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My darling Beloved,
These years of knowing you
have been..  ever so delightful..

But alas..   and
even to my own regret,
all good and wonderful things  must eventually,  come to an end

Bear with me, my sweet Beautiful
while I bestow  on to you,
   in departing..
Blessings..  of the most delightful kind.

Okeedokee, LoveeLovechunks-eepoo,
here goes..


Okay..  here now,  goes..

I mean..   Wait..

Okay now--



The Lord bless you
And keep you..  ..  .   .. .

And when you   b l o w   your 
pretty little trailer park,  head off..

may your empty,  empty husband..    suffocate
   on  the

                          grey matter

   F. U.  Cuck

oh, and hey..?

what is it about ****-queens
and that special, "gak gak" sound they make..
Jan 6 · 689

If we're  "just friends.."

Then why  is this
Magnificently-warm,  pre:***..

    flowing  down my thighs

    Every  single  time,
            I think of you.

closer, Agent-Starling..
C L O O SER.....

just thinking out loud here
and humming..    to myself..   xo
Jan 5 · 300
Three-Some ..
You are
no doubt,   a relational train-wreck
because of the high level of unjust trauma
you  were forced to endure..   but

I promise you, young lady.. that is in no way
even close to being a dealbreaker.

Each of you three, have souls within you
that are of a caliber  
so  far  beyond  human  description

    that it almost defies all logic.
You more than qualify  to walk the halls
of only the finest of souls.

Eyes that see through feeling..
hands that hold, fully.. before ever touching--
These are of they who will forever,  open-armed..
receive you into those  ever so beautiful Halls.

--And fight it as you will,  you know exactly why.

You love me because of my ability to feel you..
long before you turn that one last corner;

Whose lone door leads  directly
into those deeply-cherished Halls.

I am telling you something that you  have 
already known your whole life.
Love  feels  before it sees, beautiful girl.

I see you.

and this:
the road in, to you..

******* ****** demons.. they're everywhere.
And I've known it about this site
for so ******* long.
And the witches..  Jesus Christ--
control freaks,   every one of you.

do you think your 'creativity' substantiates  you?
They're   just   *******   words.
Your creativity comes with an accountability
but you won't have any part of that..   will you..

If your demons are so ******* powerful,
why do they hide inside of you?
Like a pathetic  excuse of a man, stepfather--

Using..  using..  using.. his wife's beautiful daughter..
over and over and over and over again.
It is no different with these Unholy shitbags also..
(Oh, but don't I gather the most followers with my words?)

It's just empty ******* babble, Babe.
In the Realms,  it means nothing.
Absolutely.   *******.   Nothing.
The *******, inhabitor is just an extension of your
empty, ever-controlling..  soul stealing Mother--

    It's an extremely-closed loop, Lovecakes.
                End of ******* story.

******* ******* demons..
the pathetic ******* are everywhere..

Goodbye Jimmy..  farewell youth

now get the **** over here,
and lets get this unholy *****, out of you.
it per loca inaquosa, puella pulchra
Dec 2021 · 407
on love..

When love beckons to you,  follow him,
though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you   yield to him,
though the sword,  hidden among his pinions
may wound you.

And when he speaks to you  believe in him
though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you  so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth,  so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height  and caresses
your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
so shall he descend to your roots
and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn  he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you  until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you
that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge,
become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear, you would seek only love's peace
and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness
and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
into the seasonless world--
Where you shall laugh..  but not all of your laughter,
And weep..  but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught, but from itself.
Love possesses not,  nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say,
"God is in my heart,"
but rather,
"I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love,
for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires,
let these be your desires--

To melt and be like a running brook
that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
and a song of praise upon your lips.

~Kahlil Gibran
step off the edge
Dec 2021 · 577

You have to stop giving it so much 'power'
beautiful girl..
It only knows   to do
what it knows how to do--
(And be, what it was formed, to be).
And if you go  through life
never feeling  the deep value
of your beautiful,  True core
In the end, you will not
be held, accountable...
--which is the very reason
for your current 'squatter's creation

..I see you.

and what I see
is so very worth fighting for
Dec 2021 · 414
death of a salesman

You are gifted beyond measure.

