(I)
My mom once kicked a hole in the wall as a way to threaten me.  
Any minute, it feels like my mom could toss out all her marbles & shove a pillow in her mother's face.

Sometimes my entitled Grandma has no idea what her name is,
so she wouldn't know what the **** is happening.

Before he died, my fair-skinned grandfather tried to hide the fact that his wife would forget where she was sometimes. And as his face melted because of leukemia he also tried to hide the fact that he was a hoarder, blaming all of it on Grandma, who was also a hoarder.

There's talk amongst some of my family that Grandfather's brother, the one who went to church every Sunday and spoiled everyone in the family with copious amounts of pies, cookies and money decided to pull the breathing tubes out of his nose.

This is the same Uncle who decided that his sister, whom I used to see as a saint, shouldn't be hooked up to a machine after her stroke. My Aunt made the best pancakes, and cookies, and cakes, and sweet treats from scratch.

From my understanding, their father was a scumbag drunkaholic but their mother was the church going working type who had a way with dogs. She's the stuff of those walking uphill in the snow to and from school with one boot legends.  


(II)
My Father used to be a dreamer. Now he sleeps with the TV on blaring either CNN or Fox News, sometimes in a buzzy drunken chainsaw snoring kind of sleep that's only awoken in a panicked restlessness wishing he had a gun under his pillow, probably because he ran away from a cult.

His mother joined a cult at a young age after years of working for the man. Now she's constantly in debt but swears that this cult is helping her change the world.

Her husband split when my dad was around three years old. He died homeless in Washington State. The day my father married my mom was the first time my dad met his step-father, also part of the cult.

My Grandmother's brothers are all the libatious kind of drinkers who all took jobs as either firemen or bank truck drivers. They're proud hellraisers.

Their father was a double-****** beer drinker on days he wasn't cheating on his wife with her sister, supposedly. He was a **** ballerina with a beer gut on the ice. Their mother was a bitter woman whose family lost all their money and would sometimes beat her husband with a skillet.


(III)
I don't wish to say much about my brother because i once found him in a compromising position in the bathroom with mom's panyhose over his head when he was around 10 or 11. So I shudder to think what weird things he's into now.

Delightfull as the tree,
Delighted is the bee,
as the buzzing becomes a dance,
the bee thanks the tree
for its flowers nectar
gave him honey.

Buzzy bee's collect the nectar
so they can make their honey.

Bee kind to your neighbor,
for you never know
when you will run out of nectar.

**© By Amanda D Shelton

There was never a time
that he could not love,
only long periods of years,
decayed decades,
when the could
could not,
for he had forgot
from lack of practice,
daily vitamins taken of soured love,
which is a polite way of saying
sneering hate, distrustful makes,
and hard calluses and body armor
make any human tin man rusted and
cowardly lion afraid

and later,
after loneliness turned him
sweet and sorry,
when many wanted him,
to love them for
why not!
he was a desirable object,
in possession of a fast red jaguar car,
a job that left him money for gas
and summer trysts,
a ruggedly handsome face,
which he shaved daily,
and the right kind of patience
in things that woman love,
like Joni and kissing
head to toes,
on a
round trip ticket
with unlimited stops in between

and

using words that seduced,
that were intended to ******,
though he did not intend to
make them love him more than more,
yet they did....

he appreciated them,
with kind and cherish,
and just happy gave just enough of him for them
to take as their own,
and they loved him for that...
but it was hollow bridge in spaces that
needed filling, denying completion,
or safe passage

gave them gifts unasked,
jewels and poems unique,
valued them in the ways
they so wanted,
and deserved,
but could not love them
free and clear,
which is all they wanted -

for he was not
free and clear
of broken memories...

one by one,
they left,
no one to blame,
broken is broken,
Oz was a bridge too far
for him to cross

years later,
muses buzz like flies
around his head
asking buzzy questions,
demanding poems of clarification,
apologies of sorts for his inabilities,
dissatisfied with rationalizations,
payment for adoration given
and taken but inequality in love
is still a crime of sorts

and he tenders this in consideration,
years too late,
not an apology, but a thank you,
for those who said you are a
good sort, worthy of love,
and restored him in ways
that gave me the confidence
to let the whole later be filled in....

