How surprising to find flesh
Where my heart should be stone
Indeed, it pounds for two loves
Only she is left here to hear it
Yet I’ve swallowed my heart
Even that day when she left
She was so close
And I could say nothing
I obsessively kept every rule
But now what good is caution
If it leaves so much unsaid?
I’ll remember all I didn’t say
If only he were so near
As some measure of miles
But I must measure that distance in years
Maybe 60 or so if I can endure it…
But 800 miles can be covered by post
So I must tell her!
What cowardice has stayed me?
Even knowing how silences linger
I have mended my heart once before
And I promised not to do this again
She lives. I love
I know I must tell her.
What we collectively feel
Become humanity’s deeds;
Feelings are our reactions,
Predilections, preoccupation with --
Obsessively entertained seem~ paramount needs!
The nurturing of good bodies
Or, piercing wars
Horrific blood-letting bleeds --
Deeds are the washout
Stains and cultivation's
What came after the seeds
Our generosities and greeds.
The soul of man demands
Seldom satisfied
While the spirit elevated pleads:
Enough! Mercy! Mercy!
(“July 7 Hot and Blue”, 2024, original encaustic)
I like mowing the arboretum
Because it’s relaxing
And the reason for that
Is because it’s mindless.
There are other mindless activities
Such as walking on the beach,
Fishing under an open sky,
Or playing with pets and small children.
But mowing the arboretum for me
Is especially mind-less
Because it’s a randomly planted plot of land
Which means it can only be randomly mowed.
Only an acre, still it takes a couple of hours to mow,
And often I begin with dread, because
I have forgotten how good it feels
To let my mind wander into mindlessness.
In our hearts we know mindlessness is good for us,
And that’s because being obsessively mindful
Is the same as being a prisoner, or better yet a slave,
Within and to our own mind.
Mindfulness is well and good for a variety of tasks,
I certainly want my surgeon being mindful,
But it’s simply a means to an end, and that end,
The ultimate space of a free mind, is mind less.
(4/17/26)
He’s a great painter,
hands skilled in light and shadow,
canvas after canvas bending to his will.
Landscapes, faces, still lifes
he’s captured them all,
each stroke praised, each color admired.
But this painting,
this one refuses to bend.
He needs the crimson pomegranate,
a shade that dances between ripeness and fire,
but every mixture of oil and pigment
falls flat, dull, lifeless.
He experiments, obsessively,
hours into nights,
days folding into each other.
Nothing achieves the hue he dreams.
Nothing breathes.
Then, in a sudden, terrible clarity,
he understands:
his perfect crimson pomegranate
requires human blood.
A chill spreads through him.
The formula whispers its demand.
Will he let obsession claim him?
Will he paint the color at the cost of life?
The canvas waits, unjudging,
but the choice…
the choice is his alone.
green tea with ginseng
tasty but not crazy sweet
my favorite new drink
lovely thirst quencher
I drink six of them a day
obsessively hooked
I guard my words obsessively
what is said can never be unsaid
~ heard not ever be unheard
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2025
What a miserable person he must be...
obsessively dreaming up ways..
to make life miserable...
for you and me.
v v g's artful heliotropic
for a while made him obsessively tick
Memories tell lies,
“Behind enemy lines” is getting caught in my mind.
But “two twos” overslept,
Behind glossed over eyes the secrets are kept.
So memories tell lies,
That you already know.
My youth kept inside hides,
That’s something I just couldn’t let go.
That self supremacy just wouldn’t die,
Why,
Oh why shouldn’t I just forget my woes?
Over obsessively weighing cons against pros,
The case only gets closed whenever the answers are known.
Heart beats keep pace,
Decaying on the longer blood flows.
Sour and tart,
Life’s an acquired taste,
Some don’t mind waiting as the cancer just grows.
But hearts need to race,
Down roads with no clue wherever it goes.
I’m chasing being alive,
I just know that I’m close.