In life, we Rise and Fall by our own
actions. That is what is known as
accountability.  Poetry..  in its
Primal Inception, was originally meant
to promote Life..  and thwart, death.

How much more accountable  should
poetry be, than even that of an
everyday life. The problem is in this
world.. and in most all of poetry,
there's a deep separation

   between what one lives..
  and what one writes out, publicly.

You have the magic within yourself.
Maybe you can change Poetry's
current sickness. I doubt it, though.
The all too deadening power of vanity
rules this current world.

You are beautiful, young lady.
Dec 2021 · 96

From underneath the Shadows  and
behind the boulders
is a Saving Grace, within all
All alone, there is an abandonment
within our beautiful  refusal
to abandon,  our own selves

Chris, I wonder  where you would go
when you would go away
for all that time
Was it to feel, all alone..  the brunt of
the message  in you?

Ah my sweet  beautiful brother,
could they not stay up with you--
even for one hour?
Head, down.. against the tree
you leaned,

Alone..  so all alone..
in that no one knows..  or understands..
the burden of the message
that you carry inside of you

Alone, away from the crowds
Is the Gethsemane,   of your rise..

and then, the all too unavoidable


On the side of the dirt road,
an old Chevy wreck
I climbed through the window,
I sat in the back
I gathered my thoughts
with my head in my hands--
My next of kin, my list of demands

I slipped from shadow to shadow
I saw things I should not see
The moon rose high over the garden
The garden of Gethsemane

I know who I'm for
and who I'm against
I pulled the shades tight,
I built me a fence..
I dug a tunnel,
tunnel deep and wide

I sit at the bottom
and wait for the night

I slipped from shadow to shadow
I saw things I should not see
The moon rose high over the garden
The garden of Gethsemane

Morning has come,
clean clothes on the line
There'll be no tomorrow,
I rise and I shine
"If you swallow the coin
from the wishing well
Your dreams will come true
in heaven or hell"

I slipped from shadow to shadow
I saw things I should not see
The moon rose high over the garden
The garden of Gethsemane

Take my hand, down we go
Take my hand, love, down we go

Take my hand, down we go
Take my hand, love, down we go
Dec 2021 · 352
Silly celebrations

I am not
.. but I am.

You are
and you'll go far

Ah, babe..
if you could only
just stay near

There are words out there,
you know--
Ones that have not yet
been formed..

In pressing in to you,
your response becomes everything..
and the once, unformed
become formed


Beyond Words.

Lonely is the room the bed is made..
the open window lets the rain in
Burning in the corner is the only one
who dreams he had you with him

My body turns and yearns for a sleep
that won't ever come

It's never over,
My kingdom for a kiss
upon her shoulder

It's never over,
All my riches for her smiles
when I slept so soft against her..

It's never over,
All my blood for the sweetness
of her laughter..

It's never over,
She's a tear that hangs inside my soul forever..

Just promise to take care of yourself, kid..
and maybe I'll be able to  let go
and  live..  and let live

But is ever it all  becomes too much
and the ravens,  steal your hope..

Come and find me,  
beautiful, young-Face--
We'll roll a fat..
Yeah.. smoke some dope

Baby, there's more than just
plain Honey
in this Bumble-bee'd-out,  hive..
One day  you'll shake the Sugar Tree
if you'd only just  stay alive


say goodbye,  to suicide..
and yeah I told'ya

that I'd never  leave your side

Just say  good-bye...

    and, I...

Au revoir, auf wiedersehen
You won't see another morning
You won't see another evening
Good night
Buenas noches oh señor!
Señorita see ya later
Buenas noches, bye-bye

There are many here among us
Who feel that life is a joke
And for you we sing this final song
For you there is no hope

Sayonara oh suicide, hari kari
Kamikaze,  you won't
See another evening

Bye-bye so long, farewell
See you later....Suicide

In Love,   I watered it
With care.. I adored it;

This  ten.. by ten,  patch..
just outside, the wire--
at the edge of my fence-line,

daily  I gave  without, tire

There's a country-side
of wild prairiegrass
that lives..  and thrives..
just  beyond my grasp

This grass..  it don't need me
in order to survive..

    And all this time
    I thought  that I was
    keeping it alive

Carefully-planted tufts--
windblown, as I sleep
uproot from this patch
that I prayed
the lord would keep..

