Timeless

My heart is
A 1950s movie,
Printed on film,
Sealed in tin,
Smelling of
Ozone and vellum,
Gently warmed by
The hum of
Electric light;
Click-clacking in
A familiar rhythm
To familiar timing,
Burning away at
The dust of yesterday’s
Misappropriated lust.
She’s semitransparent,
Like projections
On white-painted panels,
Whose seams
Create the illusion
Of overlapping
Worlds,
Converging as one.
My heart beats to
Your footsteps,
A battle-march
We once danced
Together,
Briefly halted,
Resuming apart;
Parking lot waltzes,
The lambada of public
Displays
Of personal shame,
And the final
Sagayan
Where winners claimed
Defeat.
My heart draws in
Hope
And expels courage
With every contraction,
Birthing new sweetness,
Driving rivers of
Richness
To universes afar.
She has grieved
As the widow,
Retired like the
Sun;
She’s rested like
Winter,
And resisted the
Fall.
I’ve dreamt of the
Wonders
Of digital age,
Of miraculous manifestations
By wizard and sage;
But naught can compare
To the golden age
Of my life:
When memories of a time
Long gone by
Consume my heart’s
Movie-house stage.
I await on my mark,
Willing the apparition
Reflected upon me,
To take his true form.
That timeless classic
Of bygone day,
Echoing off inner chambers,
Preserved by consciousness’
Seventy-millimeter,
Fragile, yet unfeigned.

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I never go backwards.
I
Went
Back
For
You.
Bummed a smoke
From Cerberus
At your buzz-in gate,
Saw a maiden
Throwing ash
From astride her pegasus
Bike,
Called grandmother fate
With a message
To relay,
You arrived
Just in time
To send me away.
The path forward
Has been
Off
Every day since.
Did the world
Diverge
Or did I?
I never go backwards.
In every dimension
Through every simulation
On every timeline –
I’d do it the same.

Birth Day.

2019.
You
Were
The
Last
Thing
That I
Wished
For.

Shadow-Puppet.

You’re a poem now,
(My poem)
Crumpled and torn
From my book of
Shadows
Borne into light.
You’re a match-stick man –
All angles,
Elbows, and knees;
A puppet loosed
Of his strings.
It’s not
Even worth penning
About, how translucent,
And unraveled,
Disheveled –
A cinder block
King.
I think fondly
On other tenants
Who treated
Thier roles with
Haphazard care.
I fondle the edges,
Trace memory’s ledges,
And flick what remains
Of you into the
Pit
Of another night’s
Interrupted slumber.
One gentle tug
On silver cord,
I drag you back
Into the light
On my mind’s stage.
Dance my shadow puppet,
Recite poetic refrains,
Glide through
Gentle dreamscapes tonight.

Black-Days.

Some days I can
Revisit
Those sepia-stained
Memories,
Like looking through
Aged glass,
Long-slumped, distorting
Light and shadow
In a seductive
Interplay –
And tears pooling
In corners of
Mind’s-eye, turned
Within, stirring
Insides-out.
Sometimes I emerge,
Riding ripples
Of new strength
Like riptides
Carrying this tired
Corpse
To familiar shore;
Sometimes I drown
In inky pools
Of dread,
Pressed down by
The words and retorts
Endlessly churning,
Undulating and decomposing,
Compressed between
The weight of today
And the shadow of
Yesterday.
I’d scream if
I thought it
Would matter,
If it would cause
You to turn this
Direction –
To return and rearrange
Those unspoken words
Strewn along the
Streetlights
Between us,
Like laundry someone
Forgot to bring in
Before sunbaked and
Faded, falling
Crisp as sprigs of
Fresh mint
To the bottom of
Your glass –
I’d cry, or laugh,
Or beg, or demand,
Or stand mute,
If by so doing,
That sepia-stained
Memory of what I
Hoped to hold onto,
Might fall out of
Time
And restore us
To that timeline
Lost to the void;
Where once possibility
Diverted by
Corruption and lies,
Told by the pain
Borne by another –
Stripped me bare and
Tossed heartily to the
Street running between
Our returns home,
With torn sidewalks and
Angry traffic
Ever pressing me aside.
These Black-Days
I scream into that
Cavern of creation
Between existences
And demand what was
Promised.
Black-Days fade into
Black-Nights and I
Sink verdant roots into
Thirsty earth and
Release this mess
Of human bargaining.
I’ll revisit this
Pain tomorrow.

Just to Be Sure.

7 billion
Other people
On the planet
(Or is it closer
To 8?)
And at least half
Of whom are men,
And yet none
Are you.
Of course I’ve
Not yet met all 3.5
To 4 billion
Just to be sure.
I’m pretty sure
The other half –
3.5 to 4 billion –
Women alive
On the planet
Who are not me,
Are probably
Better
In every way.
And so it stands
To reason,
That you will
Be just fine,
And probably have
Already met someone
Better attuned to
Whatever it is
You were always
Looking for;
Whereas I will
Be forever
Rejecting
The other
3 billion, 4 hundred ninety nine
Million, nine hundred ninety nine
Thousand, nine hundred ninety nine,
Or so,
Not you’s –
Just to be sure.

Leave Her Alone.

There will be times
When it won’t seem
Fair,
When the damage
Done by others
Will need repair,
When you will be
Asked to fill in
The gaps
From missiles launched
And historic attack –
So if you’re not
Committed to
More than your share –
If you’re set on
Punishing her
(Again)
For the sins
Of another –
Then leave her alone
She can’t have you
There.
If you give
Promises as
Empty as
Summer skies and
Winter winds,
And if you’re intention
Is based
On some future fantasy
Full of pretense,
Then do her a favor
And go wish on
A star –
But let it carry
You far
Far from her –
She needs solidly laid
Plans and sturdy
Built stones and
Foundations firm;
Anything else will
Bring her house
Flat to the ground.
There will be times
When her smile
Will fall
As freely
As her tears –
Her praises will
Turn to curses
And her skies will
Grow dark
And you’ll wonder
Where she’s gone
Off to
Without so
Much as a spark
Of the joy which first
Drew you into
Her enchanting ways –
And if you’re not
Invested in bringing
Her all the way
Through her darkness
Into brighter lit days –
Then take your selfish
Demands of her magick and
Positive vibes
And remember that no
One can carry
The entire weight
Of both worlds
At all times,
And look at the ways
She’s selflessly
Sacrificed her fire
And light,
See who’s placed
On her demands
No human can
Possibly
Fill,
And remind her that
She will
Always
Have a haven
Whether she’s
High or low –
If your love is based on
What she provides to you,
Then you will soon
Find
Her fierce storms
Change direction
And her fury
Will level you
Low to the earth.
She’s lived for
Years alone with
Herself and her thoughts,
Or in defense
From false champions
Who projected their
Failings and fears;
And she’s learned to
Be strong –
Mentally and physically too –
And she only wants
Peace and to finally
Breathe freely,
She wants the space
To exhale
Knowing today is secure,
And while tomorrow
Isn’t promised,
It’s presumed to be
A continuation of
Growth
With a solid partnership
On which she can rely.
If you’re not
Committed
One hundred percent
Then leave her –
Please leave her –
She’s better off
Shallowly breathing
Alone and tired
Then trusting in false
Promises and
Believing more
Lies.
She doesn’t
Want to change you
Or make you
Grow up,
She’s not
Into projects
Or force-filled
Boxes.
She doesn’t want to
Entice you
With curves
Or feminine flair,
She doesn’t want to
Beguile you
Or trick you
Or deceive you
Or make you feel
Wrong.
She just wants
Easy – peaceful – simple
But real.
She wants honest
Transparent
Reliable
And emotionally aware.
So if you’re not
Interested
In being read like
A book
Or if you’re
More intent
On revenge or
Domination
Or savagery
Or toughness
Or denial and blame –
Then please leave her
Please
Please
Please
Leave her
Alone.

