Do you see the serenity of my
misshaped machete?
A moment mistaken for a musical mystery,
Hold no hopes for this ballad my blade sings to you;
She only reflects the dreams on a dimmed dawn you once drew,
Foolishly flourishing for the finely crafted chaos,
When the writings on her walls bleed for the bruises you prey on,
Rest on the reflection she wove for you,
A closet you’ve locked, she wiggled her way into,
Do the realistic corners of what you seek have no light?
Did my mahogany mirror make you feel a little fright?
Was holding the hands of an echo a suggestive thrill?
Or would you rather have a minute and relearn the drill?
Dare not blame my beastly blade, wear no shade, since you stayed,
So lay your cards and pay the price you played.
White knuckle straining
Gripping the laces
At the edges of my thoughts
Praying the laces
Don’t come off
I am screaming
You cannot hear me
Because I am learning
I am learning what is healthy
And tearing down the dry wall
Until your nail beds are bleeding is
Not.
I do not hate you.
How do I say
I hate the way
I have to relearn how to think
How to speak
I have to weigh every opinion
Every porcelain inkling
So that I do not break
It
Break
Me
Break, you.
Break through!
I can do this sober.
Unless
I can’t.
String me up by my neck
There is only silence
Until the next
The thought
Rips its way in
Unfamiliar nasty little friend
I white knuckle strain
And grip the lace
Hoping for a soft landing
A greeting
A whisper instead of the screaming
I am gritting my teeth
Praying
And they call this
Healthy,
Self understanding.
But thinking for me
Feels more like disease
Punishment seeping internally
Pushing my face into gravel
Threatening to leak
Through my teeth
And onto my life where
I’ve rebuilt
Piece by piece.
Silence.
I breathe.
Release.
Repeat.
Remember!
We taught you everything possible
Everything extra you will learn on your own
You will learn and relearn thru time
But you will continue learn even if you don’t realize
That you are learning- it’s an ongoing thing!
Mourn however long you choose
But always remember that somebody in a movie once said
‘Nobody is really gone’- you can’t see us, but you do feel us
We’re all around and inside you at all times- we are part of you
Even though it seems that the stage is yours
We are your inspiration, guidance, your insight, and your confidence
You just need to think of us often and to always remember us
Regardless of any kind of unease, imagine us standing in front of you-
Darkness and anxiety are mortal illusions- there is no true darkness
Fear and darkness are one and the same- remember!
When disappointments happen
(And of course, you know they will),
It’s hard to then remember
There are good things out there, still.
For all that you can think about
Is how the day went wrong,
As if the positives in life
Don’t really quite belong.
And minor setbacks do not rank
With really awful stuff,
Though for some people, tiny glitches
Spoil things enough.
I guess we have to suck it up
When plans may crash and burn,
But that’s a lesson that we’re always
Having to relearn.
First, love hears the bell
before the hand has touched it
dawn before daybreak—
Reactions are quick and sure,
latency's irrelevant.
Later, there's a pause
a brief delay in response,
as both already
know what to say, why, and when
and then, how each one will react
Next maturity
permits an intermission,
hearth-warm brief silences
in the shared conversations,
a time to trust the givens.
Misunderstanding
blooms slowly in known voices—
old maps for new roads
the old answers come too soon,
not from who stands at the door.
So love must relearn
the true art of latency—
to pause—then reply
with enough consistency
to stave off complacency.
To wake and taste nothingness,
perhaps, is the cruelest feeling,
when ink craves to crease its lines
with truth that will not run
in recurring refrains
of a time-bruised routine,
where language reflects the lunatic
and words hold no weight.
Let the heart relearn hurt once more,
as the Reaper listens, loving
the pulse of my breathing sigh,
beholding me write longevity into the sky,
amidst iron syllables of steady seconds,
secretly savoring the stillness
of morning minutes that refuse finality…
Immersed in the current of continuity,
in love with the soul’s frequencies ~
I know my faith’s flame:
the rhapsody of a rose, unshaken…
We take our memories for granted
As we go to and from our work
Never giving it a second thought
Until it slips, leaving us in a lurk.
Memory saves us the trouble
Of thinking before we act
But when it's gone or absent
We sure want it back.
Without it, we need to relearn
Everything we thought we knew
How to walk and how to talk
How to live anew.
Memory slips are the butt of jokes
Must be a senior's moment
But struggling with memory loss
Is no laughing matter.
Oh memory, do not stray far
Stay with us awhile
So we won't be so afraid
Of acting like a child.
Without memory it gets harder
To know how to act and say
To live a normal life
During an ordinary day.
Memory, we cannot do without you
You are the rock on which we rely
To keep our ship from sinking
And keep our minds alive.
Anthropology studies human societies,
human culture, humankind, human us.
