~

My entire life, days I didn’t even know I existed,
hours I sat in the window staring out
Moments spent walking along empty highways
exhaustedly scanning the horizons
Gazing into the night sky, dreaming beyond the moon
Pacing a weakened floor, counting the creaks
Peering behind shadow coated tree lines,
reaching for that which has eluded me

spent looking for you, not even sure who you were
Just knowing that you were out there
you…it has always been you

Sitting on a curb, head in my hands,
lost within the thoughts of my fate,
dreaming of the darkness which seems to follow me,
I feel a warmth, the cold wind changes
Soft hands upon my shoulders rest
and I look between crossed fingers,
seeing that smile, those eyes, realizing
I have not found you…you have found me

You lift me, I feel light, weightless,
as your lips meet mine, and I see
you…it has always been you

Suddenly it all makes sense,
while feeling time was wasted,
remembering footprints mounting the many faded trails,
sunlight opens a new chapter
proving I was not wrong  
Love has found me and it is
you…it has always been you

I spent Thanksgiving
this year
not in the blue-collar comfort
of my aunt’s house,
nestled somewhere
within a well-buried suburb
of a quaint, but un-noteworthy neighborhood
with walls decorated with Budweiser signs
juxtaposed against portraits of the ****** Mary,
where a football announcer’s voice plays like
conservative talk radio
in the background.

Instead, to save the labor
of my weary immigrant grandmother,
we dressed in Sunday best
and drove ourselves in
three well-packed mini vans
to some elegant hotel restaurant,
ideal for people-watching
from the gaudy, art-deco staircase
while pretending to be in the Great Gatsby.

It didn’t feel natural, though,
that beside a modest turkey breast
with cranberry dressing, sat a beautiful
cut of prime rib, carefully ladled
with truffle au juis–
nor beside a humble dollop
of mashed potatoes and gravy,
should there be salmon to die for,
and berries slathered with brie.

The food I nibbled
with bites of nervous guilt,
as the impeccably dressed waiter
exhaustedly refilled our water glasses,
nodding his head reflexively
to my mouse squeaks of “thank you’s”

What monsters are we,
letting these people work on Thanksgiving Day?
Grandma said, calmly, that some people
are just happy to be paid,
recounting
her impoverished childhood
in war-torn Germany—
that to simply muffle
the aggressive rumbling
of a days-empty stomach,
she and her brother
would ****** a handful of
potatoes from a government farm,
not many, but just enough
as she grimaced
at the ever-so-slight mealiness
of her rosemary-infused pork chop—
the woman who couldn’t afford ham
until she became a citizen.

We nodded quietly and
swallowed our privileged guilt,
washed down with
politely cut bites
of perfectly cooked salmon.

I am tired
Oh so unbelievably
Undoubtedly
Exhaustedly
Tired

I feel as if I am
Carrying the weight
Of the world
And all its burdens
On my shoulders

When in reality
Not a soul would give me
The time of day
Let alone a dark secret to hold
Or a trust needing thing
For me to never breathe

It’s the encumbrance
Of having nothing to carry
Whilst other march
Indifferent to their darkest loads
That makes my shoulders so heavy

I am tired
Oh so unbelievably
Undoubtedly
Exhaustedly
Tired

We are lost in the tide
just a few feet from shore.
We are swamped by the size of the sky.
We are fickle and frail
and I've never felt more
like it won't matter how much we try.

I am lonely and loved
and exhaustedly glad
for a few simple minutes of rest,
so I looked to you with
what small fervor I had,
while I stood with my conscience undressed.

You were so full of hope
that we might get away,
but as time passes, so do our dreams.
There I saw in your eyes
all the fear and dismay,
with your heart torn apart at the seams.

It was so cold that day,
sitting still in our home.
It was early as midnight could be.
But the wanderlust shrieks
as the memories roam,
with the mind drifting out to the sea.

I was swept with the tide
washing out from the land,
and it carried me into the deep.
When I got there, I found
there was nowhere to stand,
so I laid down and drifted to sleep.

You were lost in the stars
looking down at the world
with the moon passing by overhead.
You were ground to a halt
as the whole planet twirled,
and you missed everything that I said.

A tiny little flame births a regal forest fire,
The remotest nooks of her mind now a grand pyre.
Her very being set ablaze with an inspiration so great,
She grabs a pencil before the sly flames can attenuate.

Each word a drop; from her hand runs a river thence,
Fills the parchment before her; a happy turbulence.
Only water can quench fire, the stanzas doth flow.
Untamed ripples dancing as her eyes begin to glow.

Before she knows it, she's the most unyielding General.
Her army of sixteen before her merciless wrath grovel.
Soldier out, soldier in; every line proportionate.
This wordy patriot did it with rhyme and reason, yet.