Thank You.

Thanks to you
I no longer allow
My self to be optional.
Thanks to you
I no longer entertain
Even the first
Glimpse of disrespect.
Thanks to you
I no longer endure
Unreciprocated attention.
Thanks to you
I no longer hold
Back when an emotion
Is confronted.
Thanks to you
I no longer lie
To myself about what I want
And what I can settle for.
Thanks to you
I no longer struggle
To feel worthy of
All of the things my
Pure heart desires.
Thanks to you
I no longer suggest
Favors that only work
In others’ favor
Which I would
Never have agreed to
Except that I wanted to
Seem so agreeable.
Thanks to you
I no longer permit
Myself to wonder
What life would look like
With someone who acts
Like they would rather
Live life without me.
Thanks to you
I no longer say
Things that I’m supposed to say
When I’d rather just
Scream.
Thanks to you
I never take anyone
Or anything
On face value.
Thanks to you
I’m not nice
I’m not kind
I’m not submissive
I’m not compliant
I’m not agreeable.
Thanks to you
I’m suspicious
And cynical
And callous
And hard.
Thanks to you
I’d really rather
Always only
Be all alone.
So,
Thank you!

Leave.

What if I’d
Just left that night?
What if I’d
Just not tried
Or bothered to
Assert myself
Or insert myself
Into my own life?
What if I’d just
Run away
Like I always run
When I’m not
Too afraid but life
Is too much
And nothing is
Ever going my way?
What if I’d just
Left?
How would it all
Have played
Out, would you
Have followed
Or were you always
Going to stay,
Plucking too ripe
Fruit from the ground
And settling for
That blackened sticky
Rotted taste?
Were you only really
There to take?
And take and take
And take what you thought
You could get away
With taking
Without a thought
Of the price –
For all bills
Eventually have their due.
What if I’d just
Left?
The first time I was
Bothered by the
Ease in which your
Lack of respect
Was scattered about the place
Like my hair,
Falling out in
Fistfuls.
What if I’d left
Each time I wondered
What I was even doing
There in the first place
And at every misinterpreted
Understanding and vain
Attempt to create
Connection
And after the moments
When you fleetingly
Opened
To me –
Only to close
And in your repose
Turn to iron and ice?
Why did I stay?
Why did I fight?
Why did I try?
And why did you
Watch me scramble
To find the parts
Of my soul
You ripped out
Of my clothes
Knowing full well
You would never
Ask me to stay
Or follow me away?
Why didn’t I just
Leave?

Void.

You were a void
That I poured
My love into,
Searching the skies
And cold stone eyes
For some spark
Of return –
Reflection or refraction
Either would do.
“This is going to hurt,”
I screamed from
The corners of my
Mind, swollen
To accommodate
The breadth and length
Of you.
Each parting foretold
The finale
And somehow I knew –
Hold tight
This night will not
Repeat. This retreat,
The end of one dream
Whose nightmarish
Awakening would
Shatter the glass,
Ever turning
Starry eyed and spangles,
As shadow men and their
Ladies dance for
Master and Mistress
Upturning collection plates –
Thirty pieces and
Cold kisses
And your lingering
Betrayal. We’ve folded
Time and shattered space
And damned our filthy
And abominable race –
“This is going to hurt,”
I screamed
At the ghost who
Escaped unscathed.
My world has shattered.
I am changed.
My illusion is broken.
My heart is uncaged.
You were a void –
I burned as a star,
Until consumed by
Gravity and entropy,
I earthward did fall.

Hardheart.

My heart
Has not deviated
Though my
Mind
Cannot see the way,
Through deviant indecisive
Cobwebs strung
O’er the entrances
And stealthy passages
Between ventricles –
The violent tremors
Of which
Like harpstrings
Sing of forgotten
Praise;
And each sunrise
And resetting
My mind sets backwards
In time –
This broken-handed clock
Stuck now for
Nearly three years’
Worth of days.
Evidence neatly piled
In damning stacks
Around us both arranged,
Barring our paths
Obscuring our sights –
And still I sense
Like a tunnel-cloud
From the West
Set upon the bay;
But then again
Perhaps it’s just
My own curiosity –
Do you still set
Deadeyed gaze
Towards my tear
Stained ruddy face?

Warrioress.

War is easy.

Last night I was dreaming I was with a friend at an art show and she made the most amazing magical creations and was setting up her booth. She wanted it to be just perfect. So she asked for a dark booth which meant she had to be careful about the types of lighting that she displayed. The organizers kept coming by and giving her violations for not complying but they could have really just talked to her and she could have worked something out. Instead they brought a fight to a fighter and so of course she fought back. So she’s about to get kicked out and they tell her she has to go do something that’s the equivalent of a snipe hunt. She is fuming and really seeing red. I’m talking to the organizer who is primarily fucking with her and trying to plea her case. I’m explaining how she does everything with her entire heart and all of her love and how she wants everything to be perfect, but when you come in swinging she is the type who will send you out in a body bag. All they had to do was just talk to her. She was looking for this her entire life. She was terrified of something going wrong. She wanted everything to be so perfect. She just wanted to make her display the perfect display of the magic she creates. Her. Not the other people at the show. She’s worked her whole life to get here and to have it be so f-ed up is destroying her. She’s not the one to cry she’s the one to fight back and to keep trying and to find a way.

War is easy.

It’s peace that really fucks people up. When you tell people they are free and no longer need to fight to serve an authority, watch as they turn on each other. People like being told what to do, who to serve, how to behave. They want it simple.

A person who thinks for themselves is complex. They reason things out. They consider the outcome. They wonder if it’s right or not. And a person who thinks for themselves is upsetting for those who follow herds- even minority herds.

When you’re born into this world, your family will have volumes and volumes of unwritten rules for you. Worse yet, when you enter school you’ll find that the rules you learned and the rules of the social setting are somewhat bastardized versions of each other. You look around and see the other kids seem to have no problem adjusting, but you don’t know where to stand or how to look or what to say. It irritates the other kids.

If you were socialized like me, you learn quickly to adapt to the expectations of the adult because the adult is the one to fear.

So now you have a set of rules at home and one at school and as you age you encounter more sophisticated relationships with your peers and in different settings.

If you’re me you learn to blend into cinderblock walls, smoke under the bleachers or in your car during pep rallies, keep peripheral surface friends, and befriend the most broken and alienated invisible kids to learn their secrets of not being seen.

