeks, months, my balcony of interaction;
Lone people occasion to pass by, my chance to greet
High above the dog walkers, trippers to the community bin.

What is isolation if you allow your soul to fly out with the swallows?

Winter leaves in its wake its own form of beauty,
But eventually it gives way to the greening of spring.
And birds will sing, and flowers will bloom.
What of our love?

My knight rides out seeking me to greet
I run to him as though on winged feet

The bright morning mist gathers
As we in each other's arms shelter

Though day begins to burn away
Let time weld us together, pray

And our love eternal will stay
That never should it fade

To remain embraced forever
From this very day, and stay this way

To remain embraced forever
And stay this way from this very day

For the sake of good fun
She came along, and
You decided she would be
A sort of a plaything
Slipped onto a keyring
And fondled when bored

I come to you with a heart like glass.
You choose, the velvet box or the hammer.

All free-born and wild

Into field stride
Nature's child
Barefoot run
- a peach
- a pear
- a plum

Bird song
Insect hum
Orchard fun for each
- a pear
- a plum
- a peach

One for each
For bird and bug
And for the child dear
- a peach
- a plum
- a pear

Into fields where
They can eat
Their fill of some
- peach
- pear
- plum

All free-born and wild

Into field stride
Nature's child
Barefoot run
- a peach
- a pear
- a plum

Bird song
Insect hum
Orchard fun
- a pear
- a plum
- a peach

One for each
For bird and bug
And for the child
- a peach
- a plum
- a pear

Into fields where
They can eat
Their fill of
- peach
- pear
- plum

I am fresh out of love for you,
You who have crushed it from me.
You pecked a hole in my heart
Until my soul all drained away.
I am fresh out of love.