I’m chasing down my life,
To see the “Ro” I miss most.
Memories tell lies,
Sincerely yours,
One of the guys.
("Outside Looking In Merit Badge", 2011, original oil)
Building a Dream
My whole life I have been observing myself
Steadily, obsessively telling a story,
Sure, throughout the day, from to time, I lose myself
In work and play and focus on others
But inevitably the focus returns to me
And all those other moments get added to my story.
This is an obsession that never rests
As the watchfulness that never sleeps
Continues to gaze wherever, in, out, around
While my program runs on top
Piecing it all together
Into a whole greater than the parts.
Now that I am old and the story is long and rich
I can see this life’s work, as natural as it is,
Has perhaps been misguided
Flawed by a fundamental compulsive program
Of being me
A dreamer never really free of the dream.
(7/29/24)
They say silence is violence,
But it felt the easiest way to avoid yours.
I never knew how deafening the hush was to your ears.
But don’t think that when I’m quiet
That I am not speaking,
In my head I am on a tirade
That won’t stop for days.
See I learned what you did not,
To think before I speak.
It’s just I obsessively overprocess
And lose my opportunity to tell you,
Eloquently,
What’s really going on.
People who see you down and laugh,
suffering pain they feel they’ve had
smile at the misery you now have,
display traits of a psychopath
People who look down on you
will not hide it’s what they do
compare without a reason too
know it all while you’ve no clue
People who will make excuses
come and go as one chooses
live a lie because they’re useless
learn nothing forever clueless
People who are self absorbed
believe they live to be adored
though in truth they are ignored
time with them will leave you bored
People who were born attractive
suffer those they interact with
insults fly from bitter lips
lips that then say get a grip
People who see you their rival
compete obsessively as if it’s vital
with a darkness in their eyeball
hurting you they feel delightful
There are few who care for you
those respecting things you do
don’t just take but give back too
so rare so golden and so few
People who obsess are less
want to prove they are the best
all you get from them is stress
keep them around become depressed
Hands held deep within my mind
Wearing the pockets out this time
Pondering the ignorance held inside
In the everything of nothing I find
Wasted Time...Wasted Time...
Obsessively scratching that itch not there
Drawing blood from skin that's already red
Slight look of indifference paints I don't care
The first impression of the already dead
Wasted Life...Wasted Life...
Eyes cast down in a myopic trance
Feet push forward in a frantic pace
Already blew that one last chance
Please don't look upon my face
Wasted Time...Wasted Life...
(To suppose that something is true without having evidence to confirm it)
She fought courageously
Her battle was arduous; potentially leading to her demise
The only impediment to her success
Was flawed thoughts, she surmised
She obsessively tried to predict the future
She desperately tried to avoid all of life's pain
The inability to quiet her mind
Left her filled with doubt and self shame
They say that all of our experiences
Are contingent on the world we choose to view
If we don't have the experience - the perspective
All of our problems accrue
You see the strength of our battle
Is determined by the strength of one's mind
When we clarify and evaluate
It's like changing water into wine
So, let’s fight the battle courageously
Discern the emotions inside
The only impediment to our success
Is flawed thoughts, don't surmise
I tried to reach out, blink in silence and say my words, but there is a lost syllable and a forgiven diction. I buried my art, my passion.
I tried to tear my skin apart, carve in silence and swim in the blood, but there is a broken knife and a tired hand. I buried my sorrow, my passion.
i tried to hold your hand, glimpse in your heart and kiss it close, but there is a fragile door and the locks made of dead petals. i buried my love, my passion.
"I went back to the grave, holding your favourite lilies. I dig slowly beside you and reach the metal clank. I loved you passionately and obsessively.
The box handle creaks and opens, a canvas with dried blood stains, a half fractured knife and the unsent letters.
a lady walks up to me, handcuffs me back and requests that i slowly move away from the evidence and let go".
I buried your body, my passion.
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