If you’re me you write poetry to the posters on your walls and dream of a life completely different but always “someday”. You form relationships in your mind with hallucinations because those illusory images are realer to you than the corpses animated in the halls of your school.

If you’re me you have a strong mother who maintains strict control with violence and you meet her violence with your own pent rage to defend your younger siblings.

If you’re me you HATE that monster.

If you’re me you are aching to love and be loved and yet you understand so little about other people and the monster carefully caged inside is ready to defend at any moment. You push people away for their safety. You learn to do some damage first with your tongue – you find the chinks in psychological armor and rend. You learn to use words and intellect to play the game of protecting the queen. And you never have just one plan – because plans can be thwarted. Instead you hide, you identify the exits, you use the ability to blend in and make yourself invisible. And if you’re spotted you become the best friend, the funniest person, the most social. You hide in plain sight.

If you’re me you will spend your entire adulthood unlearning the ways of war and learning peace.

You will rewrite the narrative from control, competition, dominance and submission, kill or be killed, winners and losers, defend defend defend, scarcity and sacrifice, and punishment; to freedom, collaboration, cooperation, innovation, creativity, abundance, nurturing, rewarding, cheering.

You will evolve and you will find the world ever more alien than before.

You only want communion and people will accuse you of competing. You will only want celebration and people will accuse you of domination. You will only want freedom and people will accuse you of control.

You will know these problems exist within THEM and you will remember how you fought an unwinnable fight and lost.
You will want to reach inside of them and rearrange things for them so that they can arrive where you are. You will share with them your lightcodes and you will hope to see them rewritten.

But no matter how far you travel from your home, there will still reside inside of you a warrior ready to defend when challenged. There will come a time when you feel cornered. Someone will pose such a grave threat that just as the thing that you’ve wanted your entire life is finally within your grasp, you will unchain the sleeping warrior.

Fear.

The fear of having what you’ve always wanted can be greater than the fear of giving in to the darker parts of ourselves. We think we are fighting back against an enemy – and yes we have enough of our own evidence to make a case that we are – however that war will be our own undoing. We will be swung upon and we will come back swinging but the carnage will not be predictable. We will unleash our inner Kali and we will obliterate the one who we want to love thinking them a participant in the grand plan laid out by our enemy.

We will only see the Shiva too late.

The warrior must learn to master her own anxiety and fear before there can be peace.

The truth is that there are people around us all the time who have their own plans and machinations and not all of them want the best for us. There are “enemies” hiding in every bush. But we have mastered those snares and traps they lay for us. They do no harm. We walk over bear traps as easily as we walk over grass.

There is indeed something specific and special about the foe who is effective. They play on specific insecurities for a reason. They show us the things that we’d rather not look at. They emerge from and play in our own shadows and that is why they can get to us. And they use our fears against us.

Fear creates shadow puppets that appear real. It creates the illusion of enemies all around us.

And the awakened person who is afraid can become a greater danger than those still sleepwalking. They question everything and then question themselves. Their instincts are somewhere between war and peace and are unpredictable. They recognize no authority and thus act without concern for rules or tradition. They are simply fighting – at first to protect – and then ultimately for the thrill of the fight.

At the conclusion, it doesn’t matter which shades were real and which were fear-manufactured if all is lost. All that matters is the loss. There are some wounds that will not heal from words or time. And if the one who was wounded has learned anything, they will make their own choices and they will choose their own freedom – even if they too were committed to misunderstanding.

Whether anyone else ever sees or knows the truth as recorded by the eyes of the warrior makes no difference. What matters is the actions that others witnessed as innocent bystanders.

I wanted friendship and love. I wanted acceptance and communion. I wanted freedom and full self expression. I wanted an evolved and peaceful relationship outside of the narrative created for us by social structures.

And just as I was enjoying having everything I wanted – I allowed my fear to unchain the inner animal.

I did this to myself.

But just as anything else I did in vain, I myself have taken accounts and I have been responsible, and I have tried to make amends.

I only wanted to have a place to display my magick and watch the gleam in others’ eyes as they appreciated it. The enemy may have been real, and the threat may have been immanent. But my training in peace was surrendered to reflexes of war. The peace was broken as the world spiraled into madness. I released my inner pandora’s box and the world is now burning. The rage carefully held inside of me for 41 years was unleashed. And I made sure that the one who I wanted to love the most was consumed by it.

I’ve never gone backwards. I’ve never wanted a thing once its time has expired. I’ve always kept moving and evolving and learning. But then I’ve never destroyed an innocent before. Yes, there were some mistakes made. But not ill-intended and not with a motive to do harm.

I went back to beg for forgiveness.

But I’m not fond of begging.

I was sent away.

To me, I made impossible choices and did the only thing I knew how to do. To them – I’m more monstrous than I am to myself. I spoke up for myself. I regained my voice. The world I created on the inside and protected from others was now spilled out around me. I was open and unhindered by the rules of the social structures I’d been forced into. I could and would say whatever I wanted to, fuck the consequences.

But just as my voice has returned, a voice has returned to the world. And its message is ugly and filled with fear and hatred. Corruption has seeped into every holy place. Misteachings abound. The world is awakening but the warrior spirit rages. Wrongdoings in every facet are coming to the fore and those who have been harmed seethe for vengeance.

War is easy. Peace is really fucking hard.

What is it that you REALLY want here? How much revenge will reset the balance? Whose blood do you need to taste?

What martyr will be big enough to quell the human monster?

The world is not so alien anymore. And that’s the trouble.

The world is an echo of my own personal rage – the darkest parts of myself that I want no one to see. Those committed to misunderstanding. Those whose machinations are so glaringly obvious – yet successful! To see the cogs as they whir and to see how easy it could be to destroy the entire works – and yet understand why each piece and part is essential to where we are going.

The devastation that must happen before there can be new growth.

Watching from the eagle’s roost is one of the loneliest hells that exist on this plane.

We can get there from here – but we may not like the cost.

The warrior must master fear. The warrior must be discriminating and wise with her weapons. The warrior must wait and watch. The warrior must not submit to the program of war, for the program of peace is what really matters now. When the enemy comes in swinging, the master must be master of herself first. She must choose to disarm her foe with the gifts she so proudly exhibits. She must use charm and wonder and humor and grace and arrive at a creative conclusion.

And the warrior must accept that they will never understand her fully. She must continue unencumbered by their opinions of her.

And she must accept her greatest loss as her greatest teacher and must learn to protect the things and people who she loves the most instead of destroying them out of the need to protect herself.

When she has mastered this next level of skill, she will have access to both the light and the dark and she will then create something which has never been seen by human eyes – the heaven on earth to rival Atlantis, Alexandria, and Enoch. Peace will indeed reign and ripple through the world. And her Beloved will return to her – no matter the distance.

Like all parables, this is part paradox, part fantasy, woven with a thread of truth.

Phantom.

I looked for you
On his lips
In his eyes
On his tongue.
I dreamt of you –
Still telling me
When to do
What you wanted
Me to do –
While he played
A sad understudy
Version of you.
I stared up
At him open-eyed,
Hazy-eyed,
Glazed over like
Fresh sweat
You baptized us
With.
I screamed at him
For his failure
To be you as
My body rolled
With explosive
Vengeful
Pleasure.
A stand in –
A stoop in –
A step in –
A sad replica
Of paper mache
Memories
Already dissolving
In the pool
I left for
Myself to
Take care of later.
And when he’s done
I’ll look for you
In another.

