Guarding
our bitters
Each wrong
we have suffered
Enshrined
in our memory
Alive
in our souls
Forgiveness
a myth
The weak
will hold onto
Revenge
all the sweeter
Served hot
— and not cold
(Dreamsleep: June, 2026) O/L 5-24-2026
Like Masks
Forget
being clever
abandon
the word
Being cute
more offensive
its pander
absurd
They serve
as a mask
that we cower
behind
To proffer
deception
we harbor
— inside
(Dreamsleep: June, 2026)
Tech Rex big hitters
Respect what glitters
Our new babysitters
Not Grandma knitters
X cortex hex twitters
Hate mission transmitters
Gaza or Persian fritters
Emission spate emitters
Vile bile style spitters
Culture war splitters
Astringent mocktail bitters
Seedier leader flitters
Don't get the jitters
Don't be permitters
The media embitters
Don't become quitters
Need pinch hitters
This lot are critters
What's in cats' litters
All just bullshi**ers
Words dissolve in a simmering pot~
not soup, but something more.
Each ladle releases a new verse,
a flavor never before tasted.
Some mix their sorrow as deeply as a roux,
while others scatter hope like coarse black pepper.
A smidgen of resentment bitters the broth
while laughter improves the brew.
I bring my scraps, my burnt-edged rhymes,
my half-chewed thoughts still warm.
The pot absolves the awkward lines,
transforming them into poesies.
And when the steam has filled the room,
when my tongue is tinctured,
I leave not fed—but changed, undone~
with someone else’s hunger inside.
Shecht and eat the Paschal lamb
Destroy the ‘no-gods’ of Canaan and Ham
Break the middle matzo, hide half away
Harbinger of a now-hidden day
Chew and swallow the bitters as a reminder
To treat the stranger amongst you kinder
_________________________________________
Notes:
'Shecht- means 'kosher-kill' an animal
'Paschal lamb' - one of the 'no-gods' of Egypt
'Canaan and Ham' - idolaters
Ham was Noah's son, ancestor of Egyptian Kings
Canaan was Ham's son
Brackish nerves languish and latch
like seashells clinging to the shore—
something in the water pulls them in…
some fervor from something
Familiar and Ancient.
I’ve seen your eyes before…
on too many arresting horizons…
how light hits your features,
colliding waves of my senses,
twisting my inner bitters—
wringing them out to the tactless tide.
Bitters melt in the salts…
nerves narrow and focus.
My lit up eyes drag against tidal forces and
you’re lost—drifting love…drifts…love drifts…
Love Drift.
Those dream-drooping eyes
are too knowing—too familiar—
which makes me whimper to realize…
you’re too bright for me to handle.
smile
exhale bitters and vile
bile
A frothy crown, pale as the whites
Of eyes widened with fascination,
Perched on a robust body, deep as molasses.
Brooding; concealing a warm rapport.
But still so condescending, its stout posture
Condenses air to beads of sweat.
Invited, parched lips kiss the cold glass
Rewarded with familiar comfort -
A bitter burst, sharp and clean,
Fading into toffee warmth,
Hints of roasted coffee and chocolate bloom,
All linger, like a whispered secret.
The golden harp strums cheerful notes
In harmony with taps, clinks, and murmured oaths
Cheers dance over lacquered walls, awash with glee
As gulps of crisp bitters and molten sweets
Cascade, watering dry cracks in weary bones.
A tonic for the soul, it lifts the load -
Worries dissolve, fading like bubbles on the lip.
It washes away the settling dust,
Soothes the mind into peaceful currents,
Sinking burdens to its murky depths
As spirits rise to play in the air of its frothy crown.
Best bitters; black bar beer,
Brewed brown but ~
bottled blue.
Drunk dirty; delays drag,
During dark ~
dreadful days.
Though taken through tough times,
Thoughts turn to ~
tingling taste.
Confusing consciousness,
Clear conscience ~
clouded case.
Still sip slow, sounds so sane,
Same songs sung ~
safety strong.
Brains behave beautifully
Breeding bright ~
better behaviors.