And on some distant, hill
across these  natural
waves, of grain
Uprooted..  becomes, naturally
rooted, again--

    Forever,  naturally-watered
    by a Forever-natural,  rain

Maybe, now
I can finally  leave
a world  that has
never, truly needed me

Why  do I  still
so much,  believe?

I believe....

I believe.

"I'm lying in my bed, the blanket is warm
This body will never be safe from harm
I still feel your hair, black ribbons of coal
Touch my skin to keep me whole

If only you'd come back to me
If you laid at my side
Wouldn't need no Mojo Pin
To keep me satisfied

Don't wanna weep for you, don't wanna know
I'm blind and tortured, the white horses flow
The memories fire, the rhythms fall slow
Black beauty I love you so

Oh, precious, precious silver and gold
And pearls in oyster's flesh
Drop down we two to serve and pray to love
Born again from the rhythm
Screaming down from heaven
Ageless, ageless and I'm there in your arms

Don't wanna weep for you, I don't wanna know
I'm blind and tortured, the white horses flow
The memories fire, the rhythms fall slow
Black beauty I love you so
So, so, so

Oh, the welts of your scorn, my love, give me more
Send whips of opinion down my back, give me more
Well it's you I've waited my life to see
It's you I've search so hard for

Don't wanna weep for you, don't wanna know
I'm blind and tortured, the white horses flow
The memories fire, the rhythms fall slow
Black beauty I love you so, so
Black, black, black beauty"

~Jeff Buckley
Tim's beautiful, beautiful boy
Oct 2021 · 909
Buffalo hunter

Parading through these beautiful Hills..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like,  well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men..   whose tattered boots
   you are unworthy, of even tying..

Traipsing across the Badlands--
your long  red hair, flowing..
giving off a stance, (as if)..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like, well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men.. in tattered boots
   that you are unworthy, of even tying..

Raining down havoc,  on the Beautiful People
simply for their having  within them ;;
In the Great Father.. and Substance of Spirit;
Neither of which your cowardly Egostroke
will ever garner,  or ascertain..

But oh, you could steal..

And pilfer..
And destroy.

You will pay, oh General *******-boy
Your long, curly locks..
will take on a whole new color,  red
There will be a gathering..
A showdown..

A Holy Reckoning--
In that Montana field,  between the Hills
Along the Little Bighorn..

The River of all Beaten-Down  one's, dreams

injustice knows no bounds

Oct 2021 · 955
siren song


I wrote mine without even knowing that you had posted.
Everything that I do is so that ones like you  can finally
have a chance to feel the Beautiful dream

    firsthand..  on the inside.

So, in truth.. you can truly say within your war-torn heart,
that every thing I do,  is for you.
It was an honor to go to your wall after I posted
and see what your heart and spirit had revealed  just
a few hours earlier.

Love is a funny thing. You are worth every moment  
of the pain that has come from the years of trying.
Hope..  and a deep understanding;  
and view of your own, tremendous Love-worthiness  
is what it is all about.

It is for that reason, solely..  
that Poetry ever came into being in the first place

    ..You are beginning to feel Everything.

Long afloat on shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
'Til your singing eyes and fingers
Drew me loving,  to your isle
And you sang
Sail to me
Sail to me
Let me enfold you
Here I am
Here I am
Waiting to hold you

Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you hare when I was fox?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks,
For you sing,
"Touch me not,
touch me not,
come back tomorrow:
O my heart,
O my heart
shies from the sorrow"

I am puzzled as the newborn child
I am troubled at the tide:
Should I stand amid the breakers?
Should I lie with Death my bride?
Hear me sing,
"Swim to me,
Swim to me,
Let me enfold you:
Here I am,
Here I am,

Waiting to hold you"
~Jeff's Dad xox
Oct 2021 · 1.9k
prairiegrass dreams

Across the Sandhills
wading into the untamed Niobrara
barebacked.. brown,  and beautiful

Within her Misty Mountain dreams
she is heading my way.
Ah, sweet lord God almighty,
look at her go..

Westbound,  she is best-found

    right there..  on the edge
    of these dreams of my own

Oh my lord..
look at that beautiful horsedream  go
Will I be able to survive her..