Helped.

I awoke from
A dream
Of continuity.
We were still
Entwined and I begged
(Like I often did)
To remain
Close to you.
You were closed
To me –
Like you often were.
I loved with
The fires of
Freya –
And you were
Cold stone
Walls and indigo
Ichor –
Stomach churning anxiety
And emptiness.
You were my
Favorite addiction –
The spike I drove
Into my own side
Willingly.
I would have done
Anything for those
Rare glimpses
Into your personal
Abyss,
Which you hoarded
And guarded;
And I tortured myself
Always wondering
Why you protected
It from me –
What flaw did you
Imagine
Was so dangerous?
I begged.
You retreated.
And so I left you –
Like I often did –
Because my own
Cold bed
Was more comforting
Than a man made
From stone with
Walls of iron
Reminding me I’d
Never be enough
Of anything
To share his
World with openness.
I asked.
Help arrived.
From the unlikeliest
Of places –
Just as it often does.

Help.

You need help
Is something they
Love to say
When they feel
Helpless –
When they want
An excuse
To justify
Why they refuse to
Be helpful.
And if I went
To you today
And pled my case
Would you find
Yourself helpful?
Or are you still
Betwitched by
Psychotic self interested
Monsters
Still clawing at
Your better
Intentions.
You called yourself
A friend –
And like any
False friend
You were silent
When you should
Have been
Helpful.
How do you
Enter a person’s
Body
And withdraw
As the world
Crumbles
Into madness?
And while the
Evidence piled
Against you,
Why do I still
Reach out
When I need
Help?
Help.

Pretend.

We pretend
That the human
Animal
Is not so
Animal –
More civil
More Godly
More intellect;
We pretend
That the human
Heart
Is not so
Hearty –
Not made to be
Opened,
Not meant to ever
Beat outside
It’s careful cage
Of controlled rage
And Love
Which rages
Like anything else
Animal.
We pretend
That our
Choices
Matter –
That we have
A say,
That we may
Shape from this
Earthly sludge
From whence we still
Crawl,
Anything of
Significance.
We pretend
Hoping
That if we pretend
Hard enough
The bedtime
Stories
We soothe ourselves
With between the
Hours that span
Between 11′ and 12′,
Will somehow
Spring to life
In a waking life
We pretend to
Fill with dreams
Whilst waiting
For some
Thing
That
Matters.

Kaleidoscopes and Mixedtapes.

Memories are kaleidoscopic –
Turn the glass
And the entire world
Is turned on end;
Tumbled over,
Jumbled over –
Time retools and reshapes.
Time is a mixedtape
Stuck in my ’92 Tempo;
Brown ribbons spew
Like spaghetti
And we’re surprised when
The winding back
Makes sense of the senseless.
Some mixedtapes
Will never
Disentangle.
Some kaleidoscope’s
Blurry edges
Will never
Focus.
The neon sign
Tattooed across my
Aura reads
“OPEN” –
It is instructional
And descriptive.
In that moment when what
Was real was birthed
Between carefully controlled
And overthought thinking,
And the sloppiness
Of it all was
Exquisite:
Imperfect Perfection –
Like tangled
Mixedtapes
And unfocused
Kaleidoscopes;
While the good little
Boys and girls
With painted faces
And painted bodies
Somberly trudged
To the funeral dirge
Playing on repeat
Beneath the mixedtape
Tracks –
While they sleepwalked,
And sleeptalked,
And sleepfucked –
And sold themselves for
Something a little stronger
Than heroin –
There was nothing
Hidden to decipher.
Chaos’s trickster
Birthed this world
Like her finest web
And chaos’s trickster
Remains the guardian
Of the fates –
Guardian of stories –
Guardian at gates
And portals –
Guardian of
Kaleidoscopes and
Mixedtapes.
Garbled songs,
Garbled pictures –
Sliding in and out
Of focus;
All was madness
From the start,
And sorting the
Insanity by group
And type,
And labeling the
Intangible;
The indecipherable;
The deeply personal –
In order to bring some focus
From the kaleidoscope glass –
Is lunacy
By prescription.
Turn the glass,
Enjoy the view,
But to the spider
And the fly
Kaleidoscopes and mixedtapes
Are merely child’s
Amusements and blind
Metaphors.
Choose your story
And pick an ending
And enjoy the view
As the world turns
And burns
And sleeping children
Gnaw at sticky webbing
And cut the bridge threads
And learn that
“OPEN”
Can also mean
“See”.

That One.

That girl talking
To herself
In a room full of strangers
Making strange faces
Because she must not
See herself the way she should
See herself.
That girl walking
Into empty rooms
Somehow never alone,
The company she keeps
Is always by herself,
Yet always on display
As if followed by a crowd
Of other selves: self-directed
Automatons.
That girl thinking –
Always thinking –
The endless chatter
Relentless as time
Shattering any intrusion,
Her subject may always
Change on a dime,
And she’s never really listening
To things she rathern’t hear.
That girl singing
Songs she doesn’t really know,
Words she forgot to remember,
She talks to the chairs
She stumbles into
As if she likes them more
Than other people
Because a chair never let her down
Unlike all the other people
Talking to themselves
Always on display
Absorbed by their own chatter
Enthralled by their own singing.
That girl waiting
For something that may never come,
Something she invented,
Something none will ever fully
Measure up to
Even though no actual boundaries
Do define or confine
What she imagines will be;
Amorphous blob of
Self-predictive pleasure
Failing to exist outside of
Her expansive imagination
Like all others who failed
And fell
Before her
Still clinging to hope
Like a single rose
Or half-drawn sword.
That girl choosing
To cohabitate with a daydream
Rather than settle for
Paper soldiers and
Meaningless words carried
On the backs of her children.
That girl holding
Herself and all of her dreams
And nightmares
Close like her favorite stuffies
Long fallen on the floor
Of childhood’s bedroom,
Where parents preparing to die
Before her life would begin,
Protectively snoring across the hall,
Slept on.
That one.

Hope.

Sometimes hope
Is a cruel joke
Like names scrawled
Inside the adjacent
Bathroom stall.
Sometimes hope
Is a massive iron
Argonaut standing
Futilely watchful,
Lifeless, cold, and tall.
Sometimes hope
Is tippy toe
Fingertip touching
Brushing bare edges
Just beyond reach,
Straining to
Break surface tension
Just enough for release.
Sometimes hope
Is your best friend’s
Birthday and all
The best wishes
And gifts freely given
But never to you.
Sometimes hope
Is chasing rainbows
Through valleys
Down water falls;
And finding out
Too late the
Secrets of illusion:
That light never ends.
Sometimes hope
Is the desert Oasis,
The voyager’s siren,
Don Quixote’s windmill,
A child’s fairy story,
Religion’s promise of heaven:
Painting daisies in dungeons
Disguising paradise for hell.
Sometimes hope
Mocks us as we lie awake
Hoping that someday
We’ll have learned
To outsmart the
Tricksters, cheat
Anubis, and share a smoke
With Cerberus before
The universe’s final
Lusty exhale.

