Man and men everywhere;
Silver-fox, gay, several-times divorced,
But not one without baggage to be seen.
Pimped up with ****,
Waged weary by work or
Isolated through layered losses,
The modern man: a peculiar specimen.
It seduces the obvious why we turn to women to fill the void;
Upside-down desires? Or love that truly inspires?

There are parts of me I've hidden
from long, long ago,
there are parts I have treasured
and let the world know.
There are parts I have shunned
what I didn't want to show,
And there are parts I've enlarged,
magnified in my dreams - my ego.
Some have danced on the pages of journals,
some I have lived out, so,
those that don't serve, I've  exiled
to antipathy's limbo.
Intellect will soldier on in the face
that only trauma knows,
but somehow, the playful one
charms and warms me aglow.
Remember, I urge,
there's more in me than I know!



Don't be frightened.

It was the frogs’ croak
That greeted me as I walked this morn,
Oh nature, how lovely is your cloak
All varieties with it are adorned.

You are not known, but
You are welcome,
Free breath provokes hope,
The future will come,
Your timing is perfect.

The grief is deep,
It wells and swells
Deep inside.
I now want to draw near
The deep, and
Peer down inside,
See the waves crashing,
See the pretty foam
From the chaos,
Deep inside.
When I come close,
It’s refreshing,
Calming,
Mesmerising.
Lulling me into a deep sleep.
Transforming me from the inside out,
So that your new creation
May come forth.
Be present.
Even in the cold,
Even in the chaos,
Even in the unknown, and
Even in the loneliness.
Even. Deep.

Was my stroke a cruel, twisted **** up?
Or one of divine luck?
Has it not taught me compassion?
Anger? Acceptance, how to ration criticism?
And laugh when I muck up?
Now I breathe gratitude,
My world has opened up
to new experiences, people, circumstances,
even living in new towns, cities and states.
Mastering rehab, new knowledge and careers.
Working through old fears, sure, I've got new ones,
But who hasn't?
Connected and trusting this journey.
Now that's the silver lining!

Judgment, misunderstandings, self-protection,
all weapons of mass destruction:
wounding others and ourselves,
with each thought and resulting action.

Lady Macbeth knew this,
why did we not heed her justice?
Warning bells clanging,
freeing us to step onto a new precipice?

There's blood on my hands,
every time I don't trust and understand,
but think I know it all,
and make my demands.

Perfectionism has been my cleansing balm,
but, in the end, it's just caused more harm,
relearning is my matrix,
continuously transforming and becoming calm.

No word now spoken is new,
Except for thought in my mind,
Except spoken in my mouth and
Embraced in your heart.

She passes faster than we can grasp,
We try to capture her, firm in our clasp.
But she runs right through us,
Savouring, she becomes our mistress,
She rules indiscriminately,
Sometimes, not always, distressingly.

Oh, mistress Time, full of beauty,
Admired, best in present, free and fruity.
If we don't, we mourn,
And if only despaired, she will scorn.
But now, she comes alive,
Invigorated, we thrive.

Face to face, she tells tales,
Of the dreams; places we’ll sail.
Future fantasy, we indulge,
Temptress Time, let us divulge,
Our secrets,
Worn down, we slip; more regrets.

"I want to know what love is,"
The ballads croon, a yearning I can't dismiss.
seeking love in all the ‘right’ places,
but come up short, heart strewn, finding no traces.
I have strayed in dares and curiosity,
overwhelming sensations birth animosity.
Pushed down, down, down deep below,
dormant, to 'fit in’, the ‘pill’ I swallow.
Much older now, can I claim my truth?
A Christian? Does that free me: a rebirth?
Am I ‘queer as ****’?!
Can I love without feeling stuck?
The heart requires courage,
but weak am I, keep praying for marriage.
Am I a hopeless case?
Or will I live and embrace?
Will I ever be free?
To be me?
Or will I keep denying,
it and keep trying,
to fit the mould
of this world?
****!!!

Eight years ago, foggily I awoke from a 40-day deep, deep deep, sleep,

Seven times I've adorned the sackcloth, which may continue seventy times seven in acceptance of my new reality.

Six years of gratitude directed my heavy heart and thoughts, to reframe and good perspective keep.

Five rehabilitation programs, cross country, helped regain vital functionality, to commence

Four years of study, processing grief, re-skill, and grow more confidently, despite my

Three-second memory retention, slowly, but surely, my amazing brain rewired grey space. My

Two eyes view life in fragments hoping to be restored, by the

One Almighty God, who has blessed me with life; I stand in awe of His grace.

Words are like rubies;
Precious and rare.
Yet many I squander,
Unleashing with little care.

I come home a foreigner.
The sun is warm and welcoming,
But the environment has changed.
Curiosity is beconning,
But with gentle eyes.

I come home changed.
Last time I was more timid,
This time, a little stronger.
Last time I thought my weaknesses were insipid,
This time, they are part of me.

I come home curious,
As to what it might be, I ponder.
The family dynamics.
The opportunities that I may squander,
In fear of becoming my truest self.

I come home braver.
Even though on the outside I may be frailer,
Even though.
I might not be, but opportunities I can tailor,
So, it is with courage I move forward.

Taking a break,
From seeking the weak,
In me and embracing the
Beauty in my brokenness.
In this,
Let me walk upon the waters,
Erasing my past and
Hoping for a future promised only in dreams.