You made

Your harp

I leapt from high

Cliff

Calling your name

Falling

I wish for the day
It is customary
For females to go *******
In the beach
Or wherever a man would go *******
And I could do that
I think
I don't think I'd get arrested for going ******* at a Cape Cod beach
But I don't know that
For sure
If I can go *******
I probably should
But I doubt I will
Even though I got great ****
I would love to go *******
Without people hiding their childrens' eyes
And I should feel comfortable doing that

His head kept bumping on my shoulder
and he was not my father
or anyone I knew

he smelled as if a bath was overdue
and slept like wasn't a place better
than the ***** briefness of my shoulder.

Breaking down was my brittle patience
needled by his bristled cheek
brushed by his shabby dress,

was for rest the man hard pressed?

Wouldn't I have been nudged by pride
if the head on my shoulder was my father
happy to have him by my side?

as he gets older
does his blurry mind miss
a place where he is not alone

one or any shoulder
for an untimely nap in peace
a quiet stranger to rest upon?

I once wrote a list of things
That represented me :

Smoke from a discarded cigarette,
Rain on the Ocean,
A saturday matinee.

I wrote that I was a penny
On a train track, waiting.

             ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Well guess what, folks-
The engine  has arrivd.
        ljm

twinkle

twinkle twinkle pretty eyes
stop whining crying every night
you don’t deserve his useless lies
you should see he’s not right

twinkle twinkle pretty eyes
i wish to see you finally smile
twinkle twinkle beautiful eyes
oh how i wish you are mine

sometimes the walls
peel down    
in tears and metal
as the floodgates
               open wide
as the soul is bared,
raw,
              exposed
softly humming
its release of pride
heartbeats strong
head up high
queenly stance
bearing storms
ready for the battle
taking form
yet holding on tight
to solace's reins
praying to heaven
for grace in the strain
for soon the cry
                  to action
will fall upon this
           tender land
all that exists
washed away in
        a whirlwind
of sand    
in the distance
a lightflare
a whipping up of womb
a time for victory's place
in this tempest monsoon
and within my skin
in the flight of
               my freeze  
my pain opens up
and allows
me
          to
               breathe