If I wanted to take a little time,
If I wanted to share my inner mind,
If someone said it had to rhyme,
I got no time for that ****…

Paint for me, in your chosen words,
The lines are branches; the letters, birds.
Sing to me songs sublime; absurd,
Just don’t tell me it has to rhyme…

Settle the bitter, ancient scores,
Make the audience seek for more,
Make the shoes I stand in yours,
Do not make me repeat myself…

Write me a letter, I long to hear,
Your poet’s voice in my mental ear,
Till the world does shed a collective tear,

I think I’ve made myself perfectly-  uh…

Clear.

the world is flown
       and i sleep beside you wed
 our mossy appetite has become cleaved  
                                   a sleeve running between us on this bed
      a warm hum     the pores  pipe open
    intimacy issues forth    traversing the gap
  intelligence sliding    slack and froth    
        like moist candy-floss   icking and tearing

our shared dream
     our powerful phantom
         gussy travellers
       ravelling in sheets of smoky sea
 grey/green misting of the memory gland
gathering up dead celebrity
tuning structures to our jubilee
re-creation in a vibe theatre
we're partners conducting our behaviour
                         for a grand flotsam revelry    
                                      dizzed up and narcotic
         no doubt ; we are unreal

it is the neon hour...

i flicker
           feeling the rushing of your warm system
         i feel weather speed over our bodies
                               striping and refreshing the energy
            in the oil light blinking   i see you
          scar beauty over the berths' landscape
           you turn the body over and illuminate the eyes
          you are if to say     "plug back in to our shared motion"
           "we could be imperishable"
         "i cannot return without my inconsiderate spouse"
          you brush my hand which fizzes
                                          and i clothe my eyes
           re-enter our developing potion
          
          within   our great mouths feed alike
          our dual nature is a shared gratification   within

I went to my friend
almost afraid to expose the need
I found as I read the book,
not knowing if he would be deaf to it.
As I spoke of my father
who was not there
to show his boy how to be a man
I recounted my losses
and the load of grief I felt.

My sadness clung to me
a heavy suit of chainmail on a dark knight.
I could feel my face
drooping in lamentation
unable to be the smiling grinning buddy
I normally brought to the room.

Seemingly unable to enter into my pain,
my friend, a man of great intellect, character and conviction,
responded only with a litany of his own.
I tried to listen but my burden
made it a mighty climb.

Now I know my pal is only human
and I am wrestling
with my self
sweating MY
deafness.

When I say "bet"
life begins. I wager sweat and limbs.
The thrill is angelic hymns.
Limitless~

Until a hit is missed.
Why
do I fear
love is duplicitous
?

Courage
Will
Form
energy from unfolding mystery.
Cradling a chalice of compassion
with gentle filigree
my hands hold perfectly.
Feeling trust, I sip then pour peacefully.

Worth is free.

I think that I want to plant a garden in life
I want to start with lettuce; lettuce be helpful
lettuce be kind,
lettuce be thoughtful, I hope you don't mind.
This garden I plan to share and you can join me if you care
Keep in mind that we need to ****: **** out anger,
**** out strife that threatens to choke out our delicate plants
Next, maybe we can try some squash out prejudice, squash out greed, and help
those in need. It doesn't always take money to lend a helping hand. Just lend a listening ear or any special way only you can, and perhaps we will all grow in a more peaceful land.
Maybe if we all work as one it will matter to many people and they too will help us plant this garden, And don't forget the water which joins us together in this garden of life, For the water is love.
I hope to meet you in the garden, there is always room for more understanding and together we can discover what great things this garden can bring.

spanish

I’m sitting in the 8am sun by the end the driveway,
trying to get a handle on the day.
folding chair
house basket
coffee.
such is my custom
and my delight.
driveways are a luxury this part of town.
my back is to the brick
sidewalk to my right
sunshine upon my face and forehead
eyes closed.
a rundown hispanic fellow
about my age
appears
from nowhere
out of my blind,
asking for a lighter.
my eyes open and all is light.
he recognized my lighter sheath
heavy *** metal with the bottle opener at the bottom
told me that he had had the same one;
picked it up from some no name bodega
out of where he originated in
spanish harlem.
he began telling me his life story, you see.
he never heard the word
‘****’ until he moved to
Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.
told me he was the black sheep
of the little family he had left,
and that he hadn’t seen them in years.
he stood before me on the sidewalk
in the morning sunlight.
I asked him for a cigarette.
he was raised tangled in
a cultural straight jacket;
one tailored to his demographic.
an urban person of color.
his Divine Masculine
red lined and impoverished.
hand me down outfit
tj max rap music video.
I told him I identified as a stray dog,
sitting by the end of the driveway
8am sun.
he told me he was just doing the best he could.
best he can
with what he got.
our hearts were bleeding there together
pooling up on the driveway
8am sunshine
sky, blueish white.
I told him where I worked,
gave him the address
told him
come get some free samples of CBD.

everyday I forget that
it isn’t my job
to
save anyone.
he’s walking away with a limp up west orange.
i close my eyes.
I hope he doesn’t need any CBD.

©️  Jordan Gee

It’s fun to Journey, inside my mind,
The more I search, the more I find,
Many Visions, messages, positive signs,
I collect, rearranging, into understandable lines,
What ever I’m thinking about, at that moment, in time.


The original: Tom Maxwell © 3/30/2022 AD