I made a
vision board
in treatment
the other day.
I had to
hunt for a
picture of
Mom and Dad.

Where the ****
did the time go?
They have been gone
for over 30 years now.

The hour glass
broke,
and the sand
blew and blended
me in with the
storms of life.
I tried to
drink
all the pain away;
to become a
lobotomized shell.
It didn't work.
The poet in me
felt everything.

I have four
kids that my
parents never got
to meet.
Sometimes I see
Mom and Dad
in my son's and
daughter's eyes.
Two have blue
like Dad.
And two have brown
like Mom and me.
They are
intelligent
sensitive
and caring.

When I was
little, I thought
my parents would
live forever.
On my vision
board,
I become a
better father.

They referred to me as trash
I was b             r
                  o             k      
       e                 n                pieces
The world tried to put me back together into one piece
but the cracks were still visible
They meant nothing to life.
I was treasure by then
The environment, ready to accept me

I was one of the dynamite that will enlighten the journey of the BROKEN

My grandfather loaded his pockets and the squirrels had a feast
He died before I was born so this is family lore
The family of five squirrels who live in a park near me
They are sweet and precious and bother nobody
Rocky is the family acrobat
Three are not named yet
Nutella sat on the side branch like a suspended in motion cartoon character
My bi-weekly leaving of nuts and seeds paid off today
Walking away , she came down to retrieve a cashew and disappeared
Seconds later she appeared and helped herself to a pecan
On a cold morning walk before zoom meetings
She made my day

C@rainbowchaser2021

A child is somewhere scribbling,
not quite knowing what to say,
a ****** with a habit of empty words.

The smart money’s on failure
and I can’t seem to sleep,
because the moon is leaking sliver fears.

The polar-bear cocktail,
paints a chalk barricade,
that incoherent scolding's cannot climb.

Hope went unnoticed,
until it was lost,
but sudden silence
- came to make me new.

The marks of quiet panic
- those flickering tattoos,
fade - like specters in the sun.

In the company of kindness,
peace glitters just like glass,
and the witch in the mirror slinks away.

You’ll find me at the exit,
heading for a steady sea,
my uninformed perspective’s in my bag.

I navigate like driftwood,
hoping for a return trip,
my plans are coherent in my dreams .

It's only love
no reward required
Tell it like it is
this is your story
your life your truth
let them hear your heartbeat.

Writing is my love that
never betrays.
It doesn't lie or
cheat.
It never complains that I
leave the toilet seat up or
that I leave hairs in the sink.
It has never said, "You drink too much or
not enough." It always wins the bets,
sets the sun, and skins the cat.
It's always raw and never
well done—medium rare at
worst, and never burnt.
It doesn't ask me to
do aerobics or yoga, and it
would never tell me to quit smoking;
I would stake my life on it.
Writing is my love that
will be with me until
the end.