Anti-love

I called people out on their shit when I thought that was love.

I refused to accept people as they are when I thought that was love.

I had expectations about what another person was supposed to do for me when I believed that was love.

I held resentment and called it being the bigger person when I believed that was love.

I punished with silence instead of fighting when I thought that was love.

I withdrew out of a need to protect and out of anger when I was disappointed when I thought that was love.

I sought escape versus confronting my feelings when I thought that was love.

I worked my ass off at making money and a home instead of a relationship when I thought that was love.

I held myself in to protect others from me when I believed that was love.

I was always doing what I thought love was untill I learned that these things are what love is not.

Independence Day.

4th of July
Independence day.
You and me at my place.
We ordered food
And watched YouTube
On autoplay.
We talked and
I got high and
We had a few drinks
And broke my couch
(It was already broken)
And you asked me
What I wanted.
So I told you
About open eyes
Meditation
And breaking the glass
And opening the
Third eye
And the proper way
To do penance
On Maha Shivaratri.
But I think now
You meant something
More immediate
Than ascension.
I told you
About the
Kundalini snakes
And how I had to
Google it when
It happened because
I’d never even heard
Of it before.
You showed me
The music video
You were so proud
Of and I felt
As if anything
Were possible.
It is possible.
I didn’t imagine
On that day
How much I wanted
Less independence,
More like other people,
And how I’d end up
Doing it alone.
It’s bittersweet.
Getting what I
Wanted but
Giving up what
I never expect
To want so much.
Giving up
Meat and sex
Were easier
Than giving up on
The idea that you’d
Ever find your way
Back.
Independent of anything
I’d ever ask you for –
Independently choosing
Because you’d felt the
Same all along.

Giving Up.

It feels like betrayal
To finally say goodbye
To the beautiful moments
And the happier times.
It feels like cheating
To give up on half-realized
Promises, and half-created
Palaces, and half-made
Measures, and half-lived
Dreams.
It feels like defeat
To admit it’s just
Been too much,
Too heavy,
Unhealthy,
Hearts breaking in half.
It goes against
Everything fairytale-taught,
To not be ready, willing,
Eternally waiting
For what wasn’t really
Meant and made for me.
It feels like giving up.
It feels like a loss.
It feels like saying goodbye
To possibility and hope.
Flies buzzing ’round
The rot
Flew off long ago,
And I sit in this
Boneyard
Heavy with yesterday’s
Mem’ries silhouetted
In shadows playing
On repeat.
It may just be
A flick of the flame,
A trick of the eyes,
Or maybe more lies
I’ve told myself
Just to cope.
The lingering stench
Of sweat and tears
And the ever-present
Self flagellation of
Guilt and remorse –
Have ceased being
Sexy and are
Just plain sad.
That world over there
Filled with miracles
Unceasing,
Has already proven
It’s seeking
Me just as assuredly
As I seek for my freedom
From the self imposed
Prison
Of yesterdays
And all the ways
I tell myself I
Coulda shoulda woulda.
So today,
I breathe and release
With eyes kept forward
Onto the horizon
And allow life
To move me swiftly
Out of yesterday’s cage
And into
The joy I’m choosing
Even if I can’t
Yet feel it.

Not Sorry.

I’m not sorry
For keeping so much
Inside,
I’m only sorry
I never felt
Safe enough to
Share.
I’m not sorry
I feel too darkly – too
Deeply,
I’m only sorry
I never felt
Free enough to
Speak.
I’m not sorry
I want the
Fantasy,
I’m only sorry
I never felt
Worthy.
I’m not sorry
I am so human,
I’m only sorry
I never felt
Held enough to be
Vulnerable.
I’m not sorry
For all the ways
I tried to be
What everyone else
Asked for,
I’m only sorry
I never made myself
Important enough to ask
For what I wanted.

Half-Done.

I dared to love you
And that was my sin
My treasonous act
Of selfish desiring
To keep each moment
Like a random stone
Polished on the shore.
I wanted you fully
Not to see you
Thrive
But to see you
Continue to be my
Only stability –
Carry out my insanity –
Compartmentalized consistency
Always just out of
Fingertips grasp.
And to you it was
Nothing while I held
On by two frayed
Heart strings
And you and she
Mocked me –
The one person who
Could harm me –
Because you had to
Do harm.
You had to prove
That you were
Just like the rest
But worse.
You had to undo
What was only
Half-done at best.

Temporary MEASURES.

If you hadn’t
Broken my heart
I’d have never
Found my voice.
If you’d never have
Held my head
While dizzy-frenzied
Spinning,
You’d never have
Held my heart.
If you’d never
Brought me to
High-heady heights,
I’d never have
Returned so many
Beautiful times.
If you’d never
Pretended to care,
You’d never have
Meant enough to
See the job through.
If you’d never mattered
You’d have never battered
Down the iron bars
Which held me firm.
If you’d been just
Another faceless name,
I’d never have been freed
From the past’s
Icy grip.
If you had been here,
I’d never have healed;
You’d have held me
And I’d never have
Learned to hold
Myself.
If you had been
Here, I’dve continuously
Bled as the wound
Reopen; while distraction
And intoxicated confusion
Tear at my trauma
Masquerading as love.
You were a safe place
To hide, while the
World turned, funnel-cloud
And frenzied
And toppled us on our
Other side.
We walked outside
To survey the wreckage
Only to find
It would not have
Survived
Life’s storms.
What is the measure
Of a temporary
Retreat from the
Troubles we both
Carried?
It was sacred and
Full of holes
And incompleteness
Left us wanting
What is no longer
Wantable, no longer
Attainable, no longer
Holy.
Head and heart
In such disagreement
About what was never
Agreed to – it was
Only the temporary
Measure.
You’re unfeeling-free
And I await
Permanence while
These loosely knotted
Bindings flutter
Behind me like wings
And I feel transformed;
But really I am
My birthself, my
Trueself, my
Authenticself, my
Non-Temporary soulself.
Will I morph again
Before finding the
Measure of another
Like me?

Repass.

Darkness recedes as
Light enters slits –
Heavy-lidded opening –
And all is peace
For one moment.
There is no suffering
Nor pain as all is
Disconnected wholly
From fleshy receptors.
My bones are great
Limbs of some
Ancient tree and
Divorced from consciousness
As I reside somewhere
Outside of myself –
Miraculously.
For a few blissful
Moments I am unaware
That I am –
Merely some wisp
Already entombed
And not yet birthed –
Suspended in possibility.
Pain is no longer pain,
But great bolts of
Sharpness:
Darkness –
Like black boulders
Lodged in spaces
Where energy should flow.
By grace
I slip back
Into the void
And my light
And your light
Dance together
Outside of the limits
Of time and space
As we plot our rebirth.
We are close now –
It’s almost done.
The world will grieve
And we will be free.

Crowned.

