I see my mom in clouds
as I walk.
Feel her In the gentle breeze,
and melody of birds.

I hear her in my mind
ushering me along
with guidance
so I be blessed...
And see her in dreams
as she moves
in realms of the after-life,
peaceful.

I say I don't care that I hear not
from my son
BUT I LIE.
Deep down is a scar that will not heal.

I say its ok if he doesn’t call
he has obligations in a different state.
But thats a lie and deep wound
thats known to break the scab.

When I see a son and mother
on street my ego hides my pain.
Thanksgiving and birthdays come
and I lie awake
playing the question in mind...
What did I do that was so bad
for him to hold back his love.

When Mothers day is at my doorstep
I keep busy so I ignore the pain.
When a youtube shows a family
I try to ground by making
a deep breath bandaid
to keep wound dry.
as I connect to source.

Months go by
and avalanches build
with mini cascading emotions
that sometimes fall
chilling me to the bone.
They carry a sadness for days.
until I tuck them away
telling myself its ok he’s just busy.

Telling myself that time heals
as I send him love in ethers
by way of candle.
But the scar is always there.
Ready to ooze when I see
something to awaken it.

The only cure is Doctor Jeffrey
(my son) but he is out
doing calls for his life purpose.
And it seems he’s not available
to take on a mother patient.

My stalk like pen
moves in wind
like corn on a summers eve.
Words call tickling air in breath
as pen takes a stance.
Corn husks feed the hunger
that grows to plant this moment.
A moment where poetry is within

And ink will mount stallion white page
as if pen needs to catch the words.
Words to be corralled inside a trotting verse.

Perhaps later I will sit by fire
inside my tire
and hear foal poem neigh--
I say with hooray.

I'll have some butterscotch ice cream
Hold the sprinkles.
I like mine nice and smooth,
to fill my mouths sweet tooth
To set my taste buds a smiling.
To energize these tired bones.
Yes, I'll have some butterscotch ice cream
and when I'm done I'll have some fun
under a butterscotch sun.

A POEM,
becomes like an ice cream cone
meant to lick up with eyes, as if words are sprinkles.
And waffle cone is the screen that wraps the verse.

A POEM,
is the fuel that tickles consciousness
so one can fly inside another’s perspectives.

A POEM,
is like a cobblestone road where each word
is a stone meant to walk on with eyes.

A POEM,
is the gift the writer presents even if the two never meet.

Rain, rain come today
plants are hungry I do say
flowers want to bloom for eyes
giving beauty as they rise

Rain, rain do not stay
I know rainbows on its way.
I will than take camera out
with a smiles I’ll click and shout