  I don't know
.  .  .  

You feel him..  don't you, sweet one..
my beautiful Snickers
on that Gordon, Nebraska hill--
his home,  his birthplace..

Until his beautiful spirit
one day..  finally found me

Striated and stoic
he is waiting for you..
To bring you
the rest of the way home.

North now, into Dakota
as you bleed  
with the Lakhóta
on a trail,  split

   between Pine Ridge..
   and Wounded Knee.

Feel your war-torn  Spirit
melt  in to them
(you will not fall)

As you ride this black-maned  dream
just a bit further North..
towards a man, named Paul

Within my own,  I can feel you both

Ah hell, babe..
I can feel you all

hold on to your dream of this dream..
remember every-thing

Rough draft, this feels inadequate
to the picture I want to convey.
His likeness is in the sixth frame shown,
and again, between the two  of her;

His eyes.. in the two, up close.
You will not go lonely

     You are blessed by God
     and that blessedness
     leaves me breathless;

aw.. ****,  love..

The shame didn't come from me
and neither did the all-consuming condemnation..
     yet my direct words to you  make you feel
     as though I am the author of both

Love,  infused with truth
is a language all its own
but you can't do it.. can you
You are wholly unable to see yourself
as someone truly Loveworthy

You can't see it,
and so it is my words to you
that you attack
     and then run from
     and then run to

and then fall in love with

     And then  you rage
     and then  you hide
     as it churns
     as it churns
     as it churns

     And you think its from me
     And you think I am the author  of both

But it was   i n   y o u   before we ever met
and because of that,  I lose everything
because I won't stop doing
what it is  that I do.

Love is different
than what it sometimes feels to you

Her telephone rang 'bout a quarter to nine
she heard his voice on the other end of the line
she wondered what was wrong this time
She never knew what his calls might bring
with a cowboy like him, it could be anything..
And she always expected the worst
in the back of her mind

He said, "It's cold out here and I'm all alone
didn't make the short go again, and I'm coming home
I know I've been away too long..
I never got a chance to write or call
and I know this rodeo has been ******* us all
But I'll be home soon
and honey is there somethin' wrong?"

She said, "Don't bother comin' home
by time you get here I'll be long gone
There's somebody new and he sure ain't no rodeo man."
He said, "I'm sorry it's come down to this
there's so much about you that I'm gonna miss
But it's alright baby
if I hurry I can still make Cheyenne..
Gotta go now baby,
if I hurry I can still make Cheyenne."

He left that phone danglin' off the hook
then slowly turned around and gave it one last look
then he just walked away
He aimed his truck toward that Wyoming line
with a little luck he could still get there in time

And in that Cheyenne wind he could still hear her say..

She said, "Don't bother comin' home
by time you get here I'll be long gone
There's somebody new and he sure ain't no rodeo man.."

He said, "I'm sorry it's come down to this
there's so much about you that I'm gonna miss
But it's alright baby,
if I hurry I can still make Cheyenne

Gotta go now baby
if I hurry I can still make Cheyenne.."

She never knew what his calls might bring
with a cowboy like him, it could be anything..
and she always expected the worst
In the back of her mind
come away with me
Sep 2021 · 520
oh, now..

I never tried to hurt you, I never ever wanted to hurt you. There is no way that you can write without drawing out the best parts of the warmest and most loving hearts, but every time ones such as yourself draw from me (without your even knowing it) the best I have to give in response, I still somehow end up ******* it all to hell.

There is no way whatsoever that a person who conveys their innerworkings and trauma the way that you do should ever slip through the cracks-- unloved, unheld, and un-cared for by loving, supportive hearts.. (and I'm not talking about romantic love..)
I have an idea who it is that you are in real life, by what you have chosen to convey of yourself and your story throughout the years.. but that doesn't really matter either, I guess

because history tells me that my unfiltered way of talking would just **** that up also.

But if an honest struggler such as yourself wanted a ****-up artist to never give up responding from the heart.. if that is what it takes to help keep the wild, unfettered ones like you (at least, writing-wise) from slipping, alone into despair, then that is what I will do.. not give up either.

But trust me when I tell you, babe.. I am burned out also.

