. for public domain
We throw our hearts away
in the full fury of anger,
of greed,
of grief,
in the full surrender
to the resplendant glory of the highest God,
in Ajuna's thousand suns,
in deepest sleep
in drunkeness,
with strong drugs,
all from which a heart may return.
We throw our hearts away
by not caring anymore
which is the worst,
for when the heart returns,
it finds no receptical
and departs leaving behind only a whisper of dust.
For the heart never dies.
Immortal it forever seeks
a will to live
a will that lives
through the worst that life imposes.
It clings to whoever or whatever
will endure its failings.
Silenus may have been right.
He lived, if for nothing else,
to throw at life his spite
of being thrown into it.
for life was not a blessing,
only a curse. which is something,
I suppose, to get us through the worst of it
where praises and hymns fail.
So curse life to the end,
if for nothing else,
as a witness who testifies
that the heart deserves better.
The parakeet stands at the microphone,
white and yellow feathers lit
as though morning itself
has perched beside him.
He leans forward slightly,
a small body holding
a large intention.
He has not made a sound.
Yet the room feels tuned~
a pause rising like a curtain,
waiting for whatever note
he is gathering in his chest.
Even the air seems to pause,
as if anticipation were
a kind of music,
a bright, trembling thread
drawn taut between
what is and what might be.
He lifts one foot,
then the other,
a tiny choreography
of readiness.
The microphone gleams,
patient, expectant,
as though it knows
the first note
will change the day.
And when he finally opens his beak,
the world draws closer~
not for the song itself,
but for the miracle
of the moment
just before it.
My heart laid awake,
To a pleasant dream:
Alive, to a real day fantasy;
My emotion river flowed,
Like a hatchery;
She’s a cutie bottle coke,
Oak majesty –
I don't remember how it all began.
Was I chasing happiness, or running from sorrow?
I lived in constant battles,
gripped by things I could not control.
And in the middle of it,
a candlelight held up the words: strength and truth.
For a while I cupped that flame in my hands
until the light thinned and went out.
Then darkness came, and I lost my way.
But I am still here,
kept alive by the last word I saw
before the light left my flesh and soul.
My spirit still lives inside those words:
strength and truth.
neither wizardry
nor gadgetry
do you employ
your integrity and candor
are what bring me joy
Birdwatchers are not clock-watchers
Fishermen are not either
Avid readers are not clock-watchers
Neither are violin makers
Or ship-builders
We now stand where right where we were
as the curtains opened ~ the conductor peeking through
Deja vu
BITTERSWEET (A PARADELLE FOR AUTUMN)
Gone is the bird song that once filled the sky
Gone is the bird song that once filled the sky
Now the wind moans low like lovers in need
Now the wind moans low like lovers in need
In need like a lover, that once filled the sky
Gone is the bird now like a low moan of wind
We have gleaned from the earth its bountiful fruit
We have gleaned from the earth its bountiful fruit
The fields are empty, the harvest is in
The fields are empty, the harvest is in
In the harvest gleaned of its bountiful fruit
From the earth we have empty fields
The leaves are beautiful in their dying
The leaves are beautiful in their dying
This is the swan song of earth
This is the swan song of earth
In their swan song dying
the leaves of earth are beautiful
The sky we have gleaned, empty as bird song
fields the leaves beautifully, in the harvest
dying, bountiful fruit gone, once
of earth in need like a lover’s swan song
filled by the low moans of wind
Past times I’ve failed to
Enjoy fully, because
Of the many screens
To spend my night in
Loud or quiet times, and sure
To sleep in so late
Oh TV screens you
Steal my sleep, my summer and
My life, not this time
When the day is long but the accomplishment was worth it
“It wasn’t me who voted them in.” He bleated, quite moronic.
“And all the lies we’re being told, I think I need a colonic.”
He looked around and gathered his thoughts, “I need to pen a missive,
To my local member, here in town, and it needs to be derisive.”
His needs lined up and in a row he smoothed the sheet for writing.
Nib to page, ink to flow, the Minister’s in for a smiting.
