I want to go home courses through my head
Even while next to you in bed
We do not fight, not even yell
Yet the silence will not quell
My mind is screaming
And the tears will soon begin streaming
I send you a text
Which I think you swipe next
Then you go to sleep
Without saying a peep
Other than a muttered 'I love you'
And the voices become few
Those words are my kryptonite
Now I'll be able to sleep tonight
Without fear you'll leave
Giving me a reprieve
The first poem in awhile I've written
Once again I will begin
Reflection beneath an overturned leaf
Will not be brief
For improvement is necessary
If I don't want to continue with this misery
Crack!
A violent ocean wind
has trampled furiously
over a collection
of coconut palms,
demolishing them
like bowling pins.
Now overturned,
the roaring current, with the wind as his accomplice
reaches out with writhing turmoil,
blinding the skies with darkness.
(Pinpricks of light shine).
The ocean rips the coconut from its tightly woven bed,
rearing open its gaping mouth
to condemn it to an eerie fate;
swallowed beneath an ineffable weight.
Strangely, it yielded to the monstrous waves.
Like feathers in the breeze, it simply let
the ocean bear it, further and further from the shore.
Only a crack could sink it,
yet the sea despite all its might, was impotent.
And- perhaps- the coconut knew-
that as sure as nature has torn down its house,
it must also guide it to new lands
where it could root and make another home,
anew.
Waiting for the sea to quell itself,
the coconut passes the time
by counting the stars.
sirens sound serious tonight
accident on I-70?
motorcycle that has been run off the road?
cows on the entrance ramp?
pigs running wild after a hog truck spill?
the corn princess’s convertible overturned?
By now you may have guessed, I originate from Iowa.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.—my noble brother of freedom and peace,
Peace and justice ringing from mountaintops like consecrated chapel bells,
Bells resounding high and low across the hilltops and the valleys below,
Below, where the meek and humble gathered to sow their seeds of faith.
Faith, small as a mustard seed, yet mighty enough to move great mountains—
Mountains of despair overturned through the pursuit of equality and justice for all,
All God’s created people, without exception, endowed with equal human rights,
Rights granted by the Creator to all humanity in our blessed pursuit of happiness.
Happiness and freedom flowing from God’s love into the heart of humanity—
Humanity awakened to equal justice, righteousness, dignity, and emancipation,
Emancipation and representation earnestly sought, courageously fought, and won,
Won through radiant visions of hope shedding luminescent light upon the weary.
Light filled with saving grace from above, restoring strength to the brokenhearted,
Blessings from the Creator—bestowed upon those fashioned for everlasting love.
© Dr. Joseph S. Spence Sr., Ph.D., Epulaeryu Master. All Rights Reserved. December 1, 2025.
The Psychedelic Veil
Shoulders stuck windows of silence in the flesh of embedded eyes,
the scales breathed with lungs of blue fog in everyone
we were overturners of worlds sifted in dreams that floated.
Silence floated in them like lavender smoke on burned lips,
the tallest woman sat on her chair looking toward me,
her gaze was a gentle sadness like a sleeping water,
our recognition tore the seen into fine silk cloths.
Under the veil my whispers slid on my forgotten cheeks,
distance settled with each moment between us like an ocean,
the veil was a curtain of wax melted in lunar transparencies,
my sadness slept on nobody's grass forgotten in eternity.
The scales breathed with souls of steam and with bodies of fog,
we were those who overturned light in mirrors of liquid mercury,
one fine day something floated like a white petal on heavy waters,
and my silence spoke in the lost languages of living oblivion.
Windows with shoulders of gazes nested us in strange eyes,
recognition was a deep trace in every gesture of loss,
the veil whispered with my voice on her cheeks far away on the horizon,
and we all lived in the sweet burden of existence that floated in us.
People look at what they don't know,
Using what they already show.
They judge the new by what they've learned,
But sometimes, facts can be overturned.
spirits scream
demons dance
hair-raising dreams
cold-sweat romance
31st of October
hyenas and jackals
graves overturned
crosses burned
lightning crackles
witches cackle
Each year that I live
Each burden for all the years
Every emotion that I give
Followed by each bucket of tears
I wonder Oh God, what shall I do?
I have searched the universe
Looking for divine truth since my youth
What is my purpose?
Am I a tool for you?