Never, ever give up believing. If there were enough ones such as yourself (as to what you are writing here), or even just you, alone-- continuing to write open-heartedly the way you have in the past, and again here.. I promise that I would not give up also. If you want to be held closely when the ravens come and have picked your hope clean, then that is what you will most likely receive.. and I dont necessarily mean from me. I have studied your heart and spirit through your chosen posted words almost since the very first day I got here.

There is no way that others cannot both see and feel those things also, kid.

Hold on to that.
E pensando di lei,
Mi sopragiunse uno soave sonno
Aug 2021 · 410
deep tissue

Oh how you always end up
in my bed, when you are most hurt--
My hands on your gorgeous hips
as I pull you  fully, down on to me..

A true descending..  into
the further-reaches  of you
In to places  previously untouched
As I hold you there

As if  for an eternity

Till you are no longer  
unable  to feel me..

Until you are  fully
able to feel me

anything less would be insincere
Aug 2021 · 2.1k
the art of Salvation

River running..

That rushing sound in these parts
spell out the words, crystal-clear..
Tree-lined banks, giving way
to the Dark Hills,  upslope

Giving way,  to
granite-rocked outcroppings
giving way to  elk-hidden quakeys
Surrendering their holy-huddle's
pristine stances
to tall  prairie-grass, waving
wild raspberries  and tall pines

    And I,  myself.. 
    am surrendering also
She is watching the water, believing
That as it flows,
she will not lose herself in it
That it will not steal,  but heal

That I will not  rage again
within my fear

I am watching her,
watch the water
I am watching the water--  believing
That as I give  of myself
further  into the flow

that I will not become  diffused
by humanity
By the love  of man
and all  of its dishonesty

and all  of its  diabolical treachery

Of its  lack of concern,
or understanding
Or ability to break through
its own,  self-centeredness

Or its need  to swallow me up
    into the mundane.
Her hands are in the air now,

the true nature  of the flow,
that I will let all of this, go
And as she  wades in
I ease, back--

up the Dark Hills, *****
Clutching tightly..
To granite-rocked outcroppings,

Hiding in the quakeys,
among the majestic elk
Begging for the tallgrass, cover
among the wild raspberries.
   Now, fully concealed
   in  tall pines.

Her hands
are stretched out,  now..
as if hovering  over the waters,

While I hide  from it all

While I hide,  from humanity;
From the fallen,  love of man

    She is wading in,
As I am leaving;

    As the cloud-hidden sky,
    starts raining--

playing the most incredible, of tunes.

Now Muriel plays piano
every Friday at the Hollywood
And they brought me down to see her
and they asked me if I would

do a little number
And I sang with all my might
She said,

"Tell me are you a Christian,  child?"
and I said,  

"Ma'am, I am tonight.."
even the strongest,  at times
become afraid

Jul 2021 · 1.3k
oh my sweet, holy fuck..

It is harshness, beautiful girl..
but far from being  a cruelty.
I'm trying to find the words  because
you deserve to have the chance,  to choose

   based on the truth of what is  truly loving
    and what is not.

In your need for access to raw,
core survival,  
the machine has put its hooks  in to you  
deep, beautiful girl.

And my only access--  to get through
the machine's intricate gearwork
is unfortunately,  during the time

   when you are struggling most,
   within the greatest of calamities--

But it is at that time.. 
when the highly mechanized machine's,  gearwork
is most penetrable.

So naturally it is at that time,  
   when an intervention
   would  seem, so cruel..

Ah, babe..
I'm not afraid of my love for you
actually killing you..
There is something deep inside your spirit

   that somehow tells you--

That even in the midst of the chaos..
And within even that  which so often
feels  as being cruel..

this might indeed, actually be Love--
The real thing.

But at that level.. who on Earth  could actually
trust that it actually,  could be?
And your well perceived,  perception of cruelty
comes from the fact is it must  seem to you--

That every time you truly open up
your heart to me..   I seem to blast you,
         and knock you to the ground..
when you feel  you need me, most.
I'm still looking for words
to describe it, beautiful girl--

   But it has to do with something..
   in the Realms of love--

And the things that take it in
And the things that thwart it.

There are not yet human words,
here on Earth, to describe it..