This heaviness in gaia’s
Pelvis
As this new child
Of heaven and earth
Crowns;
And old stories
Emerge
To foreshadow
Past foreboding,
Hoping to control
And to give shape
To formless
Becoming
Form.
We taste the light
Like honey,
And walk in sway
To that angelic tune
And keeping pace
With the unheard.
We’re not pretending –
Though you would
Never believe
Reality as it
Occurs
Within us.
We see through
The unseen,
And undo the undone,
And watch the
Undertow as chaos
Bend and flow
Into something
Predictable-akin.
Our doing
Is simply being,
As purpose
Flows
Through us
As you.
We experience
That which only
Those ancients and others
May decipher
As future forgotten
Truth.
Release the grip of the past,
That old uncertain path.
Let go of what was
Before;
For we never shall
Need her again.
Children dream
Of new creation,
And masses cry
Enmasse
For relief.
We can touch
And taste and
Sense it,
Though quite out
Of sight and
Far from belief.
Forget what was
If it’s truly unwanted.
Let go if
Expired is the need.
Put away
This bridegroom’s
Fair garment,
Twas rent in twain
Under false pretense.
We carry our codes in our skins,
And each combination
Part and piece of the whole.
Wheat falls to the
Priestess’s storehouse,
As chaff scatters
Away in dark winds.

Division.

We tell stories
Of theys and thems
But “not me”,
And divide into
Sheep and asleep:
Others and outsiders.
We pretend we’re
A separate kind
And not takers
From the common
Provision and plan.
We walk in
Our hubris lock steps,
And thumb our noses
At the masses
Amassing outside
Babylon’s picket fences.
We march as legion
Pretending allegiance
To higher virtue
And nobler
(Even off-planet)
Law.
We invent new
Labels to label
Our labels by,
And place ourselves
Above our fellows
By standards invented
To displace blame.
We make up stories
Of supernatural
Superpowerful
And sovereign
Graces,
Which place us on
Platforms built
By spiritual egoic
Cloudforms in chloroform –
Pretending to live
In other dimensions,
To ignore what’s been
Agreed to and done
By all of the
“Not me’s”
Scattering like fleas
Thirsting for a
Dog with new tricks.
From whence is your
Savior come due?
Do you imagine
You will be alone
In that boat
Being towed on
Hallucinogenic seas?
Do you imagine
Yourself
Pure and safe
In your rebellion
From the insanity
Of the sane?
How long since
You listened to
Your brother?
Acknowledge we’re
In the same ship,
Hurling through the
Abyss around
The same hurdles,
Which we place
In our own pathways
In our resistance;
Our attachment
To persistence,
Though we recognize
The old ways
Left over
From old days,
Brought us to this
Gloomy place.
Denial of what is
Will not save us.
Nor will doomsday
“Light the bitch up”
Drunken nihilists
Enjoying their own wake
Before death claims
His due.
Blindly begging on
Bended knee
While expecting
Some authority to
Deliver –
How many divisions
Can be counted
While those who
Profit are counting
On long-division
Exponentially
Producing
More and the same.
Look to old
Dead prophets
Dust and ash
Spewing forth
From thier graves.
Unheeded omen
Ring hollow,
Devolved humanity’s
Voice
Ring true.
There are no
Others,
Your mirror be
Broken;
But the projection
Remains –
One body,
One soul,
One You!

Apart.

If we’d chosen it
We could have held each other
As the world descended
Into madness;
We could have
Made sense of
The senseless –
Simply sensing what
Our own bodies,
And hearts,
And minds,
And souls,
Breathed between us.
We could have –
If we’d only chosen –
Written our own
Reality
Independent of any
Need for the
Simulated stories
And hearsays,
Claiming as proof
That which the
Sounds of our
Own heartbeats
Proved to us.
If we’d only chosen,
We could have
Made shelter in
Brambles and thickets
And bathed in warm pools
And foraged for sustenance,
Even just for
An afternoon
Away from the concrete
Confinement, housing
Television and internet
Bouncing off the backs
Of our eyeballs –
Feeding the fears
With invisible stuff
Stuffed into the
Ethers where
God’s angles
Mutter utterances
Into the machine
Still churning
The swill drank
By good churchfolk,
As flesh and blood
Pleas for safe
Passage through these
Times,
And punishment
For imaginary crimes
Committed by the
Good folk who
Walk thier own paths
Awry
Apart from the
Not yet departed.
We could have
Just gone fishing
And let the sun set
On humanity’s
Debate,
Humming like crickets
Who haven’t decided
To feed themselves
To fishes.
We could have just
Made a simple choice
Listening to the only
Voice
That mattered –
That frequency
Humming between us
Wherein we seemed
To always understand
Without speaking.
You wanted us apart
And the world
Has literally gone
Mad
Since that day.

Let Go.

Do you remember
What the world was like
Before you were told
Toughen up,
Be strong,
Be bad,
Be savage;
Hold it in,
Don’t cry,
Don’t show weakness,
Don’t let even one person
Get over on you,
Get into your heart,
Or into your mind
Or into your lane.
Do you remember
Sweetness
And cuddles
And warmth
And freedom?
Do you remember
How it felt to
Just be:
Summer dewy grasses
Tickling bare feet
And birds singing
Tinkly-chortle-songs
Through verdant trees?
Do you remember
Trust
And faith,
Before they took from
You childhood’s grace?
Do you recall
The breath of the
Breeze
And the smell of
Wet metal
After precipitant
Release?
Can you travel
Backwards,
Eyes closed,
Breath held
For just another
Sweet moment
And be the you
From your birth;
Without the quills
Sewn under your
Skin by others
As phantom-protection
From artificially
Mass produced
Illusory dangers –
Thier screams rising
To crescendo
Please let us go!
Step out of
Your fear
Look around you
And see
The world as she is
Quite nurturing.
The battles are
Fought
Mostly inside
In spite of
The make-believe
Dramas told
Round cold tv light.

Wait.

This woman was no weakling
And never needed carrying
Nor tending to;
She was raised
Carrying the weight
Of her brothers and sister
Bearing the weight
Of her parents’
Backwards age.
She did not need
Affections or attention,
As she was quite used
To feeding her own
Tender heart
Kept safely confined
Within sinewy wrapped
Iron bones.
She never needed
Reassurances or emotional
Patting, petting, or prodding;
She was born with
Fire under foot
Moving her ever
In a direction
Far from the place
Of her birth.
She needed no weapons,
No armor was required;
For she preferred the
Cool calm
Of watching from shadows
Until measured and
Careful steps may take.
She listened to hear
And watched to see
And carefully calculated
Future moves.
She had no memorized rules
Of the games she played
Yet played them
With expertise.
She had no need
For disguise;
For the ugliness
She bore on the
Outside
Disguised well
The purity of her
Heart and soul.
She had no use for
Deception or lies
For most common people,
She found,
Were fooled enough
By their own
Doubt and denial
Of what was
Plain truth.
She would not wait –
And yet
She found herself
Quite confounded
Befuddled
Puzzled
And bemused
As those who seemed
To speak truths
In common with hers,
Who claimed
To love the purity
Which was housed inside
The bones surrounding
Her loyal heart,
And who swore
Oaths of fealty
To stand beside her
And to build together
A peasant empire
Custom made
For an imperfect two –
Danced their way
Free of their own
Carefully told deceit
By manufacturing ever
More betrayal
Like long ribbons
Furiously spinning
And flurryingly,
Flying,
In the air between them.
She closed her eyes
And sank into
Her marriage bed
And surrendered to the sleep
Of the dutiful bride.
Ophelia sleep-walking
Poppied breath and
Lidded eyes turned inward.
She wove her sinewy cage,
Her human-boned corset,
Tight around her
And handed the reigns
To her phantom-sister
As she dreamt of the
Gilded dirk which
Would finally free her.
She had never any need
For weapons
Nor armor
Nor disguise
Nor deception
Nor lies –
In her rebirth she
Would re-learn
How to be that
Fair and foolish
Maid:
But with open eyes
And cold stone heart
And watchful glare
And questioning mind
And patient stillness
And measured,
Shallow,
Breath.
She waits.
She’ll never allow
Herself to be rescued
For kidnappers and
Knights
Share the same
Silhouettes.
She’ll never allow
Herself full
Release
Nor submission
For that fairy tale
Was told and exposed
Lifetimes past.
She’ll never pretend
To be stupid
Or soft
Or innocent
And barter her intellect
For protection.
She can not bear
Another nightmarish
Sleep.
That social construct
Which makes her into property
Will not do.
And she’ll not
Play the games required
To win a noble heart
From a scared boy
Hiding behind
High walls and
Booby-trapped fields.
Come willingly
Or stay where you are.
She’ll not live
By so many rules
Which were written
By the hands of the
Afeared.
She waits.

