I know Nothing, and I know it well;
and that ensures that my head doesn't swell.
Nothing is nothing to gripe about,
suppressing any desire to shout.
Nothing is the stuff of sleepless nights;
it's like a deer caught in the headlights.
Nothing has no heft or feel to it:
the legacy of a hypocrite.
Nothing, sometimes, is all you have left;
loss of innocence is a slow theft.
Nothing isn't easily washed away,
even by the tears wept every day.
Nothing is frightening to confront,
like an empty gesture or affront.
Nothing can obscure your path to love;
it forces your heart to rise above.
My
fourteen heft-
y hound
friends were
far from be-
ing either done
with OR (for
that matter) in-
different to the
hidden fund (one hun-
dred fifty-nine)
units) of
smell-defined innu-
endo sur-
rounding them.
Birthdays.
What a dubious way to celebrate the imminent proximity of an epilogue.
A concept I have found myself familiar with, as I wait for its darkness to breathe my flesh into an eternity of condemn.
It’s so monotonously profound, rousing my revulsion into a cavern of numbing ecstasy.
The hallucination of confetti blinds me in a disdain of joyous vibrancy I beseech for a defrauding.
A joyous vibrancy I elude in a hope of inevitable invasion.
A joyous vibrancy I hunt until the trail of its scorn boils with the distraught of my blood.
The mascara pours down my face; a river of infamy, coercing the heft of my obscenity.
The lipstick smears down my chin; a sadistic endeavour to ravage the dereliction of my leeches.
The highlighter gleams; a grotesque jubilation of a fibbing mockery.
And the fundamental rigour of my perished rot derides in a soul prompting conjecture;
I hope this is my last birthday.
I ain't mad
I ain't even sad
Actually, I'm glad
Yesterday they left
Thoughts of them are few; my mind is no longer heft
Today I smile because my loving heart is not bereft
Now, free from the debilitating fray
HAPPINESS I no longer delay
I'm glad about today....
I'm really glad about today
Found a rock
Cool as hell
Pulls me under
A magic spell
Heft in hand
Delight sky-rockets
Brush it clean
Fill my pockets
Pocket rattle
Waistband weighted
Rock-nerd-mode
Activated
Quirky, dull
Or sparkling jewel
Can’t deny it
Rocks are cool
Three score and ten
Round the next bend
Best pick up a pen
Against lies to fend
Truth told, raw
Good, bad, all
What you saw
Ere your call
The body slow
Mind, spirit too
Vice, virtue show
Sins, denied to rue
Karmic debt unpaid
So little time, left
To fast track the said
The burden to heft
Cultivate body, mind
Transform the spirit
To cosmic laws aligned
Ill health at last, quit
—Praesens, Expenditus, Absolutus—
Chronos coils like molten aurum through our grasp,
its heft cognizable only in the pulse of Time.
No antecedent lends credence, no futurity preserves;
the contemporaneous alone adjudicates its coin against our marrow.
Respiration becomes legal tender; heartbeat, the irrevocable contract.
Each gaze, each gesticulation, a transient negotiation,
flaring and collapsing like ephemeral markets of umbra
we cannot master, only apprehend.
We discourse in fragments—chronicles of hours and quanta—
as if the ledger of existence might be reconciled.
Yet the cosmos remains uncounted, its obligations
inscribed in luminance and silence, trembling in its own shadow;
And in that tremor, we are born, spent, and unmade,
clutching the coin of now in trembling palms,
investing neither in timorous regret nor avarice,
for the treasury of eternity resides exclusively in immediacy.
Once the convulsion subsides, stasis returns.
We stand, unborrowed and unbought,
observing the inexorable flux of aeons,
and apprehend: naught endures save that which is expended righteously.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
beams groan, dusty tales
ghosts hum through attic walls
trunks hold gowns, moth-bled veils
floorboards moan 'neath time's heft~
trunks yawn in time-long sleep
time’s ghosts drift, soft and pale
As absorbed in the ember
A scape
Bill in towers crashing
Ledges shelter
Hatred in angst and ignorance
The feign of time
A contemplation to end
Resume history
Well and fear my quill?
Was suffering the necessity?