Every relationship I get burned
Every friendship overturned
Every dollar I’ve earned is from tedious work
Still, I yearn
My hopes and dreams remain unfulfilled
Every waking moment continues to be time to kill
Show me the way for there is account
For all of my breaths
Because I am running out of time and patience
And it’s causing anxiety and stress
In the shadow of your red lips, angels revile your smile,
A definition of love, where instincts meet in style.
The egg, rolling in infinity, cries in pure moments,
Overturned clouds, round tombs, in my mind's playful torments.
The budding shoots eagerly drink destiny through flowers,
Whose matured pistils erupt in the dawn of dreams' showers.
Your love, without perfumed words that die,
Of my cult, crooked crosses for atheists, a backdrop to defy.
In the astral shadow of the New Earth, the world's wind spins,
Abject stars swarm toward the Universe's hive, where it all begins.
Eternal rotation, in reverse, summer igniting the air,
Imponderability sparking a call in a frail alphabet's lair.
A firm point, a unique end, the start of a calendar's grace,
My transparent eyelid, a humble leaf, the first and last place,
Torn away with modesty, when your pity weeps true beauty,
Dusting cheeks with my virgin loves, singing your story as duty.
The paper sack left on the floor
has come to life. It’s haunted. Look!
It’s growling and gyrating now—
gone wild. It’s time somebody took
control. Aha! I’ve got ya now,
my little kitties in the sack.
I’ll get your lunch now, Pat and Pete.
Okay, I’ll let you ride my back.
Ouch! Watch the claws. They really hurt.
I’ll put thick blankets on my lap.
Then you can be so comfy but
won’t draw blood. Soon we’ll take our nap.
You’re fighting for the bouncy ball.
Sometimes you’re an aggressive pair;
but, after all, you’re little ones.
Sometimes my human kids won’t share!
Don’t climb the curtains, Pat. Oh, Pete,
you’ve overturned the water dish.
I see what y’all are staring at.
You can’t get to the kids’ goldfish!
You’re so much like the kids when they
were small—just into everything.
When they get home from school, we five
will have ourselves a happy fling.
A crescent moon dangles in the distance,
whilst meteors jet across Prussian blue heavens,
leaving trails of grey ash in their wake.
An abnormal, elongated silence creeps through threadbare trees,
as an imperceptible breeze skims past my hair,
causing, for just a second, déjà vu—
a flutter between my muffled heart and a crushing ribcage
jolts me back.
Never-ending, frayed nerves keep me on edge;
the taste of insufferable copper taints my tongue.
Spitting it out—only for it to return,
haunting me like your last words,
replicating, repeating nightmares,
eating into my wailing brain.
That night: the broken glass,
shattered mirrors, overturned tables,
blood-sheathed floors—
became our point of no return.
History books rewritten,
pages turned, truths overturned.
Past reconstructed.
Memories are planted like seeds,
carefully cultivated.
Reality harvested.
Leaders cast long shadows,
dark spots conveniently erased.
Selective illumination.
Monuments rise and fall,
stone faces weather time.
Legacies carved in flux.
Archives are sealed tight,
skeletons locked in national closets.
Dust settles on truth.
Oral traditions whisper
voices echo through generations.
Unwritten resistance.
Media spins its web,
catching minds in sticky narratives.
Information trapped.
Textbooks sanitised,
rough edges smoothed away.
Comfortable fictions.
Anniversaries observed,
some celebrated, others buried.
Time's biased march.
Nostalgia is a rose-tinted lens,
focusing on the golden ages.
Present found wanting.
Trauma is passed down,
And cellular memory encoded.
Inherited burdens.
Collective amnesia spreads,
Convenient forgetfulness is contagious.
Society's blind spots.
Memory becomes a battlefield,
mind's eye the spoils of war.
Consciousness colonised.
Yet, truth persists,
stubborn seeds in concrete cracks.
Remembrance rebels.
Early morning thud...
the bedroom door opens wide...
ginger cat scampers
frightened by the sudden sound
of an overturned tchotchke
Matzo ball soup, gefilte fish
cook me up a Jewish dish
Kneidels and kreplach, knishes too
a bissele Chinese, egg yong foo…
Chopped liver and herring
and if you’re so daring
Grind the horseradish to bits
serve mit red onion shpritz
Nisht fargessen dessert
rugelach and torts
Roe v. Wade’s overturned ~
it's kosher to abort
Gr ace kingpin
Queen of hearts
Jack of trades
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Zero cards on table
as the world is overturned
suspended in air
expansive city in silver tones
bedecked with jewels
Saints on board
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