Wasn't too likely,
You missed me nightly,
But the drug drip makes memories appear.

Road lines, coerce the mind
I was believing in something,
Still smell the same, your wet lips on my cheek reminded me of the good days.

When I was yours and you were mine.
Second chances aren't easy,
Guess it's you I have to define.

Guess the saying is true, they always come back.

The art of Conversation = a source of emancipation,
and oral gratification per integration of knowledge
manifesting opportunity qua
sharing unconscious workings 
   Vis a Vis windows to the soul

whereby a quickened pace arises to latch onto this role
i.e. as a conversant fellow, who at LVII years old does poll
the fleeting decades of his existence 
manning reminiscence for ole
flashing back to days of mine childhood's end - 

   When last verse of noel
will be writ when father time 
   dost take me underground akin to a mole
or perhaps cremation will deliver 
   mine ashes along a rib-rocked knoll
of this then once living garden-variety hominid - 

   whose mindfulness endowed
Introspection, his biological ticket tape 
 eventual fated halt to life 
   taken far from the madding crowd

whereby cosmic consciousness reigns supreme 
   lording eminence grise of this beetle browed
chap. hoop fully countless decades still abound 
   for me to relish what would be legally allowed

reaching out to family since no value found as de cries
the ever rapid stealth of living, yet before my demise
this sensate being, with these ears and eyes
reckons he cannot halt like greased lightening
   how tempus fugit with lord of the flies

tempting to whisk me away while mortality 
   donned in get up as go tell a watchman guise
whence a half-century prior to kill a mockingbird 
   deigned as main entree, now i got a bone to pick and pries
as much longevity and stave off grim reaper 
   before permanent slumber doth ah rise!

You are           ...sleeping.
And I am awake.
Smoking cigarettes on porch
and the curb
and underneath the leaves of this foreign place as familiar as our bed.

(Our bed ?

Perhaps. )

As you sleep,
Breathing heavily, soundly,
contorted into dissociation
Blankets wound around your body
        -That I don't dare touch;
I breathe so slowly, so so

S
  L
    O
      W
         L
           Y

[ S
T
A
R
I
N
G
    at the wall ]

And speak to myself in the voice no one will ever hear
with the intensity of red
and the pace of INDIGO
INDIGO of the wall outside your flat
INDIGO of the sloshing acid of my stomach
INDIGO of the synapses pulsing electricity past my neurons to the unreceptive brain matter that lies beneath your skull  

Indigo indigo indigo

Ind(i•go)
(In)•digo
I•{ndigo}

(Witching hour approaches)

And I approach nothing
                      Nothing nothing nothing
Approaches me
Invades me
And I ask.               {Please}
But my eyes evade me, speaking distance
Across the span of OUR bed

¿Ours?

With the dawn virga of
pink light in the window,
The heat of your hands tenderly apologizes

And in the morning
You kiss me
Exhaling dreary carbon dioxide into my mouth
Stale alcohol meandering past our teeth,
Settling in the air between our tongues.

Akshad Oct 25

For the times we go wrong and when we inflict pain...
No matter how we change... Apologetic we still remain!!
For once when you fissure a relationship there will be a persistent stain!!
In the long run... Apologetic we remain..
When you are man of your words, but a guy with undone promises... Your image doesn't remain the same...
Even though you start fresh... But within... Apologetic you still remain!
It's all gone now... It has changed!!
The bond has lapsed and grown... But still... Apologetic you remain!
For a tear shed under the dark night... And the ignorant sight... It's not blame game.!
You cut your ego ur pride... But still apologetic we remain....
You often wanna talk it out but you have not words to say...
It's not because of your ego.. But as apologetic we still Remain...
You mess it up... You break a heart... Your actions do things worst than getting parched...
You wanna go undo... You wanna go back in time to ooze out the pain..
But it's too late... Now apologetic we remain...
You thought you are  mighty... Attitude flows in your vein..
But turns out your so feeble... That apologetic we remain...
It has vanished but has left a scar.... For once little it get exposed all your smile dies in vain...
You have your heart out... You have build a trust... But within... Apologetic we remain!!
Apologetic  we remain!!

There is nothing I could ever do.
I could never give enough
To even begin to repay.
I sense the weight of debt paid.

My love and dedication falls short of this
Abundant grace as all the efforts of a world
That gives out of selfishness.

I often live in denial of what I must repay
Though I never could repay.
But the inclination must be there.
I carry the weight of debt paid.

I have learned to acknowledge the debt
And accept that I was debtor
To a weight that would surely have crushed me.

