I would rather a leader
who is willing to laugh in the face
of his enemies,
as they spread their ridiculous lies.
Than a teleprompter reading Eunech,
with empty space between his thighs.

a wearied heart dislikes a drawbridge
set to keep one out while letting one in
wearied by the stop and go
of the flow across it and of the flow under it

wearied of the constant up-and-down
pulling up, letting down
the never-ending demand for passwords
the disappointment in the incorrect answers

the fear that it chose wrong
that it will regret this choice
and thus it keeps out more than it allows in
gives more than it gets, which is just enough

just enough to keep it fed by hope
just enough to keep it alive and yearning
just enough of just enough
just enough of only enough

yet, that mustard seed of hope grows,
flowers, then casts more seeds,
fields of hope cover the heart
and Love returns, pure, immaculate

then the bascule ceases its wearying monotony
ceases its thoughtless habitual movements
settles into place, allows the natural flow
of letting-in and clearing-out to commence

beginning with Hope, Gratitude, and Love
ending with Life eternal


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

Everyday

in every way

You are familiar to me.



When You hold my hand

and our fingers search for

that special touch.

That's familiar


When You look at me

and our eyes get a glimpse

of our souls.

That's familiar


When You hold me close

and our bodies melt

like hot wax.

That's familiar


When Your desire meets mine

and for that moment

our passion is King.

That's familiar


When i think of You

nothing else seems to matter

and that is also

becoming familiar

Spring
2015

I built this maze for us
Now we are straying through it
A kid's hollering guiding us
A pitchwoman or hide and seek?

Numbers drift through blood
Among exclusive glass fragments
Splinters in a diamond's reflection
The hollering kid hauling torches

Yesterday the lake's bottom raged
Since then we hear a gentle silence
A little girl from paradise
Hollering with a grin:

Gimme a part from the maze!
That's basically already mine
I do love the maze so much
I want to keep the maze forever!

We don't hear that anymore
Deeply straining through thorns
The girl's voice is vanishing
In the freezing night wind

Then I spot your eyes in the gravel
Glistening among black stones
Diamonds from glass fragments
At the shore of the silent lake

Get me out of this hell!
Blood running down from walls
Sick angels dying in meat
Their wings are burning
Living for one second
In a sunken drawer
By the forehead of water marbles
The day falls into moments
While you're standing at a fence
A red glistening on the neck
Truly honored and truly degraded
Beat me up with your wings!

The thick finger on your lips
Your saliva is silk-colored
The angels recovered in a red night
In the channels of olive-green waters
Star-painted toenails
Engaged in discussions
Keep me in your wings


Lead me to the paradise of Eden
To breach heaven's wall
Back of the blood
I emerged in a crow; I became silence
Evanescence is good for the night
Walls and dungeons are dreams
I have no idea about that
At night you wake me up
Fragrant as the flowers of Eden
The snake becomes a giant

I live in a camper van, permanently,

it is designed for summer holidays,

insufficiently insulated for Hibernian

Winters. I have no running water no

access to hot showers and the solar

panels are superfluous in this land

of a cumulus congestus. Toileting

is a constant challenge as Ireland

doesn't cater for Cassette emptying

as one finds on continental Europe.

I am permanently on the move as

wild camping is frowned on by many.


But I am not being bombed by Jews.

it's the end of the world!
silence will rule my ears
for the taste of ambience
is not a taste i admire...

the airport bag scanner ate my earphones!
the best ive had in a while, might i add...
the airport bag scanner widowed one of my precious earbuds!
alas, i shall lay these kindred friends
in a foreign trash bin burial grave--

perhaps buy a new pair
as their reincarnation in some foreign elsewhere?

I've been afflicted with this you-centric pareidolia.
To be convicted of drawing your face
on every passing passerby
implies the weight of a final farewell coda
goes beyond the gloom hovering over a looming goodbye.

And it's an ill that goes beyond daytime hallucinations...
Every time I read a book I wonder
whether the same ideas from the words down and up under
have had their ships drop hook on the shores of your imagination.

While my mind succumbs itself to your endless regime
I implore you to tarry aboard my train of thought:
depart not soon—heck, pester me amidst daydream
even though I know a waking man ought
not spoil himself that way.

Have we all become mere automata
guided by the ring of pings and notifs?
The spray of lather from a sea of data
carrying with it wrung celebrity whiffs
have stung us with a certain aphasia...

The written thought was a lifetime ago
long abandoned by the times and all--
where once there was soundness to follow
nonsense amassed like a rising cymbal
whose crash sent reason to the gallows.

The news of the day presents a delectable entree
of a hodgepodge of this, that, and nothing much.
Wherefore we find our tongues compelled to say
something about the aftertaste or to prejudge
as if we were connoisseurs--it must've hid faraway.

Are we perhaps amusing ourselves to death?
I am by no means a Luddite to such a degree,
but I believe we have bombarded and blessed
ourselves a little too much to see...
only time will tell us reason's final breath.