People ask me
‘What have you been up to?’
And I say ‘staying alive’
People find it funny
Another silly joke from
Silly little me
But it’s not a joke at all
For here I am
On a Wednesday afternoon
Eating a cheese toastie
Instead of killing myself

Waking early
breathing full the yellow summer air
to drink the quiet and take it to my bones
just me alone, with all the trees and calling birds
no other sound was ever heard, except the breeze
that rushing soulful little tease
who stirs the streams and shakes the grass
where hungry warming rabbits pass
to scratch and stretch and start their day
with hymns of questing honey bees
that drone above the meadow flowers,
and work away the dawning hours

He does not want my attention
Avoids it, actually
He don’t come around no more
So he doesn’t have to see
Me
I must completely remove myself
To set that man free
Beautiful human being
I am gone from thee
You are free

Some poems don't
work.
No amount of
tweaking will
fix it.
You can't finger it until
it comes.

Push the delete
button and
start over.
You write because
you have to.
It's in your cells.

You're a salmon,
swimming up
stream to stay
alive.
You write because
the nuthouse yawns,
and beckons.
It waits.

The cage door is
open, and the
water is
tainted with
mercury.
Fly away, or die.

If the writing
isn't working,
go fishing,
eat a tangerine or
some brussel sprouts.
Be livid
Be silly.
Study the *****
and the orchid.

Think about what the
color black tastes like, or if
pink whispers or yells.
And write until
the trivialities take
flight from your
life.
In the surrendering,
triumph will come.

majestic, majic
infinite
my little girl is
sun
on the carpet-
out the door
picking a flower, ha!
an old man,
battle-wrecked,
emerges from his
chair
and she looks at me
but only sees
love,
ha!, and I become
quick with the world
and love right back
just like I was meant
to do.

It's One a.m. in the psych ward.
Let's just call it 4 North.
On the table that I'm writing at is a plant,
it looks to be a member of the cactus family.
Three nurses sit behind a glass booth
and watch me with curiosity.
One of them looks to be a member of the
cactus family—or is it cacti?
Either way, I don't want her close to me.
Just now, one of the cacti-looking nurses says,
"What are you writing? "
I say, "My escape plan," without looking up.
She says,
"Very interesting."
That's one thing I've noticed in the
psych ward, everything is very interesting.
Just once, I wish they would say,
"That is the most boring load of
**** I've ever heard."
Then, maybe I'd be less inclined
to think they resemble members of the plant life.

He fell in love
With the brightest star
In the sky.
The way she glowed
Just for him-
A celestial deity
Shining down on him
As he worshipped at her altar.

She loved him too,
This human.
He made her laugh
With the things he would say.
He made her feel worthy
With the way he worshipped her,
But
The human man was broken.

The brightest star in the sky
Watched the human man
Walk in the shadow of his past trauma-
A constant onyx cloud
Hanging over his head.
The man was beautiful.
The man was so loving.
The man was broken.  

Night by night,
The celestial deity provided light
To the man she loved
Chasing away each shadow as it came.
The light leaving her,
She became dimmer on each night-
Giving pieces of herself
To save the human man from the darkness.

One summer night,
The celestial deity
Looked down upon the man
Who in turn was looking up at the stars.
He was glowing.
The brightest human on earth-
But he did not smile.
He did not show love to his star.  

"Why do you not shine for me?"
He asked.
"I loved you for your beauty,
But now I can barely see you."
The star made an attempt
To respond with a flicker of light,
But it was gone.
She had given it all to him.

When she saw her love
The next night,
He was gazing with a look of awe
Out towards the Eastern sky,
And she watched with despair as
He fell in love
With the brightest star
In the sky.

Tonight I want to
write something beautiful

say it perfect so you call it a poem

read it again;
How pretty
now that it’s about you

call me
call it love on Tuesday
again like cinnamon
tomorrow like coffee

never too early
late like my timing &
no-meaning-nothing

good morning
cheers too for something

kiss the moon
smack the sun
eat a star and call it breakfast
I dare you