I have learned to freely give back
Of what was freely given to me.
I live under the weight of debt paid.

--Daniel Irwin Tucker

There is a price to pay for every negative action and reaction. This debt can become insurmountable after a while. There is a love which pays this debt in full. But even though grace is unmerited favour, love is not a one way street--you can never be free of responsibility.
When you learn this, you will find that the weight of being forgiven or forgiving, is worlds lighter than this weight of the personal & universal human debt you once owed.  True freedom does not come cheap, but it is so worth it!

I was so much in love with you
That I wanted spend hours
Traversing your naked flesh
Until I could consume  the erotic  elixir
Of  ambrosial fluids
Of your orgasmic core,
But you resisted my advances
Just as the Taliban has resisted
The United States
And the U.S.S.R. .
Your angry rejection of me
Felt   like being shot down
With a rocket propelled grenade.
Your enraged denunciation of me
Caused  me to  feel
As if I was being blown to bits
With an improvised explosive device
When I tried to negotiate with you
In order to recover our love,
You refused all attempts at reconciliation
Until you received
Your baksheesh.

Your love
Forgave
My flaws.
little tiny
Fragments
Of  tears
healed
Our hurts

I sat by his bedside the day my father died.
The cancer that had riddled his body and soul
Now had complete control.

He fought kicking and screaming
The night the men in white came to take him
On his final journey
Like a great wildebeest
Struggling to get up on its front legs after being taken
Down by young lions. The way so many had said he
Probably would since he fought his way tooth & nail
Throughout his life from the very beginning.

That night I sat on a chair at the foot of his bed
Staring out the huge ceiling to floor window
Of the medical centre
At the many worlds hidden beneath thousands of straight
Stationary lights in-between fluid winding rows of
Transient lights and thought how the light of This window
Is just one of many thousands. At that moment it seemed
More like just one tiny speck in the vast star fields
Worlds above this city of light.

My father had spent most of his life just a short
Six-mile drive from here, under the scattered lights of His
Hometown.

He turned to me and asked,
“That’s a big city. Where are we?"

Dementia had claimed his mind ten or more years earlier. It
Slowly wound its way around his brain like a cocky Snake
Handler being choked by a boa constrictor unawares.
It seemed like it all caught up to his body.
But it was good to see much of the bitterness
And bad blood between us dissipated over the past decade.
On that night compassion ruled the day.

I could not say it then
But it has been many years
Where it seems compassion has forged with objectivity.

In a lucid moment he looked around the hospital room
Bewildered as if he were a little boy who just woke up
From a bad dream and asked,
“How did this ever happen?"

If only I could have told him.
Sometimes the truth cannot be spoken or heard.
All I could do then was sit by his bed
Lean in close to his ear
And sing softly his favourite hymns. 

By morning his lifeless
Dilapidated body lay in the fetal position.
His once ravenous mouth now forever frozen
Looked like a knothole in a twisted cedar tree.
All I can do now is hang my head and think
Of how weak and frail we humans truly are.

Like compassion forged with objectivity,
Weakness and frailty forges with fleeting moments of Strength.
We forge heroes out of these moments to tower above
The pedestals the former is made of
To somehow minimize the pain of this often denied truth.

               --Daniel Irwin Tucker

My wife & I put our life on hold & travelled to the U.S. to help my mother take care of my dying father. She wanted to keep him in the comfort of his own home. We were there for five months.

I am the ghost of relationships past
You can see I'm very busy, so many don't last
I haunt the hearts of the also-rans
I don't do it cause I can
No, it's with compassion
I understand the sorrow
That it won't go away
I offer solace, enough to say
Have hope and appreciation
Some understanding
For I too feel their hurt
You probably don't know
But we ghosts are built that way

Take the couple I just met
Penny is from heaven
Ted is the best
A good man at the core
But he strayed from the nest
They split-up
Both are now bereft

This is how I just worked that one
I whispered to them
That maybe she should forgive
And he should never forget
How wonderful life used to be
Perhaps it would be best
To talk again, to walk again along that garden path
Love can work on the rebound
But you've got to take that chance

I'm happy to report these fresh results
They've agreed to relate
Establishing romantic relations once again
They're going on date, on which I shall accompany them
To ensure that things go well
Then it's home to Mrs. Ghost
Whom I first met at the Heartbreak Hotel

1/28/17

Reconciliation in life happens when thoughts are in place and intentions are clear
Expectations are raised to higher level when success is gained from the efforts made since prior.
Strange are the ways of life,
strange seems life,
but then that’s life and life continues with the same,
reconciliation and expectations
Last but not least, life is all about hits and misses.

Next page