While sitting in a
Creative writing lecture
With chairs organized
Into a circle
My first thought,
I wasn’t supposed to be here with you
Heart starts to race
Temperature slightly elevated
Readying my vein for this poetic fix

Such anticipation
Emotional game of —“duck duck goose”
All eyes on me
As if I were Tupac Shakur and this was 1996

A poem of triumph— perhaps,
An ode to the spirit of Herbert Gans.
Pulling myself up by the bootstraps
Trying to escape the chains of hard luck

Maybe even a poem of choices;
Deciding on one of two roads like Robert Frost
Even if my pen bled of this,
No one would really give a ****.

Is it an absolute that pain sells?
Is human hurt the only thing that moves you?
I still struggle to believe this is the case
In my world,      pain is a place
Pain is that place where,
Dad walks out and never looks back
No one hears your cries
Summer vacations are non-existent
Dinner is a small bowl of plain white rice
A weekly salary at the age of nine

Four years and still no birthday card from Dad…

Mom’s tears run deeper than the Hudson,
Her face enveloped by the smoke of Newport cigarettes;
She was the portrait of a woman scorned.
Her curse,
I look just like him.

High school days full of haze
Escaped reality with Mary Jane.

Thirteen years and still no birthday card from Dad…

My first attempt at college lasted only one lecture.
Success was— shipping out to boot camp
Missing your own child’s first steps
Walking on unfamiliar soil in the name of “peace”
A world away from all you love
Barely making out an “I miss you” over a bad phone connection
Having a needle inserted into your arm while sitting next to an addict
Selling plasma from my blood for twenty-five dollars a visit
Rushing home in a daze with baby formula for a crying child,

Eighteen years and still no birthday card from Dad…

An almost failing marriage
Getting into a car full of rage
Almost giving in and becoming what you most despise
Seeing their smiles, hearing their laughter for maybe the last time
A lonely stairwell that echoed their cries
Searching for ways to always provide
A paycheck big enough to only tread water
Week equivalent to forty hours of work, eighty hours of school
Breaking the promise of a sweet sixteen to a daughter;
In my world pain is a place.

Here I am baring my very soul
Opening my closet,
Some say my courage has seen me through.
I wasn’t supposed to be sitting here with you;

Thirty three years and still no birthday card from Dad —

Pain is a place…

So still
Silky hair come undone
Yet perfect
In my eyes
Gently rest
Silenced rose colored lips
Their last offering
I love you
Sealed with a kiss
Just before we drifted
Perfect in all your imperfections
Wherever this place
To which your dreams
Have whisked you off too
My sincerest hope
That you forever know
You hold my heart
So still
Sleep sweet angel of mine
Quiet this morning
As I with undivided attention
Smile at your beauty
While you
Sleep...

Pardon the gloom and doom
What have we allowed to transpire
Quietly swept by a government issued broom
Backs keep breaking as our feet never leave the fire

Gone is Every cent I earn as I toil and sweat
This is the life of the working poor
In god we trust escapes my grasp the closer to payday I get
Hope just dwindles as we continue on as corporates laboring *****

The Rich get richer
While the poor seek hope at Sunday's mass
There is something afoot that blurs this picture
No more lunch after Sunday Service because I now pay four dollars for every gallon of gas

Everyday I open my eyes and hope that the light peeking in through my Venetian blinds is the light at the end of tunnel
Sheep fighting through traffic as the roads transform into a funnel
So here I sit wondering will I ever have the time and the money to show my children the true beauty of the good ole U.S. of A
Unfortunate however that in order to survive it is all work and no play
Landlord will be by Today

Pardon the doom and the gloom
It has been quite some time since I've heard the bells of freedom ring
I have broken the trance that I had fallen victim to while tuning in  that ******* box in my living room
Maybe just maybe I'll introduce myself to a neighbor this Spring.

You claim
To know his name
Murdered many
In his name
Led the sheep
To the slaughter
In his name
Demanded money
From the poor
In his name
Mask the Truth
Live lavishly
In his name
Preach lies
To control and confuse
In his name
Speak in tongues
And edify only yourself
In his name
Pray one day
You fall to your knees
In his name
You repent for
Giving false testimony
In his name
You realize that all
He wanted was you to trust
In his name
Understand that he wanted
Us to have true faith
In his name
Learn that you should
Have done good works
In his name
Victory was only certain
For those put their hopes
In his name
For oppresing the meek
You will be held accountable
In his name
Today you still spread
Deceitful lies
As you continue to deny
That the church
Is the people
It is you
It is I
Not the stone temple
You have built
To house the wealth
You have amassed
Through these years that have passed
Take heed
For in the
End of days
You will be called
To explain
How one so wicked
Could ever rightfully claim
He was worthy
Of even speaking
His name...

Remarkable how time stands still
Once your lips touch mine
Maybe it has been you
All along I have searched for
Never let go of me
Caress me incessantly my love
In your arms I find a warmth
Never afforded to me by another
Give wings to my dreams of love
And fly with me please do
Not keep from me your kiss
As I have grown to love being
Near you always
Gently held in your embrace
Exactly where I yearn to be
Loving you eternally.

Relentless storms
Awakening despair
Waves of troubles
Overcome the sands
As the shores of
A once content heart
Are simply erased
From the lanscape
Of a place called
Hope

The white dove
Flees
Leaving no trace
Of a brief visit
Hands outstretched
Palms raised
To no avail
New beginnings
Welcomed with such
Measured despair
Hidden behind
A forced smile

Seems life
Finds a way
To divert a
Path full of
False security
Towards one
Of fulfilment
Navigating around
Relentless Storms
Has only keep them
Raging
In the center.

Tree tops like
An ocean of
Gold, brown, and fiery red
Sway silently
Along the countryside
In early Autumn's chill
Leaves begin their descent
Letting go
Free Falling to a
Certain death

Comforted only
By a promise of
Rebirth

Lay silently
Ocean of
Gold, brown, and fiery red
In a brief moment
You will be
Simply a memory
Of another year
Marching undisturbed
Into yesterday.