Oh, Cat-wanderer at carnival time,
Dusk is as dark as
Your heart is bright.

When times are hard- as freezer doors or splintered dinosaur bones-
When times are hard and cold and sort of painful by their very touch
A short-term solution may be found
Unglamorous, unremarkable, but sound:

Submit to moderation.

Harder than heroic, searing want or hope
Undaunted or tragedy-
Submit to not-knowing-ness,
To water-filled gardens
Where you float among ferns, and small lights are arranged in your hair.
Submit to plodding, to avoiding the dark-lit streets,
To shedding dread desire for sparse morality
Submit to the temporary reprieve of going the known ways,
Of doing what's societally right, of fleeing the fire and the glory of the fight
Submit
To your better sense, hand your heart to your mind and
revel in the knowing that
You'll manage. It. Whatever it is that plagues you.
Submit to sensibility.

And you'll know in a while,
After the thorns and dust and glass is all gone that-
You can
Raise your head,
Straighten slumped shoulders,
Remove the knots from your ankles
And find

Gladness
The grass, the water, the sunlight.

In the moments that are waiting, crisply, to break into floods of
daytime-issues of deadlines and ***** dishes,
something happens.
In the moments where procrastination is a smile and a fine lie nestled
tight between hope and reluctance
this will happen:
thoughts of warmth, glory and wisdom will flutter
through your spirit- rare beasts, jeweled fruit-flies
or candelabras
(silver)
waiting to be caught, just as long
as you
don't
get
down
to
work.

10 minutes left

you struggle to hold to you
hours of wonder, days of mirth
all felt that one September night, when the rice had warmed your belly
and softened your eyes

and the sky was kinder reflected in the city drains
because at that particular hour at hand, they were rivers of a foreign land
saturated with dreams and magics-transmuted by the rains.

6 minutes left

caught the last train
back
home waited behind a line of tired women without eyes
they were trees maybe
or rushes by the river whispering of a home before a
home before this one,
some ancient stony place of arches and  pools

i don't quite know
as the tracks beating under made them hard to hear.

4 minutes left- does thought really
cross at 'the speed of god'?
Such words from plays by beloved men haunt one at the strangest times.

Thus, inspiration once struck, dims.
Thus, the end of the page approaches.
"Thus." cruelly, super-ego laughs.

Thus, work begins.

Three notes of so-so music
and you appear
unwarranted
Arresting

Stop being
the bondsman of my heart
the jailer of my soul
this
love is unjust.

I used to think
The world was my canvas
I would paint upon
And speak my thoughts
That I ponder on
A World of love
I would write them unto my mind

That would hear my words
So I try and try
But to no avail
Our hearts are ripped
From day to day

We paint
We write
We love
We pray
In this world of canvas

Among all the meaningless time
In the end they are all the same
All the feelings that flows through our
Veins
As we discover life of the arts
In various ways
In the world of canvas...

Debbie Brooks 2014 -

Last night I dreamt I committed suicide;
and it wasn't beautiful or poetic
it simply was yet another death.
I felt boneless and dizzy as I awoke on the dawn
of yet another day.
The sun shone through cracks in my window but
relief never came of not having that dream real.

Last night I forgot to sleep, I forgot to feel;
and I didn't toss around my bed but laid
as a corpse does in his casket.
I felt numb and yet somehow disappointed
of not having someone to scare away this beast.
This beast that clings to my body like a second skin,
this beast which eats away my sun,
this beast that grows with the ennui of life,
this beast which spits on raw wounds of my flesh.
It keeps me caged,keeps me inside,
belittling me and snickering just when I have managed
to get a foot out the door-
so I step back in and close it firmly shut.

Last night I prayed to anyone who would listen
and it was poignant and pathetic because
I awoke to another bright day of laughter from my peers
and I could do nothing but stare from a faraway place
with white noise stuck in my head.

You were a 'Star' even back then.
The light from your eyes brightened
my days and all we had was time.

Too young, dumb and blind, I was,
to know for certain.
But deep down, a part of me could
tell that you would one day rise to
decorate the sky.

Now, the World orbits around 'you'.  
As well it should.
I still miss the times when
we were young
and you were mine.
Strumming your tunes
and making 'em rhyme.
No back up,
no stadiums,
just that sweet voice
humming new lines
into the Summer night.

Jealousy's wicked symphony
fills my mind as your blue eyes
gaze at me from the covers at
the checkout line.
Such is the fate of young lovers
who started as friends, until one
rises high and the other descends.

Oh, well.

You've earned the World's love
just as you won mine so long ago.
I hope you miss me too,  even
though I will always miss you
just a little more.

~~~