He was abused, but never a user...
now, clear and clearer yet,
his poorer faults were later his greatest riches
once gained, easy shared,
yet
here he is years later,
tinged with regrets and mea culpa's
and asking himself
for forgiveness of those for whom,
he
could not be enough

did not know what to title this,
for it is an explanation and a plea,
a thank you note written on bended knee,
many titles came and went,
some with guilty, never and could not,
prominent in their bookends

but then it was instant clarity
for it was a tale of how,
he rebirthed an ability to love a
woman true and total,
and thereby
himself,
thus celebrating those who gave their teaching trust
which he cannot ever properly
repay
except to note that it is 3:00am years later and
I
write of thee,
and how you taught me to speak
a language glorious

I found a fairy on a golden rose along a silver stream.
The rose must surely dream I said,
to raise an emerald leaf, and have you lay within its bud,
to touch and taste your sweet.
This budding bloom she did reply, this slender flower with its dew,
all memories of the rain her blushing petals hold within,
and so this lovely rose and I,
Today we dream as two.

What of the rain I did reply, do drops of rain fall down in dreams?
Happy to leave their cloudy sky?
The rain she says in its defense, makes pools where poppies drown,
They float upon this silver stream to enter a land of flower dreams,
where all our fancies sprout and spring,
Only to return again next year to sing the lyrics of the trees,
And give the bees their buzzy sound.

The fairy stretched her gossamer wings and caused the blooms to blush.
Why must you ask such trivial things,
in delicious moments such as these?
Your questions they are all remote,
and cause the ladybugs to sneeze.
The mystery now I put to you, as a hush fell over the trees
Is dare you now, or dare you ever
dream a dragonfly dream?

i been sitting outside staring up at the sky,
i watched a shooting star go by and i closed my eyes and just whispered to myself
"just give me back my life when i didnt have a care "
i rocked back and forth in my chair and spotted the moon hiding
behind some tress and i thought how beautifull -its just like me it should
stop hiding and come out and shine .
then i watched my dog chase one of them icky buzzy brown bugs on the porch,
i smiled .i rocked some more and just leaned back and stared at the stars ,i told myself
thats where i want to be up high and shining.
i heard my horse in the pasture making noise at something and thought about how neglectfull
ive been of it ,so i got up and called it to the fence and had a long talk with it about whats been going
on in my life for the last month,you know how you sometimes do with your dog or cat
cause you know there not going to tell no one or judge you ,why cant we be more like that ?
now its pushing 3am gotta get some sleep so i can watch the sunrise

I see the horizon,
Once fiery and passionate orange,
Decay into cold blue and numb black
Hark the days of old times
Past, the energy that precedes
The inevitable twilight.
It was your movements and your touch.
The hugs where you gripped my shoulders.
The times when I was drunk and played with your fingers.
And to have heard you say "I love you",
To me;
That'd make my head fuzzy,
Ears buzzy.
Vision goes askew.
It would answer questions,
Ask some more.
And leave me lost with lost intentions.
Because I don't know how I feel.
You don't either
Us, stuck in a maze
Of endless questions and fears and worries and
Excitement. Sending us into a craze.
But I'm left with one feeling,
That it's upsetting,
One sun setting,
And me praying for a sunrise.
- Kayla Lynn

The energy expands
Every sound vibrates
The energy of buzzing bees
I whisper BB and feel the wave
Calling to you-no phone needed
Our connection blessed
As nothing that has proceeded
Glad I was ready for the energy of You
Such powerful stuff
This energy string
Wired together
I feel everything
If you whisper KC
I will feel your ping
Stronger than ever
Buzzy BB sting
I am zapped, tapped and wrapped
On a vibrational swing
Whispering BB
My energy sings