And now, at yet another christening she's a Father.
An air of certitude prevails, as she sprinkles holy water.
Content with her myriad roles, she smiles exhaustedly,
"Oh, you write poems?" Not at all; she lives poetry.

so much slander
is ****** upon the poet,
who sits uncomfortably
at the tip of every tired pen
aspiring to run out of ink

she will suffer
for as long as our streets
remain flooded with the blood of the innocent,
for as long as our wrongful hands
desire to invent new ways to tighten the ropes
of our own expired dreams, hanging exhaustedly
around the same necks
that have since forgotten how
to support us

and because of this,
the poet will sob
violently, the way she prayed
to destroy the sight of her own words
sinking down the clogged drain
in her bathroom sink

how willingly it swallowed
every remnant of everything
she could never bring herself
to understand

from the thunderous sound
of her father's kind footsteps
escalating the stairs after a long day
that will leave his back stiff,
to the absence of her mother's voice
the moment she finally decided
to listen

pain, she thought,
is a remembered affliction

and it is the poet's sin
if she refuses to shelter it.

Sam the dog and Pearl the cat
Were sitting on the wall
They do it every day
So it isn't strange at all

They have little conversations
Which only they can understand
They talk about their little quirks
And none of them are planned

Pearl goes first of course
And Sam lets her have her say
He knows better than to interrupt
He learnt his lesson the other day

“I scratch my scratching post
And I chase my clockwork mouse
I leave my loving mistress
Little gifts all around the house

I eat all of my food
Then I use my litter tray
Or sometimes one of her slippers
When she looks the other way

I sleep lots throughout the day
Until about half past seven
Then I think it’s playtime
Until well after eleven

Each day she fills my water bowl
But I don't use it for a drink
I prefer to use the kitchen tap
While balancing on the sink

I like to lodge my face in things
And my mistress gets fed up
The other day I got it stuck
Inside a paper cup

I've got a lovely padded bed
For when I need a sleep
But I sleep in the bathroom hand-basin
It’s nice and cool and deep

I love it on a Tuesday
My mistress gets her magazine
I sit my bottom on it
It’s pages sight unseen

One of my favourite pastimes
Is scratching on the door
I make her think I want to go out
Then I curl up on the floor

I put on my needy face
When I smell nice food
My mistress never shares with me
How can she be so rude?

I like to go upstairs
On the bed I like to lie down
Nestled in a furry ball
On a fluffy dressing gown

Sometimes I hide in cupboards
Then suddenly jump out
My mistress tells me off for startling her
You probably hear her shout

I sit on the laptop keyboard
While my owner tries to chat
To her human friends on Facebook
I soon put a stop to that”

Sam now has his say at last
And looks straight at Pearl, the cat
“You think you get into mischief,
Well I can better that

I love going into town
Though it isn’t very far
My favourite thing is the lovely breeze
On my head out of the window of the car

Sometimes my mistress brings me a doggy bag
From her favourite restaurant
It contains all of my favourite things
She knows exactly what I want

Last week she took me in the car
Allegedly to the park
It was really a trip to the vets for ‘the snip'
I was totally kept in the dark

I do a vanishing act at bath time
I always hide under the bed
So I get taken out to the garden
And end up getting hosed-down instead

Whenever my belly is scratched
No matter where we are
I lay on my back with my legs in the air
As if playing an air-guitar

I love rolling in smelly stuff
Much to my owner’s dismay
It's one of my favourite pastimes
I do it almost every day

I'm the master of the head-tilt
When I smell nice food on the table
I sometimes get some scraps
But not from greedy aunt Mabel

Odd times I chase my tail
I chase it round and round
Then I spin around a couple of times
Before exhaustedly lying down

I keep eating grass
When my tummy is upset
But sometimes I eat too much
And I end up at the vet”

It’s almost five ‘o’ clock
Both hear the rattling of a tin
That sound means it is dinner time
Time to be going in

Sam gently says to Pearl
“See you tomorrow, the same time”
Pearl preens her whiskers and purrs softly
Then over the wall she starts to climb

Sam spies a muddy patch
He'll save it for another day
Then he'll see his pal, Pearl the cat,
When she’s next out to play

the ice coffee
I snuck in
late  this afternoon
red wine
I drank
with a robust
spaghetti sauce
not until
it was time to sleep
my eyes regretted
not being able to close
mind riddled and running wild
with unlaid plans
fanciful schemes
memories mostly hidden
from daylight
revelations leap
out from the dark
shadows
with every toss and turn
grudges
lain bare
with my uncovered legs
my only hope of absolution
remains in the desperate hope
to exhaustedly
dissolve  into dreamscapes
where regrets are simply keys
to opening
doorways
to subconscious delusions
that  make
some sort of sense
there
because
you tell them to

Heavy handedly
Nail me to the pyre
Marinate, anoint with honey
Hurl your stone
Rotualistly butcher as your deity permits
Exhaustedly await the feasting beasts
Then, and only then, dance amongst embers and cries
Leave a piece behind
Take what the mob offers

Every time I stop existing
While closing my eyes
In another life we're lovers
I took care of everything
Chastened the sick angels
Nobody crawls over this endless street
Ninetynine white birds
My undershirt's made of iron
Sweat is silver for the love

So I elevate you easily
Under the horizon of dunes
I came yesterday morning
From the land of guilt
Where heads roll like super *****

I got here yesterday morning
From the land of gulit
Red balloons were destroyed
Tunnels lead to tunnels
I'm writing in an iron undershirt
So you'll be reading about escapades
I'm alive for your life of reading

All is been taken care of
Reddish clouds are gonna yawn
Between midnight and dawn
Lukewarm seawater early in the morning
Tiredly you are giggling
Exhaustedly you're falling asleep