And as the words began to roll with sweet and honeyed menace,
The smile in his eyes began to show, he started, “My name’s Dennis.”
He listed off the promises made with a corresponding date
And coupled them with grievances to even out the slate.
He moaned and groaned and spouted steam. He really was quite grumpy.
And when he read it back again, he found his syntax lumpy.
Scrunch it up and start again, it surely must be proper.
With guilt to place and thoughts to sway, he breached a mental stopper.
And now, when Dennis wrote some more his thoughts and words were crystal.
Seven pages, neatly scrawled. What a delightful epistle.
You will be okay
Don't listen to the girls who call you ugly
You aren't ugly, you are perfect
Mami and papa want to know what's going on with you
They don't want you to hide it because you are scared to hurt them
Don't do what that teacher tells you
She isn't trying to keep you safe
Don't give up on your music studies
Soon they will be taking you to New York City to compete
Don't ever stop writing how you feel
It's your right to express yourself
It's okay to love somebody
Even if they aren't the best for you
But most importantly, my love,
Don't be scared
To ask for help
Sooner than when I did
The Memoir
Chapter by Chapter
Beginning to Present
Hour by Hour
Through the years
Ridges of near Death
Titled, “NO DOUBT”
Through the wonders of survival
The struggles of overcome
A Funeral was suggested
Aftermath of a Funeral denied
Revelation skies granting another chance
Inspiring skies
Heaven’s above always wise
Blossomed advice
The aroma of living
Ingredient of abundance
Teachings for the understanding
Standing to represent
Showing no past tense.
A letter for me
Came out of the blue,
Written by hand
Just like I do
Dear Me, it read
How are you today?,
Is your weather sunny
Or cloudy and gray?
I dropped you a line
Since we never talk,
Let's get together
Maybe go for a walk
Write me a few lines
Whenever you can,
And by the way...
I'm your biggest fan
P. S. I love you
More than you know,
Signed Sincerely,
Your Shadow...
I know I have been faltering
Depression overcame me
I have to repair your altar
And show you kindness,
Like you have done
Oh, to be strong like Thor,
Or fighting against unjust, like Tyr
Or to be wise like Odin
And sit in the walls of Valhalla
But if I die,
I will be fighting.
I will be fighting my own demons
84 THE BEGININNG THE WAITING THE PANTING THE FINDING THE UNTHINKABLE AGONIZING FRETTING A WHISPER BECOMES SO LONG TEARS SLAM TO THE WOOD FLOORS LIKE CRASHING GLASS THE BLACKMAIL THE EXTORTION HAS GONE OUT OF CONTROLL YOU CAN'T BREATHE YOU KNOW THAT THERE IS NO NEED FOR RANSO.E MONIES WHY NOT NOW THE GATHERING SOMETHING IS OFF SOMEONE IS NOT TRUTHFUL LETTING THE ENTIRE FAMILY DOWN WAS GAMBLING DRUGS FORGOTTEN DEBT OR JUST AN ACCIDENT GONE WRONG CREATING THE SHOW CASE KNOWING FULL WELL IT'S ALREADY OVER TRULY SAD WHEN YOU REALLY THINK ABOUT WHERE IS SAFETY SECURITY ALONE IN THE DESERT WE ARE WHO WE ARE HUMAN PERHAPS HUMAN ERROR CRUELTY THRIVES WHILE THE REST MOURNS I MYSELF WAS BEING BLACKMAILED WHEN I WROTE THE RANSOM NOTE A CRAZED JAMAICAN FEMALE MULES IDENTITY FRAUD THIEF WAS AFTER MY POETRY AFTER HER AFFAIR WITH MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND SHE BELIEVED SHE COULD EXTORT MY AMERICAN POETRY SENDING KILLERS TO SHOOT ME OVER MY AMERICAN POETRY RANSOM NOTES ASSAULT RIFLES HOME INVASIONS BURGULARY I FEEL SO BLESSED I SURVIVED MY KILLERS WHICH IS WHY I WROTE THE POEM THE RANSON NOTE YEARS AGO MY HEART IS STILL TENDER THERE THANKS POETRY SOUP FOR FAV MY POETRY
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