A brisk pace

Walking to work,
I was struck, with the memory:
the time when I could not walk...
After a stroke, during brain surgery, and a 40-day coma…
My step indeed picked up to a brisk pace,
and a smile came upon my face.


Thankful.

I think I cut too deep
Look at that cut on me
It hasn’t healed for fourteen days
It won’t never go away
Maybe they’ll finally notice
How I’m far past my lowest
Look into the open wound
Staring back with eyes of stound
Watch it drip honey
And gush out sounds of
A time when I was funny
And not the time now where I am but a dove

Try living in paradise

Still recovering from trauma

Thinking about the ones left behind



Feeling sun on brown skin

While buildings burn down

Today was like any other



Enjoying cool ocean waters

While salt washes festering wounds

Fresh flesh like grapefruit is pink



Looking to the distant stars

Trampling on growing daisies

Only to lay in a field of them



Howling loud at worship

While fearing the whites of saved eyes

Lift every voice and sing



To dance and to be joyful

While quakes lulls sleeping babies

When the dust settles what remains

I love Sunday for its quietness,
I love Sundays, for there is no rush.
I love Sundays for writing poetry.
I love Sundays for the hush.
I love Sundays for the calm before the storm.
I love Sundays because my mind reboots to the norm.
I love Sundays because I can take my soul for a walk,
And let it roam across heavenly realms.
I love Sundays to be without an agenda that I have to chalk.
I love Sundays, to remember.
I love Sundays, and that's where I will be,
Loving You more without animosity.

Consider this:
at its core, a ghost is typically described as little more than a restless spirit.
Given this description, it's not too much
of a stretch of the imagination
to suggest that you don't have to die
to be a ghost.
After all, things change every day.
It would be concerning if you didn't feel lost or anxious at some point. The question then becomes "what do you do if you feel this way?" The answer: remember who you are and all it took to get you to where you are today.

This that "cause you said that , now I'm not speaking to you",
This that "you took too long to reply so I'm done with you".
This that "you ain't **** getting her pregnant rodney",
This that "oh now you don't remember me? Then *******!",

Where did we go so wrong with communicating?
These apps are not stimulating no more,
Its just irritating,
I get like 2 matches a day and still nobody said ****?
Waste of time isn't it?
Time to set boundaries and benefits,
At this rate , I just want friends,
Why can't loneliness end?
at least don't pretend saying what was really meant,
Its not rocket science looking within someone's soul,
But if their heart is blacker than black and milds , then I'm gone,
If I call you a ***** on this phone , then I would be wrong,
Right?
Don't call me when you and ya' hubby get into a , fight,
We all got problems that need to be solved increasing the rates of cheating and brawls,
You wanna be him, she wanna be her,
Y'all know y'all both can't have it all,
On the internet looking like fine ****,
But Whats fine **** to the spiritual,
Iykyk we ain't liberals,
Time to build our people up in general.

we used to walk downtown
close to Christmas
you would be stoic and quiet
I would get excited over anything we saw

you wrote poems about me
you told me the most wonderful stories
I always listened
when you called me your little Sunlet

I loved you
I still do

to love a poet is not the same as to be loved by a poet.
to be loved
is so much more fulfilling
I loved you

moon

-L

if i lie in bed
at night with the phone
flashlight on

so i can see the careful night
staring back at me

will i remember the taste
of summer
though late winter stings like california

will i watch a squinting sun
look at me like a black hole
though the night stays calm beside me

to find something
to know it

if i lie in bed
the dotting black of my room is the universe the flashlight is on
and i am the sun

Drop by drop, the measured melancholy,
Downing secrets from the past.

Tick by tock, each treasured nobody,
Their heartbeats beaten fast.

Hurt by hurt, each regret I will ever own,
My scattered promises, a broken trust.

Death by death, the full stop comes to pass,
Leaving empty spaces upon our paths.

Life by life, such are my memories lost in time,
Those precious moments never meant to last.

Tom Lefort 2025