Photo credit: Clayton, R. P. (2021). Photographs of Sand Grain Sizes. Virginia Beach, VA. https://news.tcc.edu/rodney-clayton/

Everything.

Your marks were
Invisible
But permanent.
I catch them
In glimpses
Dragged hastily
Across the mirror
Like my old
Bathrobe
Draped carelessly
Over my homework chair.
Sunlight moves
In just the right angle
And I wince
At the memory
Which strikes
That bottom-left
Corner of my mind
Releasing phantom
Memory pain.
There is an alternate
You and me
Moving through the
Kitchen of my consciousness
Still drinking coffee
And laughing
The way it was
Supposed to be –
The way we both wanted it.
If we’d chosen
Differently,
Would the world
Now be at peace,
Or would we be
In pieces?
Wishing things
To be different
Does not make
Them whole,
And makes us
Wholly insane and incapable
Of any true authentic
Exchange.
I would have changed
Everything
To have
Everything
The same.

Once in Awhile

Once in awhile
I wish that I could
Tell you things
Like how it
Really wasn’t about
You
And how you helped me
Even now
You help me
Without even being near me.
Once in awhile
I wish that I could
Show you
How much better it is
Now
How much better I am
Doing without you.
Once in awhile
I wish that I could
Explain to you
All that’s happening
How things have been
Blossoming
Like that tree I planted
The day I last saw you.
Once in awhile
I wish that I could
Express to you
The way my voice
Came in
The day that I told
You how I felt about
You
How I believed in us
Even the separate us
Because that was what
You wanted.
Once in awhile
I wish
And let go
Because I know
Some wishes
Live better
In our hearts
And die
When they meet
The icy stare
Of reality.
Once in awhile
I feel as if
I could still
Change it
If only I
Believed harder
In the unbelievable.
Once in awhile
I still wonder
If what I’m missing
Ever really was,
Really there.

Allowable.

You’re allowed to take up space.
You’re allowed to show your face.
You’re allowed to be heard.
You’re allowed to be seen.
You’re allowed to be angry
And to seethe with righteous rage.
You’re allowed to feel broken
While you wait for the pain
To subside into healing
And to rest and to cry and to
Give in to dark tides
And to be weak
And to feel small.
You’re allowed to be emotional
Or emotionless
Or stale – stuck on a feeling
You can’t seem to escape.
You’re allowed to be loud.
You’re allowed to scream
With wild beasts
The words composed by your heart
As it beats sonnets
To you in private –
That pulse your
Private inward universe –
The inverse of
What’s typically acceptably known –
Singing you awake
As you take a moment
To plan your next play.
You’re allowed to be
Exactly where you are
For as long as you choose
To be exactly You –
Whichever You –
You choose to show up as.
And you’re allowed to
Decide –
Where to go to from here.
You can rest
You can withdraw
You can be silent –
Saying everything
By saying nothing at all.
You’re allowed to run forward
Swift as March winds,
To gallop with wild mares
Or soar o’er verdant trees
Slooping and looping
Through currents high
Above blues and greens
In that space between
Space and cottony clouds.
You’re allowed to
Roll slow
Like innocent brooks
Sunning and tumbling
Slipping over sand and silt
Gentle treasure flowing
Steady and enjoying the view.
You’re allowed to sleep,
To surrender
To that dark unknown,
To slip into that space
Beyond wakeful control.
You’re allowed to not know,
To not plan,
To not strive,
To not measure,
To not compare,
To not push,
To not try.
You’re allowed grace.
You’re allowed love.
You’re allowed peace.
You’re allowed tender embraces
And sweet breathy sighs.
You’re allowed ease.
You’re allowed to just be.
Be.

Wishful Thinking.

If there’d been
A way
I’d have found it.
If there’d been
A choice
I’d have made it.
If there’d been
More time
I’d have held it.
If there’d been
More clarity
I’d have seen it.
If there’d been
Less confusion
I’d have been
More decisive.
If I’d seen sooner
I’d have chosen
Something different.
If there’d been
More –
More
I’d have held onto it.
It was so wrong
In all the
Right ways
But wishful
Thinking
Doesn’t create
A happier ending
From something
Started with someone
Who was never
Really
Meant to stay.

Antihero.

You were a mistake
I enjoyed making
Though if I could
Do it again,
I’d have done
It in a different
Order – let the
Growing come first
Let the healing
Precede the wound.
But perhaps it
Was only our trauma
Which between us
Grew into something
Intense and temporary.
It’s one of life’s
Dichotomies
A grand conspiracy
Which says the shortest
Stories burn the
Hottest and the doomedest
Anti-heroes are the most
Heroic.

Love and Light.

Love and light
I send unto you,
Not for you but
For me.
Though there is
No fault nor
Blame,
Though there is
No cause to feel
Shame –
I send love and
Light because
All disruption
Lives within
Me.
There’s no
Pain you’ve
Caused me nor
Hurt that I’ve felt
That you could ever
Undo.
If anyone is
Holding onto the
Poison,
It’s me.
I may have every
Reason
And every justified
Excuse,
But my soul
Longs to sing
A higher pitch.
I cannot return
To the heights that
I crave
With this anchor
I’m holding
Within.
I remember the
Wound and the
Wounding,
And anger returns with
A fire –
So I stoke the
Embers and
Utilize
Their ferocity to
Carry the light.
I smile and send
Love.
I send light because
That’s my right.
I’m connected
By my soul’s
DNA to the
Infinite source of
Love –
There’s never an
Empty well,
There’s never a
Dark night.
I cannot exhaust
What flows freely,
What’s given without
Condition or
Due.
So when I think
Of how another’s
Wronged me,
I send love
And light
And feel my spirit
Return to her
Place of
Peace within.

Return.

