Could I not follow?
And if I could not,
Would that be shallow?
One phrase, a simple breeze
‘Twas all I wanted,
Between the trees.
Yet every open hand
Is measured for a blade;
Every silence made to stand—
Proof of something I made.
I grow tired of explaining
What love is not to me,
As though affection, unrestraining,
Must conceal duplicity.
Every word, a trial,
Each kindness, accused.
Every act, a file.
And somehow, everything, excused.
All the evening asked of me
Was only stillness, only air.
I had it once, between the trees.
I cannot find, no more.
Could I not follow?
And if I could not,
Could I swallow?
I did hear what you said
Your voice was loud and clear
There was no interruption
Before the sound could reach my ear
But something funny happened
To the words, on the way
Between my ear and my brain
The content went astray
I can’t work out what it was you said!
Though the sound still echoes ‘round
Bouncing in my brain
With no meaning to be found
I know you didn’t talk with typos
Pronunciation was spot-on
But I didn’t catch the meaning
Or I did - and now it’s gone
To guess at it from context
And get it wrong would be a pain
I don’t know why I didn’t catch it
And I hate to ask again
I swear I am not going deaf
The problem’s in my head
My ears are still okay, I think
But what was that you said?
Some shrink at trespass,
Where never stepped foot.
Some grasp at weeds,
Where there is no root.
Some fears have no substance,
But the shade of us.
Some see gain
In loss.
For them, I lament;
I weep when I see
Where, with their deeds,
Create a life of tragedy—
All their own
And all alone.
They cherish
What they reap
In a false reality.
Much like these
Paths we tread,
Built on nothing
And dreams long dead.
Alas, it was all
In your head;
And the rainfall
Was not dread—
Only rain.
And what was said
Brought no pain
Or anger or lethe.
Step back into the light
And deeply breathe in
That healing breath.
And linger not so;
For fleets time,
Where soonly comes death.
Smile upon the years left—
Spend them not in agony
Of imagined wrongs
Or errant slight.
The moon cast her shadow
Over all of night
While you sort wrong
From right.
And assure time
Better spent
Is wasted on lament
And woeful rhyme.
Aunt Mary’s sprawling wrap-around porch
hid curious six-year-old me.
Peeking over the baluster rail,
I spied Cross Creek Rosie passing by,
tall and stately, walking purposefully
down Jefferson Avenue.
Her constant companions,
rumors and cruel taunts,
pursued alongside.
In an era lacking preferred pronouns,
she was exotic intrigue,
inquisitive mystery,
a Pandora’s box of queries,
the circus orchestra
rife with colorful discordant notes.
Flamboyant scarlet turban,
deeply rouged cheeks, fiery red lipstick,
black mascara adorning manly features,
gypsy-like blouse spattered in rainbow hues,
black toreador slacks.
My tiny heart ached for her.
Small hand lifted in greeting,
I whispered, “Someday I want to be like you.”
Would I ever walk confidently in my own skin?
I've been gypped.
You're a baker, ill-equipped.
You have no quality control -
this donut has a hole.
I returned to the better part of town -
to a bakery of some renown.
I spoke firmly - didn't hide my frown.
"This pineapple cake is upside down".
you misunderstood my words
assumed the worst
where that anger came from
i’ll never know
you closed the door
without a glance
you walked away
and that was that
you weren’t the friend
i thought you were
but from my heart
i wish you well
the sting will hurt
but not forever,
may life be good to you ~
AP: 1st place 2025
Initially seems like the distance of tip of the needle ,
gradually drawing miles in the middle .
Leading to unnecessary battle ,
solving it can only settle .
The two become quiet ,
one the eyes clues there's a fight.
Breaking close relations ,
all over the nations .
~ Avantika
Initially seems like the distance of tip of the needle ,
gradually drawing miles in the middle .
Leading to unnecessary battle ,
solving it can only settle .
The two become quiet ,
one the eyes clues there's a fight.
Breaking close relations ,
all over the nations .
~ Avantika
He is a crackshot I told his great-grandpa
Grandpa misheard; he thought I called him a crackpot
It took awhile for us to sort it out
In the meantime, grandpa was angry, showing a pout.
Not sure he ever fully understood
The beginning of dementia is never good.
A mantis so dapper and green,
Ordered takeout in gourmet scene.
He paid with a leaf,
Causing waiter great grief,
"Sir, we only take cash, you've been mean!"
©bfa032225
Dust laden window grilles,
Lime scales on the shower door.
Detritus below the fragmented doors,
Commiserating the saudade and furor.
Blackened cushions besmirched with dirt,
dusty sheath peeping thru sleek curtain pleats.
Scalloped valance swaying and bewailing in silent grief.
Scattered around are the pages of the brief.
Culaccino marks on the table,
Shriveled up and dried plants silently standing in a row,
A zestful soiree, which took away all the glow long ago!
A misunderstanding did my thinking seal-
I had no human fears
Vah seemed like a misunderstander
The touch and think of my
Past makes me anger-
Vah may be mercy or kind
Rolled the emotions in diurnal core
With like a needle it fierce me
Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry.............
I almost understand, but
but I do not comprehend
nor accept...
That your frozen blood,
fused in silent time,
with pupils painted
with ink of nonsense,
touched with the illusory dust
of an evident negativity,
can rave and enjoy
while watching the noiseless suicide
of my soul that survives
in the midst of a supernatural love
for your fabled figure...
Does nothing bring you
light memories lived,
atavistic happiness, dormant...!
Why do you need so much,
to bite my light that
shines night and day for you,
that bursts for your love,
since the beginning...!
24 June 2024 9:54 Am
What good is a written word if no one reads it?
What good is a spoken word if no one hears it?
What good is either if no one understands it?
How tight and dark the prison of confusion
Enlightenment rejected for lack of inclusion
Societal chaos a city of souls lost
Love abandoned sanity tost
My way my vision my wants, hearts incisions
Who cares who bleeds for my needs and decisions
Humanity my vanity self centeredness uncanny
When my heart is to busy to care for the many
My heart of stone disguised in flesh tone
Pretending to care pretending to atone
This is how I could be if this were the way that I see
But my Father replaced the faux for reality
So soft and fleshy this heart of mine
I lend it out time after time
It comes back battered and bruised
Torn and injured from being abused
But that is what it is for to be given not just stored
Given to those who need love most even if they smash it on the floor
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