Ark of laughter far from sea amid earth
Hair be it long or short power still stays
Mite of two, widows, others measure worth
Bitters Holiness Hunger forty days
We are born to this life as possible,
and grow by the choices that we create,
right or wrong, obstacle or optimal,
I'm an ark, hair, mite, or bitters, --I wait.
The Voice, The Voice, The Voice of Heaven, state,
Heed Me, Heed Me, a sacrifice be made,
Abraham your son, a high place you'll take,
Issac the choice, you heed my voice, spare blade,
Amongst the thicket nigh a ram has strayed,
I am, that I am, what Heaven has made.
Burnt tangerines create sweet bitters;
Current temperature? I’m coasting;
Sunburnt skin eventually heals,
weren’t you flabbergasted I’m thriving!
Resilience starts within your spirit,
perseverance is when you stand up!
Enhance that glow with each sunrise,
brilliance is a smile sipping that cup.
Alone
When my aloneness stalk me,
I am a hermit in a world with many souls and faces.
No one to talk, share my dreams and desires,
No one to inspire.
I wish, I am still a child to play in the sand,
And make new friends.
O dread is the day,
I feel so astray.
No one to share how I feel inside,
All my feelings I must hide.
I wish, sometimes I was still a child,
I can play on my own,
I won’t feel so alone.
Why is there no one for me?
To hug, love and watch the last sunrays of the day
That will make me feel ok.
This feeling bitters my soul,
I want to feel whole.
I wish, that there is someone out there,
Whom my aloneness I can share.
Roebain
Going back home is a sad thing
Everyone is aging ungracefully
the family dog is long dead
they saved her purple collar
the one with the tiny bell
that's still ringing in everyone's head.
Weeds and devil's claw creeping
silently around the periphery
of a worn-out property
old bitters bursting out
so easily-so violently.
It used to be refreshing to visit
now I can't wait to leave.
Going back home
used to be a spray of
minty green.
Now it's a withered-up
gray thing waiting for the end.
My ministry
Is to tell the truth
No matter how it bitters
To each out with good
Intension
Touching the weak
When am strong
Rearranging the world
From the dark of the dark
Despite am part of worlds
Makes me more confident
My ministry
Is to tell the story
That touches the heart
And heal a needy soul
To cure the incurable
Doom on our land
To heal and protect
A dying world
Given freely to mankind
My ministry
Is not to preach
Of a God
With out love
My ways are never
In any separation from
Peace and unity
Even when I bleed
I still live in my light
Cos I bear no curse
Of brutality to another man in
My ministry
s not a movie is reality
Life looks so horror
This days our realities
Bitters
It outcome bleed tears
It not on our favour
The people keep feeling
The heat of deformity
It no longer a joke
What you see nowadays
Is our shameful reality
Is not a movie
Is not a movie is reality
Sitting at home
In front of the screen
You can watch the evils
Befalling the world
Right now in our era
We progress from war
To war
Troubles to troubles
Crys to Cry's
We never grow better
And now we fear to watch
The screen
Cos what you see in the
Media is no joke
That is our obvious reality
Is not a movie is reality
Is not a movie
Check out the real situation
In the world
Then you see why I must
Write my poems
From the soul
The world need no
Fantasies
We are old enough to
Live in harmony
We are not meant to
Be a horror full generation
Is sad the events befalling
In the world
We are to be blamed
.For Public Domain
Winter Bitters
(after reading Robert Browning's
Home Thoughts, From Abroad)
The tiny leaves of Spring, a memory
not long passed before this Summer arrived.
We might have thought they'd never go away,
but the thought did not come, and they died
in Autumn, before the coming Winter day.
We missed their spreading flat and full,
missed shading under their canopy.
We might have said thanks for their beauty and green,
but no said came, and every leaf would flee
in Autumn, before our present Winter scene.
Spring, leaves, and thanks, lost opportunities
for beauty and its praise in Summer songs
we might have sung before they went away,
but no songs came, and leaves left in throngs
in Autumn. Bewail now our bitter Winter day.
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