I breathe for you when you cannot
I sleep within the screaming thought
Of life and love and death and pain
For tears stream silent in the rain
A shadow lives where once was I
Despair hangs heavy in the sky
A chasm stretching without end
And silence is my only friend
In dreams I see your sunlit face
I promised you I’d keep the pace
But all that’s left when daylight breaks
Is empty mem’ries and faded fakes
When without you the sun hangs low
My heartbeat fades until it’s slow
A thudding drum inside my chest
In longing for eternal rest
There's a shepherd at my feet
And usually she's fast asleep.
Her eyes will open if I move
Because her love for me is deep.
My love for her I need to prove,
Fill her belly up with food,
Water in a bowl to drink,
Fields to run with skies of blue.
One day she'll go away, I think.
The pain will cause my heart to sink,
But I'll be glad I got to hear
Her little tags clack and clink.
To love and lose is the fear,
So I'll keep this shepherd near,
And prove my love for her is dear,
And prove my love for her is dear.
Headlines of irony in life…
Human satire—cuts like a knife.
The unsinkable ship, that sinks.
Surrounded by peeps, yet alone.
Priests who ‘prey’—yet sins they atone.
Pastor fights alcohol, but drinks.
Tax czar who cheats on his taxes.
Animal fans—hunt to relax.
Abortion kills—with nods and winks.
Lifeguard fearing water—lauds land.
‘Football’—a game played with the hands.
Oedipus—breaks riddle and Sphinx.
Headlines of irony in life...
“Women”—they may now take a wife.
The steakhouse owned by a vegan.
Pedophile daycare directors.
Homeless real estate inspectors.
WAR—‘politics’ by other means.
Fighting drugs, while promoting booze.
Mutual consent—the new ruse.
Prolonged charity squelches teens.
Green tinted speckles on bluefish.
Hitler’s Grandfather was Jewish!
Men—affectionately called ‘queens.’
In life, every nook and cranny,
Holds the next ‘headline irony.’
Good, bad, or sad—it’s Uncanny!
June 2, 2018
Written for Connor Lotts' poetry contest entitled, "Hutinashro - My First Contest Poetry Contest"
The bay was free for mine to gain
with weather mean of falling rain.
Then late inside a quaint cafe
our wine together we did share.
The streaks of gray in dame’s black hair
found shoulders low attractive way.
Her gray was no concern for me
as mine was same not gray-some free.
Our eyes met holding each to stay,
then knew this relationship brief
could lead to anguish great with grief.
From woman I should stay away.
This Dame owns a bakery
Her name is Marie De Curry,
Bread she now bakes, fresh ware to buy,
shop opens wide at break of day.
Best made bread sold on tray some say.
Earlier I’d bought loaf to try,
met Marie. liked mam’s fine jib frame.
With smiling teeth asked matron’s name.
Much so glad Marie wasn’t shy,
agreed to meet at Pietros place
Happiness shone on lovely face.
A premonition’s grief, but why?
It steals happiness leaving pain
This knowing I now dare not stay
Such heinous warnings I disdain.
5-14-18
I chose to fight and not to flee,
From troubled feelings haunting me.
One look, within my weary soul,
Exposed an ever-gaping hole.
With introspective ink I write,
To bring foreclosure to my plight.
On form and meter I rely,
While keeping free verse standing by.
In healing cadence, new to me.
(Stagnation came from living free.)
A new persona will be found,
Before I leave this form-go-round.
Through sonnets, nonets, villanelle,
My metered fears I hope to quell.
Shall I find comfort in these forms
Or run back to my free verse norms?
I might be seeking, after all,
The haven of a hallowed hall.
Long known to poets of great worth,
And find therein my own re-birth.