Come May. Come what may.
The most significant thing today
first Monday in May
my wife six months pregnant with twins
says she’s scared what we’re getting ourselves into.
Like the time I moved into an apartment uptown
I mean way uptown, Bronx uptown, uptown
where I’d never been
bomba echoing in the airshaft
painted the walls banana yellow and moved out the next day.
Lost the deposit.
A few months later moved back to the same neighborhood,
stayed a decade.
I’m not—scared, that is—but they’re not kicking my insides out, either.

I daily call you out my inner voice.
I get to listen to my echoes but no replies from you.

I daily search you my inner voice.
You are nowhere.

I can't feel your presence in me.

Do you still perdure in me ?

Where are you ?
Are you hidden behind the ebony trees in the forbidden forest ?
Has fire burned you to ashes ?

Your unread words on the paper have been washed away by the spilled water.
The regret of not reading you is burning inside me.

Yes , I always kicked you out of my soul.
But this was never my instinct.
I did this under the stimulus of others.

You are my soul.
Without you , my life is a deserted valley.

Wherever you are , please come back to me.
I promise you that I will always listen to you and obey your orders.

there is a beginning, in that I am sure
the ending is out there, right through that door
the door may not open, will that be a surprise
if you open it early you may meet demise
in my honest opinion, the secret is clear
keep that door tightly closed and kick life in the rear...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 217

This is the story of a tipped tree,
Some fish,
And two men who hit the streets.
They wanted to spread the word
About how to keep pets safe.
To speak up for those who could
Not be heard.
They'd knock on the door,
Say "hi! We're from PETA!
And just like that, they weren't
Invited to say anymore.
This happened again and again and again.
Finally, they agreed "one more. Then that will be the end."
They knocked on the door.
But this time, no one answered.
They knocked again, no answer.
They went to the window
And what did they see?
Baby goldfish in clear ***** of water
Hanging off the tree.
They looked at each other,  and both said "we need to act quick."
Luckily, the door was unlocked.
No lock to pick.
Handling them with care,
They got the fish to safety and got
Out of there. But before they left,
They kicked the tree down in anger.
And that's the story of how the tree was knocked over not by a cat,
But a stranger.

You confuse karate with love.
You punch, kick, and block.
You master the form,
Practice and practice.
You remember the creed.
Karate is not love.
You don’t kickstart the heart,
You can’t block love out,
Or punch it into submission.

I confuse love with poetry.
I read, write, and dream.
I master the edict of the pen,
Recite and recite.
I remember the sonnets.
Poetry is not love.
You don’t stanza the heart,
You can’t make a metaphor out of love,
Or personify it into breathing.

When will we learn?
When will you stop kicking Cupid?
When will I stop serenading him?
When will we stop this silly interpretation of love?

I don’t know,
But I’ll stop if you stop too.

You make me want to kick you in the teeth
It may hurt me back but not my feelings.

The urge to snap your kneck
makes me shiver filled with rage.
I hate that I want you
but I know that I don't need you!

After trying everything,
it so bothers me
that you're still breathing.

The memories of you
Makes me want to puke!

Why the **** did we ever come across?
Wait, hold on to that thought
Knife is talking to me,
reminds me to slit your ******* throat!