I see the grey on their faces
I see the clouds on their heads
I see the tears traces
and their broken hearts

I see the wind
I see the grass
and this world I had imagined
was much better in the past
before my sight was made transparent

But,
I see the light
I see the dimples and freckles on her chin
I see her eyes
I see her skin,
To know that she is real.

How many times did I  not learn
From a lesson taught before

How many mistakes repeated
100 times or more

How many chances
Did I ignore  - to forgive ?
Then make amends

How many people
Have I  led to believe
To trust in me their friend ?

No value held in spoken words
Unless we act them out

Reassurance only found within
The heart that holds no doubt

A smile is just a gesture ?
A hug is just a squeeze.?

Manners don't mean nothing
Just words  - Thank you  and please ?

It's true these things are simple
But like a tender loving touch

Without them
Then we realise
They all meant.    ....... so very much........

I want you to remember
That to write
Is to express yourself,
The flicks on your n's
And the loops on your f's
Show me the inner workings of your mind.
When she sent that letter,
There should have been tears on the page,
You should have been able to see
The corners had been folded and torn,
And the paper was *****, crumpled,
And covered in coffee stains.
You couldn't see any of that, though,
Because she chose to send it to you
In the form of a small series of lights,
Accumulated on a screen
To mimic a cold,
Soulless version of herself.
Maybe it's because she didn't want you to know
What was actually going on.

As lips and flesh on chilling cheeks are cherried
   With the morning's touch,
   Although they wrinkle in the twilight's clutch,
So let day fade
   And night parade;
So let the sun be buried
   But march its fires on the moonlight's crutch;

And if the sun in summer sky burns sere
   But in the winter white
   Can't but reflect itself in icy light,
Then let it burn
   The eyes that spurn
   The turning of the year;
Then let its fires singe all ling'ring sight.

As lips and tongues in chilly cheeks defend
   Their shape in shallow plots;
   Seem capable of speaking as they rot,
So peace is sought
   Though war is fought
   Not till all battles end;
   Not till we cremate those we last forgot;

And if our sons in some strange sinking hour
   Find their hunger slain,
   But avarice and rivalry remain,
Then let our ashes'
   Cinders' flashes
   Dilate and devour
   That surfeit our expansion sustains.

I. Orpheus

My dog flees from pluckèd strings;
her fleas command my tune.

What hollow body holds a rhyme
as long as my neck’s breath?

I could domesticate myself,
but in taming our lions
we tame our pride.


II. Abel

My brother is his brother’s keeper.

I am uncle to no abomination.

As we lie in the Garden,
(our hair in the earth)
I question:

Is Heaven above
because our heads are the seat of doubt, or
because our feet are the root of evil?


III. Hector

I was not breast fed.

I am not a fountain.

I will not hector you.


IV. Adam

Even if He and I practice Our secret handshake
in the Sistine Chapel;

Even if He sends me an angelic bath basket
with ambrosial soul cleanser
and holy bubble bombs;

Even if I am the round reflection
of an ever-changing God;

I still have to ask:

Is Heaven above?
Because my head is the seat of doubt.


V. Odysseus

Poseidon hardly even knows me.

An idle king in heart
reigns with a swift lead open hand.

Life’s lees are far too bitter,
far too deep,
and the wine is corked.


VI. Atlas

The sky may fall;
the stellar sphere may crash with all its weight
and music;

god(s) may smite;
the clouds may freeze and bury me;
the sun may swallow me whole;

leaves may drop and leave me bare;
the mist may soak my skin;

I raise my arms only to catch
that snowflake that dares drift upward.

Spinning, spinning, madness winning—
Psychopathic thought beginning—
Butterflies to catch for pinning—
Spinning thoughts inside my head.

To twirl the net and bring it down—
To trap the beast unto the ground—
Its screaming terror'd not speak a sound—
I stick the pin and pin it dead.

Its writhing, grabbing on the netting—
Sounds I wouldn't be forgetting—
Tapping, flapping, clapping, fretting—
Gradually slowing to a stead.

A cold and sweating, mad reaction—
I sense the tingling satisfaction—
And this is surely just a fraction—
A fraction of the blood she shed.

My carriage wheels had quickly turned—
The case at court was now adjourned,
So early home I had returned—
Returning to my home ahead.

It was a cold and somber morning
When I first received the warning—
A beauty carriage, now adorning—
Standing still at my homestead.

Curious, I stepped out and gazed—
Its presence there left me amazed—
Then I saw my dogs were caged—
Cold and outside, barely fed.

Gingerly I climbed the stairs
And pondered what'd await me there—
And then, this sight, this dark nightmare—
My wife and brother in my bed.

My curiousness then turned to strife—
My temper flared against my wife—
I silently retrieved a knife
To turn her lusting into dread.

I chose to **** Paolo first—
I stabbed his neck and watch it burst—
His silent death increased my thirst—
I watched the ******* as he bled.

Suddenly, my wife awoke—
The ****** mess caused her to choke—
Her agony, in me invoked
A sense of anger, sorely red.

She stumbled, falling on the floor
And tried to scramble to the door—
She looked so sad, so low, so poor,
So shameful as she crawled and fled.

I pinned her down, still writhing, grabbing—
My knife was quickly, sharply dabbing
As my hands were cutting, stabbing—
Stabbing her from overhead.

When she was still, I calmed at last—
Yet vengeance soon would have me cast
To Caina, treacherous and vast—
But it was done. Her blood was spread.

Though the sun might not always shine, and the night may grow dark and cold, remember that you don’t stand alone. Remember that you need not face the challenges of life without help. Remember that we are here, and together we will, together we will move forward, together we will find strength, together we will find the dawn.

You drew a heart
with your pen...

... on paper skin.


Soul Survivor
2014