You were the anthropologist that sifted through
the baubles of life I mired in the fissures
of the way I spoke impedimented English.
But you were my diction that weaved between
the w’s I mispronounced and the ph’s I forgot to shape.
I reached for the dove's excalibur to accept that you, my love,
have bewitched the melody against the carnage that consumed
all my adoration for you, only to be transfixed
by the Black Excalibur in your virgin hands.
And I had to relearn how to survive, how to stand,
resurrected from being a cold, dead man.
I am the Romeo that breathed first.
In the doomed book I refused the poison.
And you married Count Paris.
Our doom painted blue and red on human society.
Now the anthropologist observes purple remains
stained on the ink of dirty historical papers.
Roman numerals
does anyone still use them
maybe a lost art
I used to know them
I have lost that knowledge
might have to relearn
I want to dive deep into my soul,
to search for answers profound and unspoken,
answers that stir awakening within,
that unsettle complacency and breathe
new life
into the quiet chambers of my being.
I yearn to travel beyond familiar horizons,
to embrace new ways of thinking,
to unlearn what no longer serves
and relearn the courage to see differently.
Each obstacle blocking my growth
becomes a threshold to cross,
each fear a lesson demanding honesty.
I press forward—sometimes faltering,
yet resolute—toward a higher calling,
where becoming matters more than arriving,
and the journey itself reshapes my soul.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today. - Abraham Lincoln
Silence gathers like dust
on the piano lid—unplayed songs folded
into brittle paper wings.
The hummingbird feeder hangs empty,
sunlight glinting off dried nectar.
Each day our hands relearn
the slow syntax of stiffness.
Morning pills rattle accusations
in amber bottles. Who will read
the warning labels when our eyes retreat?
Childless. No daughters to decipher
our fading ink. No sons
to steady the wobble
of ascending stairs. Lincoln’s shadow
lengthens across the porch:
Tomorrow arrives hungry.
You cannot feed it yesterday’s excuses.
We scan horizons for villages
built of shared tremors
where neighbors become
soft euphemistic nouns—caregiver, listener, stayer~
before the light fails completely.
(“The Heart of It #2”, 2007, original oil)
As trite as it may be
It doesn’t change the truth
From the pain of birth at the start
To the pain of dying in the end
With every step between
An opportunity to relearn
Time’s timeless living lesson;
After every build up
A release
After every climb
A descent
After holding on
You must let go
And in that moment
Find your peace
(11/2/25)
if my heart was currency,
you’d be the richest man alive
if being loved meant beauty,
you’d be the prettiest in the land
but if being cherished meant to be doomed,
you’d unlearn how to fly
so heaven would be missing an angel,
your lack of wings would make you fall
you’d be forced to live with us mortals,
where only your smile would make you reach
all that we called impossible
if you were to put it on display
so everyone could see
just how perfect you are,
just how easy you make it seem
to be an angel in a world
for wingless people like me
if i wanted to be prettier,
i’d strive to be more like you
if you needed to relearn how to fly,
i’d spend hours telling the stars about you
but if you wanted to stay,
i’d make arrangements for that too
i’d even hope for it in secret
so it’d be just me and you
I walked where silence stitched the air
and found my pulse still beating there
inside the wound of God’s repair
the dark was not an empty keep
but where His secrets sleep
the stars were eyes that had gone blind
each blinking once, then left behind
to light the sorrow of the mind
I kissed their ashes, small and sweet
and felt them hum beneath my feet
a mother’s breath, a broken psalm
her shadow wrapped around my calm
her name the night’s forbidden balm
I called her light, though she was in pain
and she forgave the rain
I learned that beauty wears a bruise,
that death is not a thing we lose
but skin we shed when dreams refuse
the dark became my borrowed grace
its touch, a warm embrace
so let me sink, and not ascend
for every fall begins to mend
and every ruin finds its end
within the night’s devouring eye
the stars relearn to die.
Dear Mom’s Multiple Sclerosis,
Thank you. I know it’s odd to thank a disease.
Especially when it’s bound to take the one person that will always love you.
But thanks.
You have made my mother stronger in the face of pain.
You have made me stronger in the face of uncertainty.
But, thanking you does not mean you don’t infuriate me.
You have made her future look like wheelchairs,
medicines, and a useless right half of her body.
You have made my future look like hovering over my sick mama,
constant fear and never knowing what is next.
Her past looks like hospitals, physical therapy sessions,
and missing senior prom so she could relearn to brush her teeth.
Mine looks like remembering what she couldn’t,
filling in sentences when her words went missing,
and making dinner for kids whose mommy couldn’t move.
No matter how many books I read about you,
and trust me, I’ve read more than you think,
I still can’t find the words to properly explain to
my eight year old sister
why mommy sleeps so much
and is always in so much pain.
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