But one day,  my so very beautiful..
I know that one day,  there will.

a love-note..
cast out,  in to the Universe--

That was as far as I had gotten, when you showed back up  and started talking to me again. If you continue to choose to hold on to your psychosis-induced beliefs that are solely procrastination, based.. nothing that I give to you is going to help. Nothing.

You are the person I love most here on Earth.. when it comes to a soul that truly needs and deserves to be loved, the right way.. But I will gladly walk away from it all if you say that forever the love that I share with you will pour down an empty hole of psychosis and a deeply-****** need for procrastination. Unfortunately for you and those that hide the way that you do, the clock is ticking and you are going to become, face to face in front of the truth-- no matter what you choose to believe here on Earth. And I'm not being religious, and I'm not talking about "Christianity".
I'm talking about the core of the Soul  which is eternal.. but is only given one body and one life here on Earth--  to have the chance to infuse the God within us, in to the flesh-hewn temple,  that houses it all..


I was built to be there for you and support you all the way through this life. There's no way you can throw it away by being this stubborn. If you choose to be, I will have to write you off, forever babe. And I promise you I can do that if you remain adamant the way that you are. Is "reincarnation", and all of its false beliefs really worth it all to you? Is your lover of your "past lives", that great?

The incubus is none other than the ultimate spiritual troll, babe-- the motherfuker is a demon, and every part of what he does is based on the Unholy bastardization of what love was truly meant to be. I feel sorry for you if this is the stand you're going to make. It is unequivocally, diametrically opposed to all of who it is that I am, and I've remained silent long enough..

but no more.
I guess it all boils down to the age old, age-old
"Choose you this day, who you will serve..", thing .

You are the last person I will ever want to have to write off, but I promise you.. this   o n e   life here on earth is really that serious. And my  one  life that I have here, I refuse to have be  squandered.

So maybe I was wrong in what I believe about you after all.. (But I will never live long enough to be able to convince myself of that).
I believe you are that person.

I doubt if I will ever not believe that you are that person.
I need to go now, sweetie.
You are forever  beautiful. xox

(I really don't want to come down, from it)
May 2021 · 1.3k

A passing of a message
as the hologram, begins..
Do the things we  create  on earth
really wash away our sins?

Paintbrush, dips
onto medium  that slips

   from that  which really is.

Such an energy, spent
of our time--  
to us.. only lent

    to see   

            if we

are self-centeredly, bound
                  ..or heaven sent.

heaven scent

As it is brought towards completion
the boat, through my interaction
with it,  out on the lake
will then make possible  the access
to fish that I,  up till now
have only dreamt of

The fish  are the fire..   descended
down  from the heavenlies--
made available  solely
through the fineries..   restored
back in to  wholeness  in part
through the value I first saw in it
when in its primitive, used and
unfairly treated and uncared for, form..

But it was the deep love for that form
that helped give the vessel its access
back into the restoration  of its
own,  true glory..

And now,  all alone--  
out on the lake with it
it brings me access  in to
places and magical depths  until now
only thought of  and dreamt about
as that which exists  only, in heaven..

It is the vessel's motor,  now fully restored
that brings the boat and I  together
out on to the lake
but it is the boat's very  uniqueness
within it's own  natural state of beauty
that helps to give me access  into the magic
that lay currently undisturbed
deep in that glorious lake's depths

The boat has always carried within it
the rarest of gifts
and somewhere buried in my   deep
love for it..  those gifts, while out on
the lake  with it, will make themselves  known
to me  as we together find those fish
that so beautifully represent,  this..

the Holiest of all fires.

Those trophy fish are the magical moments
that up until now, lay dormant,
swimming far away from current distractions  
of the every day, mundane
accessible only  through the restorative process
and one's love of it's rare and magical beauty

It sometimes feels as if all of heaven is
waiting. (I know I am insane to talk this way..)

I truly do love that boat.

When I am out on the lake with it,
every difficult moment will be so very
worth it all to me. That is the joy I get
from the giving of myself into it's
much needed and fully deserved, restoration.

.  .  .  .

You will not sit out there,
  so all alone--
weathering, out there  somewhere
in the corner of the shipyard.  If that is
the case, and that is your current fear..
I know that you will find a way to
make yourself find-able by me. The
greatest tragedy of all would be for a
vessel of your unique and rare beauty,
to die off   all alone--

scuttled, by the wind.

