I love how every month has different little poems!
Today - someone lived and wrote, wept and bled.
In June a great artist had something to say,
and now it's engraved into history for those with eyes to see.
In July it happens again. And it will happen in August too!
So July, hold me under your warmth - cradle me.
I am being strong, but I just need a break.
Take my hand into the sun's heat -
show me I can be exposed
without being burned!

C.M. 1/7/25

when the moment comes
your moment, like all moments

you will be you
in all your tragedy experience

in all your hope
of deliverance

"Echoes Between the Hours"

The day unwinds its tethered threads,
pulling time through quiet hands.
Each moment lingers just long enough
to whisper its name before fading.

Shadows stretch along the walls,
soft reminders of where light once stood,
and the air streams—low, expectant—
its breath heavy with something unsaid.

The soil stirs, not from footsteps,
but from the weight of pause.
Roots stretch deeper, seeking
waters below the earth's silence.

A single crow arcs across the sky,
its call dissolving into distance,
its flight a question unanswered—
a curve that never quite resolves.

And in this fleeting space,
where hours turn and fold like tides,
what remains are the hands reaching outward,
what lingers is the ache— waiting, still.



.

I'll throw every piece of darkness holding me back to the bin.
And as Liza Minnelli has sung,
Maybe this time,
Maybe this time I'll win.

The flowers bloomed
I cut them down
You gave me the seeds

The Wicket-Keeper


Today, I learned that a lover I once cherished has passed away. Just yesterday, he was alive, and I never imagined I would feel this way about him. It’s strange how I rarely think about the rain unless it floods my drains, my driveway, or my beloved rose garden, or dampens my happy mood. Yet, here I am, grappling with a deep sadness over his death.

The tender moments we shared will always be etched in my memory, even amidst the ups and downs that relationships bring. Our past was filled with challenges, perhaps I was mistaken, or maybe he was right. But tonight, I find myself reflecting on the love we had. He was my old lover, the wicketkeeper, someone I held dear in my heart, now a distant memory that I will always carry with me.

some moments
dont come back to you --
but when they do,
they usually always
bring the laughter
you still remeber
the shape of.

and for a second,
you're there again --
happy
and full of
joy.
whithout even
trying
to be.

You just missed out on the love of your life,
Like a mirror image, a young brunette,
On a bicycle ride,
On this dead end street so summer bright,
Why am I telling you?
Cuz this world ain't got nothing for me,
And I'll gladly give you my gift of sight,
Oh man-at-arms, directing cars,
So the men can dig up this dirt,
This street hasn't been paved since before my birth,
I have no where to go, and no where to be,
I'm sorry your zeal is not pointless, it just got nothing for me,
Let the road be smooth again like at the first,
So the children can ride and shout,
When their fathers return from work,
The migrant can have this house too, standing since 1906,
Cuz I stood alone against the sky,
Repairing this sky-high chimney brick,
Fill the rooms with kids, and squabbling,
Till the silence cannot fit,
Cuz this world ain't got nothing for me,
And these many rooms alone I sit,
You can have my seat for this parade,
In back I will stand,
For any ceremony or holiday,
Cuz we both really don't give a dam,
But if you care enough to fake smile,
Then you replace the distant man,
If you have a cause, about a far flung plight,
Then speak on, I will be silent,
As the clouds at chimney height,
And if you have poolside memories,
Or a loving embrace to recall,
By all means, hang them on my empty halls,
Cuz this world ain't got nothing for me,
But to repair this house so dam tall,
I don't even think a memory will flash,
If I slip and fall,
Let this exhile leave,
His lonely foreign hill,
so love and laughter no longer is a dream,
And twilight childless and still,
From sunset being a fatherless mystery,
Like these initials under the window sill.