Sometimes we must move
Not shallow gym class work-mimicry
Empty choreography
Planned, timed, synchronised
Movement the purpose, fitness the goal
or health, or presentation
Important, worthy, needed
and yet, a slight, simplistic facsimile
of really moving

Sometimes we must move
Not gentle-stroll-incidental, ancillary activity
Perfect temperature
Sweat-less, shiver-less, comfortable
Sunshine the purpose, restoration the goal
or biophilia, or head-clearing
Cleansing, uplifting, lovely
and yet, orthogonal to the experience
of really moving

Sometimes we must move
For more than moving’s sake
Sincere reverberations
Changing, morphing, building
Action the purpose, elevation the goal
or processing, or releasing
Cathartic, detoxing, rejuvenating
in a way that leaves our world
different than before
we moved

When danger seems a looming steady state
Embrace the energy to scream and run
and channel into moving through the fear
Transmute to new found strength to persevere
To body-work at peak ‘til job is done

To push and pull, to dig, haul up, and scrub
Yield recompense for sweat and pulsing nerves
The world a little better than before
Clearer, cleaner, cared for, kept, and more
And you all terror-spent and panic-purged

F    Fear the water God says you must walk across
A   Allow your mustard seed to germinate
I     Implore the Lord to take your quaking hand
T   Trusting that your feet won’t sink into the brine
H   His hand is strong in yours, so step out now in faith.
                 ljm

Who can know
just where the water flows,
we can only ride
travelling with the tide,
life is a journey
however brief,
each of us sailing
a helpless spinning leaf

GATHERING WONDER
A path unknown, a festive sojourn of wonder , this smile newly owned does possess guile to reach the top  from way down under
Common parlance sets the perfect cover as curious or desired surprise defines for most who render Wonder

I seek to reach exotic heights rare as a Black Swan viewed through absent glare of pitch black night
A measured pleasure of euphoric bliss
I would ten times run fire gauntlets of mythical risks
A Celestial Odyssey proving surely , it  exists
One more minute, one more smile my  dream of holding wonder ceaselessly persists
Bobby O

SHE POINTED TO FOXES IN THE TREES
Except for the T-shirt with the bull’s-eye in the middle of the chest, she usually didn’t give me gifts, but I digress, Let’s do what’s best as these are  phrases of purpose proving that my streams of conscious fail , as  they fail to get me near, but this  soapbox is sincere

So though short  of certain clever, not now or never , Should I fear true  content , abandoning our love her planned intent. Love is An exotic condiment , with its fresh cut edge as nourishment. A Freestyle journey To stir our souls , Freedom within this creative domain must remain a sacred honest endeavor To  dilute cliche’, to strain mundane until the conversational melody is such that we need not explain.

We  could mold sophisticates into words that may somehow rebirth as lyrics. but we’ll go back to that another time, but first, why did I fear it? When I was in the forest that time, when she attempted a simple  rhyme , it did remind of that Spinner’s  song that’s upside down like howdy doody your clowns too , they’re all laughing at you and why were they even there and  didn’t say or stay in the middle of the road? I didn’t have no time to count the foxes hidden in the trees today and she didn’t have no time to be a decent person,  and the random gifts didn’t give me any lift.

That  was just her way of hinting that she was going away, like howdy do,  your clowns too? I don’t want them laughing at you. I don’t care if you’re on the side or in the ditch there’s no middle there’s no road when she left she left my mind on overload
Bobby O

AND THE WORLD WILL BE BETTER FOR THIS
A dire quest now requires a friend to rescue a friend
To get deep enough into situations to risk awkward 
to be brave enough with no vacillation,  to go onward
To recognize delicacy, be armed with intricacy, reversing inaccuracy born of those who have come from before , yet still dive  straight into the maelstrom, with no detour designed , advice to heed warnings you quickly decline. Ready to bravely, plow through   shocked faces on enemies that think they have won
Yet you Realize that  this battle , this war, well it’s just begun. They should expect no pity under this ****** sun. This merciless story shall find them engaged  by an army of one , on a mission to rescue , before it’s too late before your best friend forever meets an ominous fate
You proceed with pure valor without question or pause, Windmills be ******, you’d March straight through holy hell for this heavenly cause
BOBBY O

All the hard
times prepared me
for this.
The hopeless
times, black sun
sadness.
The long seasons of
madness.
Starving, like a
winter tomcat.

The hospital stays.
Jails and psych wards.
The fist fights under
bridges.
Midnight swims, drunk in
the Iowa River,
not drowned, only out
of spite.
All of this, and
much more got
me ready for this.

I’m sitting up in bed.
It’s 5:00 AM.
My three cats chase
each other, like
lovers in spring.
I’ve been sober
for almost two years.
I even quit smoking
cigarettes.
I’m writing regularly,
and publishing much
of it.
It’s mostly well received
worldwide.
I’m sipping a hot cup
of coffee.
It’s from Sumatra and has
notes of herbs and earth.

I look at the pictures of
Van Gogh and
Hemingway above my
antique maple desk,
as I listen to Mozart.
A writer needs four walls.
I have so much more,
children
wisdom
cats
and gratitude, the most
important thing I
found.