Jesus wore only a robe.
He did not tell those who gathered
around him how to get rich. He
told them to love one another.

Today, the religions of the world
are of untold wealth. I suggest all sell
their manifold possessions and give all
the proceeds to the poorest of the poor.

Jesus wore only a robe.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

And
I’ll never be beautiful for anyone,
Not even for you,
I will never hide my chickenpox,
Grind me to sand, and I'll shout to the wind,
Wash me! Wash me away!

I’ll never pretend that I am pretty for anyone,
Not even for you,
I’ll let my skin dry like the Atacama desert,
I’ll let the harsh mountain storm bite my face,
The eagles eat my flesh on the tower of silence, so
There is nothing left to dream about,
Not even bone dust for the rain,

I’ll fight like gladiators, not to be beautiful for anyone,
Not even for you,
I won’t let the clouds overshadow my scalp,
I’ll pull right now, one by one, every hair follicle,

What you ask me to be is not beauty, it is a butterfly
That flies and flies around a light bulb
Until it dies

A shadow that weaves white nights,
I will not invent myself to be pretty for anyone,
Not even for you,

If you wish to enter my blood,
You have to swim in the imperishable waters,

They were like cut flowers,
arranged but deranged in some
basic way, which is to say, their
smiles were frozen, never chosen.
They did not cheer;  they mirrored
one another. They did not lead;
they followed. Their laughter was
hollow. Their problems stemmed
from being cut from their emotional
roots:  They'd root for the home
team, but it seemed they'd never
grow, never know the joy of letting
go, only the cant, the chanting
of school yells, a fool's hell
for not feeling. At best, their
beauty was pressed and dried;
Too bad they died, devoid of
themselves. We must put them
on our shelves to gather dust.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

She walks like a flame through a thunderstorm's cry
not to be doused, not even by sky
A tempest herself in a world gone tame—
fierce, untamed, with a whisper of flame.
She’s mischief in silk, wild laughter at dusk
a soul wrapped in lace, old books and musk
Where others would falter, she dances through pain
a lily still blooming in heavy rain.

Her fingers are stained with the colors of the past
lost in a time where slow love could last
She haunts every library’s dust-covered shelf
finding pieces of others, and maybe, herself.
She sips on old stories in candlelit nooks
falling in love with the scent of old books
Rusty cafés, forgotten halls—
her heart beats loud in crumbling walls.

She is not of this world, not quite of this age
a handwritten letter on heartfelt tenders
A lady too late for ballroom grace—
yet too early to vanish without a trace.
She loves like a secret, too precious to name
soft where she trusts, hard when in pain
yet never the same—
to those whom she lets in
she’s fragile, sincere—
a trembling heart behind armor and spear.

But oh, how she still believes in the spark
in moonlit confessions and hands in the dark
Even after the storms and battles she's braved
her lily still blooms in the ruins she saved
So here’s to the fire that will never die—
to the girl who still dreams beneath sorrow’s sky.

She’s every lost poem, every ache lost in name—
a lily that burns in the heart of the rain.


Erennwrites

Here at our rooftop, collegiate, ‘resort of the mind,’
an early heatwave has struck - we’ve been advised.
Like we needed it. It’s 94°f and climbing - we’re not insensitive.
We’re aware that the sun is bright and the air is crisp and hot.
It was Friday morning, until the sun pointed to noon.

Nothing’s going to stop the summer swelter except thunder storms - which are on their way - we’ve been advised.
A seasonable tempest is being piped-up from the sea.
Like we needed it. We can see the far horizon’s shadowed billows and curtains of rain - we feel the changing wind.

But we have every reason to be cheery, forewarned as we are,
here at the pool, in the still needed shade, armed with margaritas.
The weather may change, the season alter, but we will, unaltered, remain.

We seem to have captured a moment of buz. People are swinging-by, dropping-in, bringing drinks and party snacks then lurking by the pool.

Fridays are 'sui generis'—magical—because they play tricks with time. Dreary weekday landscapes seem to transform, as the old week wanes and ‘the pert and nimble spirit of mirth awakens.’
(A purposeful Shakespeare misquote).
.
.
Songs for this:
Heat Wave by Linda Ronstadt
Heatwave by Bronski Beat
Heat wave - Bing Crosby

you were 9 when you heard about depression for the first time
you told yourself “that will never be me
i’m gonna be happy
i’m gonna be free”

then at 10 you started to wonder
why am i so sad?
it made your mom worry
so did your dad

And at 11 you cut for the first time making you wonder
why
why
why it made you feel better
you just wanted to quit but you still did everything you could to hide it

then at 12 you let your mind dwell on the thoughts saying  just end it
it’s all you wanted to do
yet still you didn’t

but at 13 you tried pills for the first time
started with a high and then enough to die

and at 14 you met him
the one you thought saved you
but still you tried and you tried
you tried to fight , to die, sometimes both at the same time

then at 15 you went to therapy saying
“i don’t think this can save me”
but still he encouraged you
he was proud of you

now you’re 16 and he’s not here anymore
the pain left with him, but who’s keeping score?
it took a few years but you’re finally free
just like that 9 year old said you would be

Your name hints on my lips
You smell just one note off of here
Your eyes what I look for in everything

But I read it somewhere
How the hardest falls aren't with drama and cries of emotions
Its the silent defiance
And comfort in not understanding

Perhaps thats why we worked so well together
Because where everyone gets to love
The me that has it together
Has a life plan and concept of reality
You loved a little girl
Who was scarred and terrified
But willing to face it anyways

And somehow
In a mess of pain and scars
Messy hair and late nights
Tear stains and venom
The body jumps and flip of switch to hide

You loved me
And I loved you
Because we saw the worst of each other
And it was marvelously beautiful to see