This news consoles
The heck of us,
In gestures strained imprints
On hearts.
They learned a daily bite
Of stats:
Us figured, scooped,
Against and fast.

Like that of spoons
Fed to the blind
By those dictators
Who still fly.
Plots hatching plots:
them aged and trite.
Like was it news to you?
Not in the slightest.

I water myself daily, play my heartstrings like a ukulele
the music makes me smile, my art child
I can no longer blame me, for the times you were shady
cannot stay hostile, the negativity is vile
I move on and I move in, to my new skin
I got into my groove and I let myself in
to the world of violins that play for my smirk
I was ******, hurt, and overworked
but now as I rest in my throne of pillows
I realize true peace as I watch the wind bend the willows

bright mango radiant orange mango slippery in hands mango
melts in mouth mango like your words to my blushing ears
mango is my favorite fruit fruit my favorite food evokes appetite envoked by you
are like a mango

LIFE

What makes life ?
Giving shape to world –
that formidable play of powers
that widens in currents
of ebbing and flowing.

There is the mirrored
immensity of self,
the dark hours of
solitary being.
Then the brevity
of a smile, the light
of a new page when
all that waits within
is shimmering with
gladness.

From the deepest beginnings
what is perceived… the music
of the meadows, the silence
of stone, the softness of evening,
the horizon cloaked in stillness.

Then the coming of day,
ready to break into being
when all creation breathes
with relief and life spreads
out hugely.

Life – the luminous net
spreading through all,
weaving together
the numberless
threads of being.

I am slender and my figure is the topic of discussion
unsolicited advice about how much I should eat
as if my weight is their goal to reap
I am skin and bones just like you
I feel confident and insecure just like you
Looking into my mirror and reflecting on your comments
Analyzing every curve or lack thereof like it is a contest
who can be the King and Queen of Fools
suffering self-esteem underneath the entrenched rules
I hope you never feel the way you make others feel
A broken bird

Greece in muted pink.

Flooded in Haiku and rubble.
The painstakingly, shin.
Filled in ghosts and napkins for yours.
When it rains.
Flowing blanketed surprise, the fiends.
Never.
Over and against certain other pains.
Because it rains.

Garrett Johnson.