The energy that was meant for you  is
now,  going into the boat.
    --tho I can certainly do both.

Ann, and her father
are out on the boat--
riding the water..

riding the waves, of the sea.

<3 .xo
Mar 2021 · 1.6k
the art of love

Throughout the years,
you have made pictures of yourself
available for us to see

and through a number of them--
have shown unedited,  a clear and
horrendously honest view,  directly
into your deeply-struggling soul--  

and even if you may had just days  
or hours,  previously
conveyed a look of almost carefree
   happiness and beauty..  

Those chosen few  that
graciously gave the glimpse  of how
bad it can so often be for you,  
also.. unbeknownst to you,  

   gave light
of how tremendously valuable
and rare you really are.

And like a dyed-in-the-wool stalker,  
I saved screenshots of the ones  that
moved me to tears

years later..
and they still affect me that way

and in fairness, some the ones  also
to where you were truly glowing  
in all  of your natural beauty..

  on the ying' side
  of the bipolar swing.

You are rare and unique..
so very very one of a kind,
(and I have every right throughout the
years to say that to you here and now)

--that there is a  worth  within every single
part of it all that is wholly beyond measure--
you can feel it sometimes, little beauty
I know there is no way that you cannot.

One day  the ravens will no longer be
able to steal that wholly accurate,
beautiful self-view so easily from you,

..and you will be able to live that
wonderfully-accurate view out,  daily--
having now found it's way down in to
your very, central core..

.  .  .  

Sorry, young love.. I know how much  a
beautiful truth such as this, hurts.
You reveal so much of who you are
through the raw innerworkings  and
conveyances of your poetry and music.

You would not be that so very beautiful way,
if you did not believe that Love would
eventually find a way..

  yes, beauty..  even for you.
you will not die..  but instead
will  live.


From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if

But those who know..
we who have  laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both  outside
and inside  

of the wire..

Those who have  quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate  as that   borne  of
and in to,  a training..  an equipping,
lay low,
lay low

.   .   .   .  

The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own  need
to be mesmerized,  never even
noticed the children
who  in their innocence,  peered
out from under the crowd's legs

to better see the 'magnificent' podium..

The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,  
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which  to the  knowing,
was  as that of a clanging bell..)

now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in  wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such  slipshod,   weak
and hastily assembled framework..

And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be  a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..

"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"

War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ******, with all
of his blowhard oratorical *******,   at least

had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..

Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,

but this
but this

This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation,  borne
not  from a suffering  leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms
as if borne in power,   as if..  as if.

    .. But the realms.. they know.

It is only those down here on earth,  spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart  from the necessary legwork,  needed
to humbly become a part of stream's flow:
borne,  solely from the inner wellspring--  deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache..

It is here.. on earth..  that you will find
the reward you seek..  oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..

your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
floating upon nothing..

--And therefore meaning nothing
within the substance-based parameters  of the Realms.

"Now there were seven sons of Sceva,
a Jewish chief priest,  doing this.
But the evil spirit responded and said to them,

“I recognize Jesus,
and I know of Paul,
but who (the ****) are you..?”

And the man in whom was the evil spirit,
pounced on them and subdued all of them
and overpowered them,
so that they fled out of that house naked and wounded."
~Substance 19

..we are defined by our actions, not our words.

Mar 2021 · 1.2k
modern poetry

I dream of a world
where you're not raging  at me
or ridiculing me to your friends
    for simply  
    my just being me..

Where you're not  throwing me
under the bus  in order
to make things go your way.

There is a lodgepole pine,  
a stick of wood that you fancy
as a staff in front of the crowd

  But like every single one of them--
  it is only a prop  

  to keep you from  falling over..

Wordsmith-formed, your poetic
into your staff,   only weaken it

And no one in your selected crowd
  has the courage
  or the substance

to tell you that  the drawn out  nature
of each creative word
only hastens the prop's break.
.  .  .

The weight of the brass,   polished
on your ship, sinking down

will break the mast  at its base..
to that place..  all the way,  down--
the place where you have   c a r v e d  

   your most

selected word.

'baby fall down'
~T Bone Burnett

— The End —