oversharing
undercaring
people staring
lights glaring

I feel like having a little part,
A little part of the sun
Like the hope that it brings
Seeking to catch the rays of positivity
To bring some of it into my life,
To still burn brighter,
Rather than burning out
By all things that lead you
To you dismay,
Winding you down at the end of the day.

Sometimes it's perplexing
When I try to rise and shine,
To be brighter than life
These rays of the sun
When it gives me hope,
Knowing full well it will all come undone
By my discretion
With which I can't even cope
Things have some way to spiral,
Spiral out of control
Tricking me into believing
If I even had that power for a fleeting second
Well, some things have a bitter end
There's an end to this pretend
I'm trying to give it more,
More than it needs
Despite knowing the truth
Which is not so great as it always fades,
By the layers of the facade that lie underneath
Can't be unearthed,
It all feels surreal
But the effort is, in fact, very real.

Going back to the childhood days,
When you were bright as the day
Somewhere hidden these memories still lay
Pictures of your innocence,
Dragging you around
The bluntness of reality leaves you to astound
All I'm looking for is a haven
A sanctuary for healing the wounds,
Maybe I'm chasing the wrong thing
Maybe all I need is somebody
Somebody to share the pain,
Someone to hold hands with
Under the beautiful rain
They always say that when you have love,
You don't need anything else
Maybe that is my answer,
Maybe I've been asking all the wrong questions.

Getting over myself, I come to my senses
Life can't be lived in future tenses,
It is what is, right here and now
Not thinking about how you go out
But what you make of it while you still can,
The journey of this ever running man
Running away for myself,
From myself
Maybe I've got everything I need
If I live in this space between
The beauty and pain.

In need of a light
That goes on till by seemingly endless days
Thinking of the impossible, I know
What's the harm in thinking
Of a better place in my heart?
Rather than these graves that I've dug for myself
Where the cold wind blows
All I hear is the silence now,
Never heard it like that before
Trying to make sense of it all,
Still leaves me baffled somehow.

All I need is a little part,
A little part of the sun
To feel the burn,
To feel the warmth inside
A perpetual storm resides within,
Cold winter snow in my soul
The fluctuations of my reality
Finally taking its toll
The moment is edging closer
So I decided to drop this act like a poser
Its time to be real, be a man
I would need a new plan
To deal with these mistakes
From which I can't outrun
Although it is easier said than done
But all I need,
Is a little part of the sun.

I must confess, that the world is a mess
but it's not to gone to save
it will take time, but with that in mind
how did it get so ”grave”
the people concerned, are the people who learned
what's wrong and will help make it right
it will be rather stark, as the mess is quite dark
but together, we can turn it to bright.....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 214

I had went to visit some friends
some acquaintances
these people i used to know
I was a ghost in my hometown,
where no one used my given name.
they brought me in through a screen door and
sat me down in the kitchen.
their voices were like underwater sounds
they told me to be still while he said hello.
I looked down a flight of basement stairs
where bathed in a blue light like Chopin’s  no. 19 in E minor
sat a tiger burning bright.
up the stairs it bounded forth in muted strides
to the floor it pinned me under protest
in cemetery stillness it said hello.
the kitchen was an autoclave
I never asked for help.

my hometown calls to me in my sleep
like an indian death wail on a buffalo robe
so my eyes sink back into the firmament.
bathing in the predawn light
my bones are an old horse I ride,
I score one for the body then I get onto a plane
then I score one for the body and I get onto a plane
then i score one for the body as it lays dying without complaint.
kneeling before the Holy Cross by the roadside
I take note of really just how much room there is on the bed beside me
strange bedfellows are I and the space I’ve been given.
there is a queen sized outer darkness within my twin sized
gestures of self control.
the dusk is day now and the moon is the sun
and my hometown calls to me like Jericho’s Trumpet
sounding from inside the Pale.

in my hometown I am a pilgrim
I saunter towards the seaboard
where the docks hold greek columns that soar into the air
like the elephant’s legs in Salvador Dali’s “The Temptation of St. Anthony”.
nostalgia burns my throat like acids and bases
and the columns lead up to nowhere and this place isn’t
how i remember it beyond the Pale.
limping with thin soles
dragging a dull hypothalamus like a dead mule chained to my ankle
we would sit and watch our forefathers stare at the static on the TV
from their arm chairs in the dark.
we would offer them coffee and ask how their day was and they
would tell us that sometimes they feel like a lone alley cat.
It’s like my buddy's roommate when I would go to visit; always alone inside his room.
sometimes I would see him around town and say hello and notice his face and
see that he was still alone inside his room.

well, I have skin in the game and I have a reputation
and i’m attached to my non-attachment.
sometimes a subtle brand of disgust creeps in to replace my avarice
and sometimes I starve to death holding a long handled spoon
seated at Caligula’s table.
sometimes i can’t tell their maidenhood from their madness
so i hoard one for the body.
sometimes i remember the way bees will talk to each other by dancing
and how old men will tell you they’re afraid to die.
Sometimes I hand a *** a 20 and weep as I watch him fold it
into an origami crane.

while I was in town I looked up my former landlord
I held a fondness for the times when they didn’t use my given name.
I wanted to see my old room and I had kept a raven back then and
he assured me it was still around.
the room was now and attic and was much bigger than I had held it
in my memory, vast almost.
I ask the dust as it was thick upon the floor boards and something
felt abandoned in the air.
the roof was in disrepair and one whole side was nearly completely gone.
tranquil ribbons of cirrus clouds stood in the sky through the roof like
a child’s drawing.
“Is it like you remember?”, he asked.
“Way over in the corner there was a couch my brother would sometimes sit in” I replied.
I asked after my raven and he pointed to the part of the roof that still was.
from the shadows came a bird song like an irish low whistle from above the Pale.
“That doesn’t sound like him”, I said (more to myself than to my host),
“that’s an owl or something.”

Bygone days of childhood
I met a pet, a grave and graceful purring cat
My 'Poppy'

Her coquetry
Still sybarite years cherishing
With love

Oh! she
Dusky colour
Bright!

Bygone days of childhood
Still sybarite years cherishing
Bright!

During the most uncomfortable instances
I think back on the piña coladas and sweet cream
Still fresh in the fruit, still whole
The salty air left sand on
The creases of my eyes
We found medallion shells together
But I held my own hand then
And let the blue wet my shorts
Unexpectedly, there was nothing to be afraid of.

A sparkle,
A pump,
A few more sparkles in tow,

Spark the movement,
Of feeling, power, and hope,

The current powers up,
With courage and perseverance,

Her soul lights up,
Hot ****, she’s beaming,

She opens up to her demons,
Sits tight,
Starts breathing,

Embraces the universe,
Her world,
Reason,

Exhale,
The pain and the hurt,
Inhale,
Good fortune, pure love, and your worth,

Pay attention to the universe,
It’s listening to you,

Melt into its warmth,
While it whispers,

You matter,
It’s true.