Here lies wealthy aunt Dot
Let us pray for her, people
Let us pray for Dorothy Keeper
For here comes the grim reaper.

They called her Marie-Antoinette
Breaking fast on cake and tea
While gorging whole on tamarinds
And tittering her high-squealed laughs.

She wore her sky-scraper heels
With such care, they'd always look new
With no scuff marks, but in the end,
She hurt her back and broke her ankle!

She lived in such a mansion
You'd need an elevator to get to ***
Her gardener had his own butler
While her dogs had weekly pedicures.

Yet when they found her, on her last
She was bedecked in every wealth imaginable
Burdened tables, with rarest delicacies
But not a crumb of mercy on her plate.

You see, the ones she thought valued her
Were simply riding high on tails
They were cloven deep through the ranks
While rank decay sat fat in every corner.

Always one to expect return
She did little to relieve that scorned idea
When nephews begged for bursaries
She'd shoo them gone; let pets sap cream.

Now, upon her mortal hour, her eyes did sink
So deep in sharp despair.
Her ragged breath her kin did hear
And mere perfunctory embrace she felt.

Her sickness begged a touch of care
A little sweetness, a glance of kindness
But pitied eyes swept aghast around
At the splendid array in her mausoleum.

Nephews now grown men stand and look
They shoo not the flies around her mouth
For minds locked ******* heartless past
Fail to discover any worthy pattern.

No one could give what she desired
So they turned all from patient, one by one
To their cosy, quiet homes
Save the little boy, silent by the door.

They knew not that their paltry lesson in humanity
Screamed for mercy; to alter, make good flow
The little boy turned, to change the tide
*** for tat pays not; we should all know that!

Peace and mercy, she but sought now
And in his utter silence, he gave her that
Her eyes pled such deep appeal
His heart bled at their steep reveal.

Most unfortunate turn of events unseen
When the boy now held beneath his eyes
Heavy, darkened rings of suffering
Intense subject of compassion.

Years later, no one would know that
Upon her deathbed, she bequeathed him silent gift:
That, until kin break spited cycle
He would bear the brunt forthwith.

And now, Aunt Dot has died
All return to home and hearth
Yet no redemption till the day is due
And the soul awaits .......ever patient.

Star Toucher, 22 February 2013

Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.

Her jowls shiver in accusation
Of crimes cliched by Repetition.
Her children, strangers
To childhood's TOYS, play
Best the games of darkened doorways,
Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of
Other people's property.

Too fat to *****,
Too mad to work,
Searches her dreams for the
Lucky sign and walks bare-handed
Into a den of bereaucrats for her portion.

'They don't give me welfare.
I take it.'

When the writing is going well,
I am a prince in a desert palace,
fountains flowing in the garden.
I lean an elbow on a velvet pillow
and drink from a silver goblet,
poems like a banquet
spread before me on rugs
with rosettes the damask of blood.
                But exiled
from the palace, I wander --
crawling on burning sand,
thirsting on barren dunes,
believing a heartless mirage no less true
than palms and pools of the cool oasis.

The sweet sound of laughter,
Crackles in my ear like the sparks and the sound of the fire
Shadows cast by the ten foot flames,
Dance in rhythm to the strumming of a ukulele,
We all sing along, our voices hoarse from inhaling the billowing smoke
My eyes reflect the dancing flames,
And I feel an arm wrap around my waist.
The smoke creeps into my nose again,
I hide my face in his chest,
Fighting off the smoke’s stinging scent
With the scent of his shirt.
Only silloettes against the fire, I watch as my friends talk,
And laugh the night away.
The sparks rise into the air, and mingle with the stars.
Weary of laughing and standing for hours,
We all migrate away, leaving our worries by the fire.
Under the stars we lay, singing yet more songs,
And weaving our stories and secrets into the constellations.
All of our hearts, bound together,
Lay on the warm asphalt driveway.
Part of my heart still lies there,
Amongst friends on warm summer nights,
By the dancing bonfire flames,
In the secrets told to the stars,
And in his arm around my waist.
This is where my heart will stay,
In the night when I fell in love.

If i truly am falling,
why can i not see the sky?
down the rabbit hole
she says,
and i go.
constantly out of reach.

The clock ticks away the minutes. Minutes we will never have again. Perhaps, minutes we didn't want to experience or notice. But the opportunity is now gone, past, extinct. We drift past one another in a hazy silence. A clouded aura shields us from prying eyes. We all seek to be known and yet, do all we can to protect ourselves from being scene....which blurs us one into another, individuals made just pairs of downcast eyes in a sea of people...a school, swimming to keep heads just far enough above the surface to breathe, and just low enough to maintain anonymity. Alive bleating hearts...we're as humble as sheep, wearing our coats carefully to hide the wolf beneath.

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o’er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole
The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,
To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,
And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm;
But keep the wolf far thence, that ’s foe to men,
For with his nails he’ll dig them up again.