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61 · Jan 2019
Untitled
You frame your own self loathing when casting aspersions of those that left you behind

Your window is a fractured rendering of a broken image

The adolescent tone of your written words is a sign

Your wounds are clearly deep for which there is no bandage

They must have really hurt you for you to write about them all of the time

Move on because in this life they are someone that you are meant to miss

Your spite filled pen, heart and tongue will never bring back their kiss upon your lips

You're not even a beautiful mess
You're just a mess

Worry about yourself and think about them less

Stop longing for their caress

Your love for them is truth and not something that you need to confess

Repair your window of broken glass
Your shattered vision of what was, will never bring back the past
61 · Jun 2019
Thee one
One name.
Tip of the tongue.
Forefront of the mind.
Starts forest fires.
Sleepless nights.
Endless pacing.
Stomach of butterflies.
Palms of sweat.
Diamond in the rough.
Oasis in the desert.
The other side of the pillow.
Lucky number seven.
Delish as your favorite dish.
The one name that has power.
Power to light the world.
To light the soul of every man.
To light that fire that burns within.
Eyes as deep as the deepest ocean.
A mind that enlightens you.
Intrigues you.
Intrigue is key.
Keeps you on your toes.
Cools the hot sand beneath your feet.
Brings you a seashell,
under the moonlight,
incredibly...
shaped like a star.
Stars that fall from the sky before your beauty.
The wind carries your perfume to me.
The waves crash against the shore...
I hear your name..
one name.
Defenseless I am....I know.



written by me... ..
60 · May 2019
I'll admit
I notice each road **** as I pass -
My anxiety peaks -
Sadness overwhelms me -
I'll admit - sometimes, even my eyes do leak.

These poor innocent creations of God -
No match for man's menacing machines -
For them - a trip across the road is life and death -
Sadly, there is no in-between without wings.

Like you and I, they have and had families too -
But.... ignorance and cold hearts don't care -
They just keep running them over as if they were nothing -
I'll admit - on my mental health this wears.

I'll admit -
Like humans, the waters surface never tells​ me its depth -
I'll admit -
I will adore all of God's creations until my last breath -
Even on Route #62 my heart weeps for their death.

Not only does the highway not care -
But ....
Nor does the percentage of humans that drive on there -
It's something I will never get -
I admit....



written by me... ..
Don't
hide,

don't
run
away

because;

God's
not
done
with
you.

Keep
it
together

because;

He
will
get
you
through.

Cancer
can
knock
down
my
door

but;
with
Him
my
home
is
fresh
and
new.

His
light
is
my
favorite
hue,

and
His
promise
my
glue.


written by me... ..
60 · May 2019
What to do
Wake up early, before the lights come on
in the houses on a street that was once
a farmer’s field at the edge of a marsh.

Wander from room to room, hoping to find
words that could be enough to keep the soul
alive, words that might be useful or kind

in a world that is more wasteful and cruel
every day. Remind us that we are
like grass that fades, fleeting clouds in the sky,

and then give us just one of those moments
when we were paying attention, when we gave
up everything to see the world in

a grain of sand or to behold
a rainbow in the sky, the heart
leaping up.


Joyce Sutphen
59 · Jan 2019
Untitled
It was dark

But,
she didn't ask me
to plug the light in

Rather,
she asked me to
plug myself into her

We lit that room
up with fire
Death was diagnosed.
So he wrote
about it in
his
poetry and
prose.

Weeks
months
years.
Not even alone
is he able
to yield tears.

When the
sun
shines he
feels like
forever
and a day.
While,
death may
lurk
in literal
moments,
in the
heavy clouds
of grey.

His fight
has
gotten up
and left
him.
Reality
shanks him
like a
reaper,
so spry
so grim.

A day
a week
a month
a year.
He's a man
that doesn't
know,
nor even care.

Tomorrow
is the today
that bled
from yesterday.
And,
yesterday
is gone with
tomorrow
lingering
on the lips
of today.

If death
lingers upon
my lips
tomorrow
as I write
this piece
today?
I've lived
a life
for sure
but tomorrow
will always
be my
yesterday.



written by me... ..
52 · Jun 2019
Morning person wanted
Need not apply if you drown in the morning air.
You must allow commonality to be our life preserver.
Or meander afloat until a lifeguard brings you ashore.

The initial 2 year romance high eventually wears off so...
You can..
Be the son that calls his writing father to share heartfelt words he himself has put to paper.
His words draw me deep like the heaviest anchor to the ocean floor.

Like him...
be the smell of fresh cut grass with a side of a smokey bacon.
Or the first deep throated serenade of the day by the lark in the cherry blossom.

Be your four legged child that licks your face when your eyes first open like a tootsie roll tootsie pop.
Be that warm arousing summer's gentle rain that seductively kisses your window pane.

Don't ever try to be a morning person for me.
You either are one or you're not.
Never pretend.
But just know....
to enjoy the very best parts of me,
you....
you need to be my morning eggs and toast with a side of juice... freshly squeezed.
52 · May 2019
Speaking as a Poet
*** *** ***.....
so
many folks
hung up
on
one nighters.

I know
it
sounds weird coming from
a guy
but,

having a connection
is
much more satisfying
for
the moment
and for
your soul.

One nighters
are
empty
full of
nothing but
selfish goals.



written by me... ..
51 · May 2019
Unfortunate ignorance
He said, summer time is when.
When he would change his way.
Not serious enough at that moment.
Perhaps.
Lip service to those willing to listen.
A game he often in his life has played with himself.
It's not born of lies, but rather procrastination.
He said, those pictures i've been wanting to organize.
He said, that poem i've been wanting to write.
Announcing to himself loudly, come summer time.
Midway through spring,
the cold winter still thawing,
his own bones still frozen.
He notices his health deteriorating, slowly.
A cough that lingers, shortness of breath.
Energy reserves on fumes, he unknowingly but truly knowingly falls gravely ill.
He says once again to himself.
Summer time I will see my doctor.
He says, summer time I will organize those photos.
He says, summer time I will write that poem.
Summer time never comes for him.


written by me... ..
49 · May 2019
Wool and mane
So obscure , most figures...
face of a lion...
nerve of a lamb.

The den lives a flock...
it echoes with fear...
the fleece warms the king.



written by me... ..
46 · Mar 2019
Untitled
Morning stars together sing
as jays of blue
take flight on wing.
The breeze is limp
as oaks stand still.
The greying sky with rain now fills.
A rainbow falls
upon the ground.
A colorful thud without a sound.
As nightfall crawls across the moon.
I stir my coffee
with spoon in June.

— The End —