Time was not
Only in the morrows mourns
Heft of pen
Empty gadgets
Science finished
The subject closed
Fide et amore
Sparrows enjoy a certain reputation
For intimacy and hope
Crosby Stills and Nash sang of them
In Suite: Judy Blue Eyes
As compatriots to the morning
Air
With guitar strums and high notes
Truth be told
Sparrows are bulkier than the normal song bird
And not particularly
Pretty
Brown and gray as a mound of dirt
Chirpy jerky punk band
And they have no problem with crowding out
From a bush or bird feeder
Finches and chick-a-dees
They’re kind of a bully
Push around those that are smaller
Who carry pouches of yellow and pink
And tiny symphonies
They clog up my eavestroughs with nests
Right now
I watch one sparrow land on top of another
And the tree branch bends down
Under their heft
Bounces up and down
To their sex
Again
The limb
Seemingly
Waving them off
Or so it tries
As if it’s saying
Get off me you animals.
A boy walks slow through halls of glass,
His shadow flickers, thin as grass.
Each step a secret, each breath a theft,
Of hunger’s war and weightless heft.
They whisper when they think he’s gone,
“Is he okay? He looks withdrawn.”
But laughter fades when backs are turned,
And eyes like his are never learned.
His plate remains a battlefield—
Each bite a blade, each meal unsealed.
He counts the crumbs like ticking clocks,
His ribs a cage, his soul in locks.
Inside, a storm no one can see,
A gut that groans in mutiny.
IBS, a cruel refrain,
Twisting joy into quiet pain.
His friends? Just echoes in disguise,
With hollow jokes and plastic eyes.
They smile sharp, then look away—
He’s present, but he’s not okay.
They call him “buddy,” slap his back,
Then laugh the moment that he cracks.
Lonely, yet he's never alone,
A ghost among his flesh and bone.
He’s drained—of hope, of strength, of care,
A paper boy in poisoned air.
Yet no one sees what’s underneath,
The brittle scream behind his teeth.
And so he walks, a whispered name,
Fading into his hollow frame.
Each day a mask, each night a sea,
Of pain no soul will ever see.
Trickle, river fickle.
Step lively by the side.
Fate, thy strictures tickle!
Hell, Heaven, woe betide!
Wind atop the high cliff wall?
Funeral, thy pall.
Cherry blossoms, heft to haul.
End Times, give a call...
Thunderbolt, hover above.
Levee, fail to hold.
Fit, misfortune! O my glove!
Coals within, glow gold...
Will of human beings?
It must not have the clout.
Everybody, pack thy things!
Doubt, begin thy bout!
Ruin, cover all our world.
Dim hope, flee from here.
Dark fire, lava, how you hurled!
Grind them, O my gear...
Ravine out back, what to pack?
Stuff it in a crack!
Failure, will you? Fade to black?
Turn about and tack!
Sullen honeysuckle?
How better to make wine?
Bridge, beneath their feet buckle!
Doom, undying dine...
It was 6 years ago,
But it feels like yesterday,
That I said goodbye to you,
While trying to keep my pain at bay.
We grew up in this town,
We got 7 great years,
Little did we know,
It would all end with tears.
You visited last year,
And we still talk day to day,
But it’s not the same,
Because you’re 1,000 miles away.
Things will never be the same,
My heart can’t handle that heft,
Yet here I am, just as broken,
As I was the day you left.
I lost myself,
The day I lost you,
And I lost half of our heart,
A joint heart split back into two.
For me
religion must have a solemnity,
a heft like towering cliffs, places
of silence and the majesty of sunsets.
Religion must be big enough to hold
vast forests, extend beyond
the furthest galaxy and yet be small
enough to fit inside a seed.
For me
religion must have a veil of mystery
like clouds that conceal a mountain's
height, like music that moves the soul
without the listener knowing why
and the sublime in poetry.
Religion must be kind and caring
and contain something greater
than the self.
For me,
religion must not divide
or promise life through exclusivity,
but be a way of making whole
and to give thanks for creation
to whatever or whoever
you believe that to be.
I knew that when I fell for you you didn’t feel the same but if I had the chance there’s not a thing that I would change
And If the stars were falling and you said you wanted one, I’d go and catch and bring you the sun
Id walk a million miles to try to gain your love and if that’s not enough I wouldn’t walk them, I’d run.
Another day goes by without your hand in mine but that’s alright, I’ll wait my turn, I’ll get in the back of the line.
So when the day comes when I reach out my hand and hold yours in mine, I’ll tell you all these words, I’ll repeat every line. Until I know you know I want you to be mine.
I have a couple words, 5 of them minus 2, that I desperately want to say to you. Now I know they carry a lot of heft but they come from the beating heart within my chest.
You may not want to hear them so I’ll wait until you do. Until you’re finally ready to say “I love you too”
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