Like roar, he snores-
Ears sore, she bores
The raw material
of America
intrinsically damned
Its nature
and character
lost out of hand
Divisive
vindictive
self-interest gone wild
A narcissists
graveyard
— misused to beguile
(Dreamsleep: September, 2025)
They are not headlines,
not numbers
stacked in columns of loss.
They are children...
running with paper kites
stitched from the scraps of yesterday,
drawing suns with broken crayons
on walls that no longer stand.
Their laughter once rose
above the call to prayer,
a fragile hymn
against the roar of falling skies.
Now, quiet shows them before their time
how to carry grief in tiny palms,
how to tuck emptiness close
as though it had been cradled in their chest all along.
Yet—
in the rubble,
a doll without arms still wears a smile.
In the dust,
tiny feet trace games
on streets the world has forgotten.
Hope is stubborn.
It hides in their eyes
flickering like a candle
protected from the wind,
whispering to us
if we tune our hearts to
their quiet voice,
...that childhood
should be a garden,
not a graveyard of dreams.
Remember them.
Not as shadows of war
but as children who deserve
to wake beneath an unbroken sky.
I felt it break,
I saw the shards,
the frame hanging limply
in it's wake as it crashed down.
I never wanted anything but her,
so I kept the curtain open.
But now the glass shines, where it was
embedded deep inside my disembodied soul.
I try and try to pick up the pieces
but they cut at my skin.
I struggle through the pain
the glass still shines without her.
I can fix the shards
of the window
but there is nothing
left inside.
I could reach for the pieces
but all that would do is hide the tell-tale tracks
of a poisoned soul cut too deep,
to ever be whole.
The more I try
the more I scream.
That's the price
to ever love again.
Glass scattered
to the mist,
but that's what I get
for feeling this…
It looked as if it were ruins
However, it was never a beauty
But the stories it has to tell
Pioneers and gold miners
They may have all lived and died there
That is history, you may never know
© Poem – XI/IX/MMXXV
LRET
We all mark time
until, in time,
we mark loss.
In the meantime,
we make our
mark
and
mark-make.
I can't imagine
my life alone.
Without having someone
I can call my own.
Curled up in my bed
with no one there.
No one to hold me
and tell me they care.
Wake in the morning
tears on my cheeks.
Realize I'm not dreaming
and pull up the sheets.
Sit at my table
conversing with air.
Knowing and hating
that no one is there.
Heart slowly breaking
I crawl back into bed.
If this is my life now,
I'd rather be dead.
Again and again,
the cycle repeats.
No one to hold me,
and share our heartbeats.
A life slowly fading,
to a featureless blur.
A love to be given
if someone was there.
A Real Bodhisattva
A bodhisattva is the Buddhist equivalent
Of a warrior for Christ, who is well on their way
To being Christlike themselves.
Of course there are many degrees of bodhisattva
From those who only have the wish to be
To those who actually are.
Literally millions are examples of the former.
The Dalai Lama is a good example of the latter.
Real bodhisattvas are rare.
Their hallmark is infinite love and compassion
For all beings
Combined with deep insight
Into the true nature of reality.
This week the world lost a real bodhisattva
In the form of a young American patriot,
Who at just 31 years old
Had successfully reached a whole generation
Galvanizing many young people
To critically look within
And embrace traditional American values
Of family, honesty, integrity, openness,
Love, tolerance, inclusivity, and faith.
And for this he was martyred.
The world is a better place
For having known Charlie Kirk.
But it is certainly not a better place without him
Unless we take up his mantle
Take the torch, and shield and sword
And become real warriors of Christ
Bodhisattvas in the army of truth.
(9/12/25)
Treating
the symptoms
ignoring
the cause
The outcome
redundant
all change
stuck on pause
The people
the problem
the root
of the pain
No law
or restriction
can change
DNA
Our values
on fire
from those
who are lost
They hate
with an ignorance
perdition
defrosts
You can’t make
an omelet
with eggs
that won’t fry
And you can’t save
the farm
feral pigs
— in the sty
(Dreamsleep: September, 2025)
Feeling dead
Nowhere to turn
Dead beat ex
I'm stuck
No way of freeing myself
Finances so intertwined
Like a tumour
Attached to something vital
"We can't operate I'm afraid.
Too risky"
How did I let this happen?
So insidious
So slow
A parasite. Unseen, leaching, infecting, invading, taking, taking, taking.
Eventually, clarity. The alternative.
So often dismissed now better than the present.
But I must pay for my blindness.
I must pay the price for hope.
I cannot be set free
Like a prison sentence.
And, by the way,
Don't bother looking up
Don't pray or ask for divine help.
Help,
If there is any,
Is ground level.
Friends, family, gestures, kind words, hugs, a sympathetic emoji in a motivational text.
You've got this
You are strong
I believe in you.
No choice. Hold tight, wait for better days.
Nothing is permanent.
Lean into the love and the sun will shine again some day.
When the muse leaves, his quill runs dry;
then joyful songs, sweet poetry,
drain from his pen, though write he try,
as hollow strains lack symmetry.
How then to woo the Muse once more?
Her treason robs him of his art.
What offerings, what gifts, might restore
against the whims of a Muse's heart?
But love is mild, and then patient:
love waits, with no pose or pretense.
His heart still burns incandescent
for her. To restore her, no expense
will be spared. And though she feels distant,
his constant heart will break her whim.
She'll not remain, forever transient,
but turn her radiant face to him.
Charlie I am so happy you loved Mom
deeply
Your heart is rare and Priceless
I felt you were mom's Prince and
to Cherish always
I never seen her needs and care
be first
The light in both your eyes always
Bright
The smiles you both shard til
end of time
Mom said she had the greatest
husband
You opened and healed mom's
heart
I'm forever Blessed of you saving
our family
Thank you deeply for all you do
(“The Heart of It #2”, 2007, original oil)
When A Light Is Extinguished
(for Charlie)
Today a great light was extinguished
A great soul lost to his family, his friends
His nation, and humanity as a whole.
Shades of MLK Jr.’s assassination,
A shadow of hate swallowing up the light,
Spread out across the nation
Like the Sun eclipsed at noon.
In the dark we cry
Hearts broken open
By the senseless taking of a life brighter than most,
Reminding us what kindness and brightness
And generosity of spirit is truly like,
Bright and true
And in its essence deathless eternal.
Rest in peace young man,
Go in peace great soul.
(9/10/25)
Before dawn,
the world breathless~
heartbeats
become tethers
to the whims of fate
and old dreams
flying
out of reach.
Fickle
fate holding
our fortunes
hostage to power~
meager money eked out
from
minions of despots.
I feel this wave of rage
why put yourself inside that cage
turing you in sweet liquid
bottled perfume with you in it
they sell you for a lesser price
cross the counter to lesser wives
even when they smell like you
there better lies will shine through
and I’m left in this room
with an empty bottle of perfume
still your stuck in my nose
in my mind and in my clothes
Specific Types of Loss Poems
Read wonderful loss poetry on the following sub-topics:
baby, brother, brother in law, cat, child, dog, father, friend, horse, mother, pet, stepfather
and more.
Definition | What is Loss in Poetry?
Poems Related to Loss
debt, disaster, accident, fall, damage, failure, cost, defeat, trouble, injury, catastrophe, casualty, destruction, undoing, harm, misadventure, dispossession, mishap, deficiency, want, need, death, shrinkage, ruin, privation