When it was
Black or white
There were
Two choices,
Obey or
Else it’s a
Sin.
All of the horrors
That came from
Other’s
Voices
“Thou shalt not”s
“You are born
Corrupt
Within!”
Birthed into a
World filled with
Evil,
Where every devilish
Delight
Looks a friend,
Fading to
Nothing
To somehow
Fit in.
Beaten
By other’s
Yardsticks,
Stopping so
The punishment
Might end.
Learn to navigate
Life
Lived lonely,
Where even friends
Are playing
Pretend.
Learn to study
And measure
The cracks to
Fall through
As defense.
Learn to
Sneak
And slither,
Learn to watch
Others fall,
Learn to wait
With patience,
Learn to
Listen to all.
Hear words
With pure meanings
And see actions
As they are,
Learn to hang back
And wait
Watching
As the storybook
Rules
Are broken by
New laws.
Lean against
The tree of
Their savior
And feel what it
Was to give
Everything
To thier unanswered
Call.
Then turn to
Your own gentle
Neighbor
And see the confusion,
Minds spinning
To solve –
Each and every
Dilemma
Through rules
Meant for
Ancients;
Hear the words
“I die
So you may live.”
Whose life
Are you living?
To whom are you
Giving?
What’s your
Choice now?
What do you
Desire?
If it’s wealth
That you seek
Go and get it.
If it’s peace,
Lay down your
Arms.
If it’s love
You want
Be open,
If it’s happiness
Then that’s
Also your job!
The world is
Helpful and
Changing
Ever to accommodate
Our desires.
The question
Was lost in
Translation
It was never
“What will you
Give?”
The question
That life begs
To pardon:
“What is it that
Your loving
Heart desires?”
Blacks and whites
Work for those
Who want nothing,
Who need little
From life but
To feel safe.
Blacks and whites
Give comfort
To scared
Children
Who cannot
Believe in
Themselves.
Play the game
Of my daddy
Can beat
Yours,
Or play the
Game of
This is my choice.
My father
Is a
Gentle man
Of peace,
And we all
Preferred it
That way.
“Billy said his
Dad can beat you
But I told him
You’re the best”
My father chuckled
And shook his
Head
“I don’t want
To beat anyone up.
I probably could
But that’s not
My job.”
Next time Billy
Spoke of my father,
I told him
“My dad doesn’t
Want to beat yours.”
Billy said my dad
Was too scared
Hoping to keep
Me engaged.
I walked away.
Those who
Only know
Violence
Can imagine life
No other way,
And those who
Live life gentle
Are free to choose
How to play.
Love started
Freely given
To others at war
With all haste
Thinking they would
Love me peaceful
If only shown
There’s no need
To be afraid.
It was never
About an exchange,
Love was never
A commodity.
But the love
I desired
Was empty
And so I
Patiently wait.
My mother was
My own secret
Weapon
For those who
Would not
Hear the whisper
Of peace.
She’s quieter now
As we both
Stand on this
Shore
And wait for
The return
Of brave and gentle
Noble King.

Christmas Eve.

The hour draws near
And there are tests
Yet to take
And the test maker
Is away from her
Post.
The substitute has
Charms,
More than a few,
And the time is
Growing late.
There are distractions
Beguiling
And tempting,
Diversions
Plentiful await,
But the rewards
Are intrinsic aplenty
And pure intention
Carry me
Through.
So I retreat
To familiar
Abode –
Second home
When childhood
Was drifting
Afar –
And seeking the
Calm and the silence
Just before the test
Is due.
It’s dim here
The light is fading,
So I’ll locate
The switch
On the wall,
And just as miraculous
As electricity,
The new perspective
Reveals
A Christmas Surprise!
Balloons come to life
By lamplight
And rise to meet
Heaven’s walls
And in the
Excitement and flurry
Distract from the
Fancily wrapped
Gifts scattered
Inside.
I rush to the nearest
And most festive
And lift the label
To read
And there scrawled
In blue ink:
From a dear
Friend’s widower
To one who once
Was my all.
Surveying the other
Packages,
I knew instant
And immediately
No labels bore
My name;
No gifts here
Were meant for me.
I wanted to play
With those others
But chose myself
Instead,
And gifts
Offered for another
Seemed almost to
Derail.
Now awake I
Ponder my vision,
What could the omen
Mean?
The instrument
Of my labor
Was never intended for
Me.
It was a joy
To be paid to
Play,
It was a thrill
To craft and hone,
But most importantly
It was a testament
To the power
Of what a tiny
Measure of belief
Can do.
For one who’d forgotten
To dream,
For one whose
Pragmatism
Was a smokescreen
For judgement and blame,
For one who
Believed himself
In prison,
I showed him
To freedom
By other means.
I never doubted what
I’d not learned to
Doubt,
It never occurred
To me I’d
Ever fail.
I chose the environment
For my studies –
I chose to prepare
To test well.
I chose the comfort
Of familiar,
I chose to doubt
Anything could be
For me.
I chose to be
About my own
Business,
I chose to see
To my own
Concerns,
And when I was
Confronted
By misgiven gifters,
I nearly
Allowed myself
To sink into
Self-pity;
I nearly chose to
Forsake it all.
The secret about
Gifts is in the
Sharing –
None benefit from
Binding them
In wrapping and
Bows.
Even gifts addressed
To another
Create magic
To be felt
And exquisitely
Expressed
By all.
No gifts can
Ever be misgiven,
No time is ever
A waste;
No choice can
Be the wrong one,
No love is
Ever in vain.
Back onto
Bigger and better,
I’ve grander
Business to see to.
My choice is
Value and substance,
Trifles
Never will do.

Christmas eve morning my son woke me up mid-dream just as I was reading the label on a blue gift which was wrapped with very gaudy foil-wrap. I spent a good part of the day deciphering what the dream meant to me.

Foreigner.

Writhing vines
And crunchy leaves
And twisted
Snarly snares
Bare witness to
Her treasonous
Trespass,
While
All the while
A surly
Landskeeper slumbers
In his shed,
His head
Drowned in absinthe
And anise dreamscapes
Divine.
Maiden fair
Untended,
Intended,
Betrothed to the
Snapdragons
And dandelions,
A blanket of
Pollen
Her dowry,
Into crickety
Rickety
Canoe
Climbs.
She gathers her
Skirts
Of baby’s breath
And fastens a veil
Of honeysuckle,
And pushes
Off into
The wintry winding
Bubbling
Babbling
Brook.
In Ophelia’s
Repose she
Exhales a lilac
Breeze.
Hawthorne’s
Child
No longer,
That ambrosia
Formulary
Forgot to unbind
And found itself
Apoptosetic;
The inner clock –
Dickery-dock –
Does chime.
Time’s hands
Turn back
Like windmills
Unfettering
Millstones
Long tied,
They slip-
Drop splishy-
Splash-splosh
Like unhitched
Anchors
Into the depths
Left behind.
Gentle current
Carry this maid
Steady forward
As the winding
River widens
And bends
Round tangerine
Clouds stretched through
Indigo skies.
Those yester-shores
Now are foreign
And old tongues
Twisted to
Dialects new,
And slumbering
Landskeepeers
Forgotten,
And multi-chromatic
Schematics lose
Their hue.