I place my hand on your shoulders.
They snap together
like an old-fashioned clothespin
on my grandmother’s clothesline.

I intruded upon your space.  
I arrived at a place
that enveloped you
in personal cellophane.

You don't touch.
You won't be touched.  
What pleasures you miss, such as,
feeling the roughness of a wrinkled ear.

You fail to feel a touch
as a finger glides along your cheek,
moving with a tenderness
that surpasses any kiss.

Frigid fear confines you,
isolating you from the human touch
that caresses and warms the soul.

You navigate life
like an unrefined stone
resting among precious gems,
made luminous by countless rubs.

She cannot grasp her shifting landscape,
With its muted morning lyrics
from both Robin and Cardinal.

What has dimmed today’s sunrise?
Her steps are shorter, her walk slower,
both signs she disregards
of her approaching twilight age.

She rests on her favorite bench
by the garden gate.
She finds no handle on the rusted bolt.

No entrance for her inspiring plod
among her realm of light and sound.

Sitting, she gathers courage,
new strength to
climb over the weathered fence.
Undaunted, she reaches
her limit. Her muscles feel lacking.

Accompanied by her mystic shadow self,
her playful muse mirrors what she feels: incapability.

Words appear nonsensical
Fact checks are becoming daily headlines.
Pure prevarications
Not mere vagueness
Bold untruths, shams
Two-faced attempts
To cheat to win
In a battle of ideas.
Better still, flooding
Air-waves, all media
With bogus pretext
That fend off
A battle
From ever being fought.

More than just falsification,
blatant fabrications!
Labeling truth a lie
Shut-downs instead of debate,
All communication aimed
to discredit, debunk, and divide.

* (back in the day we called this **** and bull)

Faded stains of bourbon
dot her nightstands’ weathered surface
like stars speckle the midnight sky

Each impediment commemorates
a symbol of courage
to help forge another day

Bras, slippers, heels, and flats
pepper the carpet
each a reflection of impediments
that fleck her soul

Harbored distortions from her past
forgiven by those she harmed
forgotten by others
fester within her frontal lobe.

Rain pelts upon the window
rat-tat, rat-tat against the panes
repetitive sounds that fling open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
every trace of her anguish

When I say irritated, I mean it prickles my skin.

When I say sore, I mean it stays red and puffy.

When I say annoyed, I mean it furrows my brow.

When I say displeased, I mean my mind is tangled.

When I say provoked, I mean I long to strike out.

When I say I’m angered, I mean it fires my heart.

When I say enraged, I mean it curdles my soul.

Solitude
Can be spent
Enjoying what is in your midst

Solitude
Can be refreshing
Refilling the cup you carry

Solitude
Can become hard
As thoughts swirl in one’s mind
Taunting us with unpleasant
Or daunting views
Laced with brooding anxiety

When ruminating becomes  
Mulling over fears
Our negative thoughts
Become erroneous ideas
That feed even more
Agony and fretting

Name the feeling
Of desponding anxiety

Pull yourself away
From within yourself
Back to the beauty of the solitude
And experience the rejuvenation
of each new moment

Those pictures of me
Are disingenuous images

Blurred from the start
The fuzziness has grown over time

I’m told to see myself
Where can I find a true mirror?

Others say the sounds of me
Are clear and eye-opening

I listen for the sounds inside me
Can sounds ring distinct and genuine

Still much static blurs
The best parts of me

I seek to find silence
To settle into solitude

I engage in deeply
Listening to the uttering of my heart

My heart emits a song
Of the genuine me