“Embrace and Release”
In the quiet of night, I pondered—
the art of severing ties, like pruning a tree.
The weakest links, once tightly bound,
now set free, like a maiden’s unclasped bra.
2024 dawns, a canvas for transformation.
Covid’s grip loosens, and clarity emerges.
Meltdowns yield to focus, tears to savings.
My sex life, like New York’s winter, chills.
Raw verses spill forth, unfiltered and true.
Yet my smile softens toward strangers,
and I find myself liking humanity anew.
Trust remains distant, a horizon to reach.
Biblical tales echo vulnerability—
the weaker devoured by the strong.
Have I surrendered my worth for fleeting moments?
No tears stain my words; they remain silent.
As I gaze upward, pondering thoughts,
my brain’s triad—forebrain, midbrain, hindbrain—
collaborates, yet sometimes drifts apart.
Do I know myself anymore? Today, I listen.
Goodbye, old lover; hello, new friends.
Life’s tides carry me forward,
and I embrace the journey, raw and unafraid.
May vulnerability be my strength, not my undoing.
A s usual
B efore bedtime
C ome sit with me he did say
D onald Dennis my grandpa
E tering the inner room curtain
F alling by his bedside we
G athering almost in a circle
H earing his old cracked voice
I nner our heart ears
J ust before he fades up
K nowledge of life and mysteries
L oves to our memories embrace
M ind our tender age
N o man knowns it all , he did say
O pen your heart's ears let them pump wisdom to the veins
P ut attension inner your forebrain pulse before you get puzzled
Q ueer the times and tides
R eminiscence life not bed of roses
S ay ye when you mean ye and no when its no
T hrust not away the truth but trust in the Lord
U se your instincts unbelief goes the broad path
V ine fruitful when vintage is come
W ait patiently your time impatience is a step
forward three step backwards
X ylose by his bedside ,sip little then winkled
his eyes yearn his this words
Y ou recall someday someway somewhat
somewhere when time upon you.
Symbols and sigils flood the forebrain as I walk through the metal and wired glass doors. With an whoosh of air, they close as if mocking the breath I had held in too long. Fear beaded in the sweat on my upper lip. What had once been the blissful gold-tinged vessel of apple blossom days had now turned into the hollow boned reality of a Dali summer, a loveless leaden pit of dread. Constant incessant sobbing, gagging, rocking did little to quell the practice’s belief that I was deranged.
parents watch
through the window:
paper cup pills
He was bald, and full of hmmm’s, nodding as I babbled. A seventies summer started with first love in a hayfield, ended in a heroin fright. The local quack had assured me it was all a communist plot to overtake the youth of America. Really, one should never tell their parents the truth. They certainly hadn’t checked in with their brains when their seed and egg mixed a proclivity for alcoholism with a dollop of bipolar mania. “Ahhh, hmmmm,” The Doctor said. “Two weeks rest should do you fine.”
First Published in Tincture Journal, Australia April 2014
The walkers ... aimless and ambling,
stagger, strut and stumble toward
their solitary scenarios.
An occasional erect form jogs
the stomping sound of feet submerged
in the staccato hum > the rapid fire buzz
the blaring horns of traffic.
The colors of life appear random ...
as flashing retinal after images
on closed lids, constantly
refreshed by rubbing.
A geometry of pretense
is etched into the forebrain of the fragile,
for all walk ... the sane, the insane
the righteous, and the negligent
the skeletal structure
correlating and communicating
the random pattern of life
to the Universal eye
from this earthen plane.