I have seven children
Wanting my attention
Whom do I love the most?
They would love to know
A difficult choice for me
I love myself, the most
Then, each part of me
In seven other souls
Each, my just reward
Gratifying my spirit
Raising my mind
I love each differently
Don't I have favorites?
My lot, to love diversely
Those who respect me
Ditto, those who mistreat
Typical cause is a whole lot of nothing,
wasted thoughts that create a spiral.
Out of my control yet I still continue,
I’ll be honest I overanalyze like sport.
Wasted thoughts that create a spiral,
mere moments ago I could breathe.
I’ll be honest I overanalyze like sport,
there’s no justification for panicking.
Mere moments ago I could breathe,
a vivid imagination can alter reality.
There’s no justification for panicking.
If you see the sunrise? You’ll be okay.
A vivid imagination can alter reality,
inhale slow and dial emotion back.
If you see the sunrise? You’ll be okay.
I repeat this serene mantra to myself.
Inhale slow and dial emotion back,
out of my control yet I still continue.
I repeat this serene mantra to myself:
typical cause is a whole lot of nothing.
We live in a land of lies;
It forms our thoughts
Then our minds
Then the words
And all that we design.
In twenty-five words or fewer, I've not a lot to say
But if I can use just one more word
Then twenty-six would okay
about taking the law into one’s own hand ~ said this vigilante
but you’ll never hear it from me ~ it’s not my modus operandi
By
David Kavanagh
altercation in parking lot
neither of the drivers is backing down
they are both being snotty
I start to worry
What if they have knives or guns?
I am too scared to get out of my car now
The honking and finger waving begins
I feel threatened, so I duck down
until I hear one screech away
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A flickering sodium eye,
half-blind with age,
watches the cracked asphalt.
Wind lifts a plastic bag~
ghost of some forgotten purchase~
dancing its slow, weightless waltz
toward the dumpster’s rusted mouth.
A car door slams.
Keys jangle like distant wind chimes.
Footsteps, hurried then gone.
The light buzzes~
a tired expression about emptiness
until dawn licks the horizon
and the moths surrender.
("Little Things Mean A Lot"
Kitty Kallen 1954)
If you think God tallies
in His columns of +'s and -'s
how many times man gets
to the moon or mars
you are really mistaken -- Little
things mean a lot. Like, personally
cutting the nextdoor old lady's grass
instead of just hiring someone
is more profound than 10 successful
rocket launches -- little things mean
a lot. The rescued kitten, the stray
dog fed -- the breaking of bread with
family and friends, this is how one's spirit
is healthily fed (little things mean a lot).
God pours all his wisdom as potential
into the hearts and minds of newborns
that they may do amazing things with
their lives. Little things mean a lot. Maybe
everything, far exceeding all our
imagined big things. Better to stay
grounded than to reach into the infinite
(wasting precious time) only to find what
was already within your near grasp from
the very onset. In our speed world
Big Things will always get their fair share
of attention...while far more slower dearer
little things can be lost forever. Little things
mean a lot.
You never said the actual truth to me,
But through it all, through them I see.
You never told your dying wish to me.
But I know how you wished I would be.
So I'll be reserved now even among family,
'Cause being misunderstood is my penalty.
And now I will become clean of things finally,
'Cause you're making me recall my divinity.
You never seemed to truly, fully love me,
But through the years, I loved you sincerely
In my own special way, so unknowingly
'Cause of then secret neurodivergent reality.
Everyone has favourites, I always knew it,
But I admired you and kept it a secret,
'Cause you never understood (not one bit)
That I want the life you lived (yes, all of it).
As I escape the red lights
I see the crescent moon fading behind the clouds,
just as I thought I was left in utter darkness,
I look to my side and see a beautiful dim light shining.
A fragile light with thin glass and tiny cracks that must be handled with caution and care,
a light that can break at any moment....
this light will shine bright again.
The leaves are limp and dry
no laughter in them anymore
watch them fall disappointed
to the woodland floor, brittle and torn
they take with them this year forlorn
crumpled beneath chestnut husks.
The year ahead, a vacant lot, awaits
veiled beneath the spider web earth,
coiled in promise and expectation
the softest hush the quietest sigh
new in wonder and in hope
new as the first look, new as a baby’s eye.
Every morning, he wakes up alone.
Having dreamt of a feeling, one he’s never really known
expecting a message, but there’s nothing on the phone
this garden was once exciting, now it’s all overgrown.
He sees them in the town, not an inch of a frown
fuelled by the beauty of a blessed promise
to always be there, when the world is not fair,
to hold each other’s hands regardless of fate’s plans.
His friends discuss their busy months ahead, while he lays there in his cesspit of dread
left with the wanderers, the ones who said
that they had boyfriends as they sat on his bed.
He sits with his thoughts, night into dawn
dreams of the arms and how he’d bathe in the charm
of just one that could hold, a heart once so cold.
Because no matter what he’s been told, to find refuge in self, to brave through the cold,
the self is a lot to hold.
When one becomes aged
there are multiple goodbyes
than hellos
In every case of loss,
learn to find peace in farewell
Feel the suction in your stomach
and the wonderful roar ...
step on the gas ... LIVE ... HELLO !
I guess all roads eventually
lead back the echo of the silence
A tear in my eye, refuses to fall
Cherish every turn and bump on the road
I was stunned at my cousin’s new mural on her living room wall
I want one! I yelped, can he come by in the fall?
He’s totally booked up, his popularity is big.
I should warn you, he eats a lot, he is kind of a pig.
I hear he is a sloppy painter, my husband chimed in.
He does not want strangers in our house, he has a chinny-chin-chin.
I booked him in October, assuring him we would tire up the dog.
He came on the fifth, and he truly ate like a hog.
But our new mural was lovely, more beautiful than my cousins.
How many have you painted? He squealed, dozens and dozens.
My husband huffed and puffed, irritated at how much he ate.
He was messy and dirty, but my new mural was great!
I sit and think about all the shoulds
I could get off my duff and do it all
but I like staring out into my lovely woods
enjoying myself this wonderful fall
things need to be cleaned and tidied up
a plethora of messes should be put away
but I enjoy sitting out here with my pup
maybe I will do them all another day
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