I have no desire to mend the fences,
life is now lived in past tenses:
heartbreaker
joy taker
misery maker
I was told don’t burn those bridges,
trouble only comes in smidges:
pitches
switches
stitches
The stars are not arranged for comfort,
but to sparkle, shine and extort:
take chance
moon dance
romance!
Carry on my wayward son
there’ll be peace when you are done*
life gives
love lives
forgives.
*Kerry Livgren
“Why are you here today?”
“I know I shouldn’t be.”
“No. Here at therapy.”
“Oh, then I guess for when I think like that.”
For when my brain switches to the worst possible situation.
For when I force myself into a hole that I’ve never fit into.
For when my least favorite question interrupts my impending obsessions.
‘Are you okay?’
No.
I’m not.
But they would never want to hear that.
So you lie.
And lie.
And lie.
Till your tongue gets twisted with sickening words.
Words that you promised would never see the light of day.
So, sure.
I’m okay.”
“Have you ever noticed that you overthink?”
“Never.”
“Why are you here today?”
“I know I shouldn’t be.”
“No. Here at therapy.”
“Oh, then I guess for when I think like that.”
For when my brain switches to the worst possible situation.
For when I force myself into a hole that I’ve never fit into.
For when my least favorite question interrupts my impending obsessions.
‘Are you okay?’
No.
I’m not.
But they would never want to hear that.
So you lie.
And lie.
And lie.
Till your tongue gets twisted with sickening words.
Words that you promised would never see the light of day.
So, sure.
I’m okay.”
“Have you ever noticed that you overthink?”
“Never.”
The push and the pull
can be so graceful
and then again, it can be rough
where we dig in and get tough
back and forth
we balance work life
and input
who is getting heard now
who is getting pampered
who leads
who follows
and then it switches
at the drop of a hat
Never know
what is up for the day
so many hills to conquer
and things that get in the way
motor on
expend energy till it's gone
and recharge
and let the other take charge
handing the candle back and forth
the safety and sharing develops
the caring intensifies
the daring becomes bolder
topics shift
as we go within
hopes and dreams
past and future
now and how
in and out
it's quite the parade
deep focus not a charade
real caring
heart on sleeve wearing
taking note of each other's state
not staying up too late
Never know
what is up for the day
so many hills to conquer
and things that get in the way
motor on
expend energy till it's gone
and recharge
and let the other take charge
and life motors on
just like this song
over and over
but I sense happiness too
deep release
peace
till we wrestle next with a thought plan or objective
then it's on
Evening Time Approaches
The night becomes dimmer through the trees
Which gently sway in the night time breeze
The disappearing Sun glows gently in the distance
The afterglow meeting little resistance
As shadows start to form at will
Everything around becomes quiet and still
Tree branches make an eerie sight
As daytime now switches to become night
Shadows form like monsters in a story book
And clouds now darken, a dismal look
Mist gathers gently on the ground
The night makes nary an earthly sound
All quiet and still amongst a gentle wind
Oh how we long for nighttime to rescind
Bring back daylight, sunshine and all
As we awaken to natures call
Oh to hear the birds call at dawn
As they awaken early morn.
He speaks to all who ask him
Your will, he does obey
Your laughter and your judgement
He endures it every day
But now it's night. It's Silent
The pier is empty, cold
The sound of waves on metal
And creaking wood so old
I gaze into his prison glass
His eyes they mesmerize
I cannot walk away from him
I feel I'm recognised
His eyes sink into my soul
He seems to know me well
His tired paint and faded robes
Have secrets yet to tell
I feel for his loneliness
He's enslaved forevermore
But something in him smiles
A glimpse of ancient lore
I stay for what seems hours
He blurs and seems to move
Something stirs behind the glass
Whispers I cannot prove
A click of gears and switches
I step back from his stare
A little bit of paper
that paper was not there
I run away towards the lights
I'm cold and numb can't breathe
I look at that small paper
and it is...just empty.
The sun contours the cloud’s edges
Like a sky crack. If the sun be my eye,
Could eye be distracted from the surface heaven?
Some seven wispy islands’ masking bedding,
The frictive crashing plates, dying
And reborn downpours, slitted resting
Clouds, tense breasts and tension bringing.
A salmon fillet stretches gelatinously,
Horizon skin cooked by incidental switches,
Minor cloud bump shuffles that arrest
The sky. It lay there scorching
From the daggered strikes, the speaking
Pikes that shatter crackled clouds.
Their lost remains are seeping out of line,
An army shielded, steel of darker, stealing paints.
Valhalla battle cries boast legends, saints
And mages known only to the sky.
The night becomes dimmer through the trees
Which gently sway in the night time breeze
The disappearing Sun glows gently in the distance
The afterglow meeting little resistance
As shadows start to form at will
Everything around becomes quiet and still
Tree branches make an eerie sight
As daytime now switches to become night
Shadows form like monsters in a story book
And clouds now darken, a dismal look
Mist gathers gently on the ground
The night makes nary an earthly sound
All quiet and still amongst a gentle wind
Oh how we long for nighttime to rescind
Bring back daylight, sunshine and all
As we awaken to natures call
Oh to hear the birds call at dawn
As they awaken early morn.
Existential.
Just like that old car.
Haunted.
I have energy, I have magnets.
Spatter within me.
Jumpy because I have light switches.
Pluddles.
Mercy.
The crisis started with a stranded feeling.
Like I was a pumpkin patch.
Whoosh.
It’s all old cars now.
Existential hope.
Because the car.
Because the withering-
Belongs.
Silence stretched as the elevator
stalled between floors.
I heard the cables clang and groan;
the gears grind and moan.
Then the penny dropped —
Switches flipped, engines roared.
Lights woke up and trembled.
Eyes blinked open as
understanding burst into bloom
Gravity had claimed its coin!
All that waiting.
All that focus on waiting, pending,
for a penny to deliver its message
seems so absurd.
But what falls slowly, lands deeply,
and truth must wait for doubt to fade,
Watching a penny roll on its side,
taking its time to stop and topple,
is how gravity works on pennies.
What is it that goes into a poet's mind?
Well, I'll tell you, its deep man, I mean it's really deep
It's so deep that when we write we write deep
The thoughts we think we think deep
And yet,
within in a split second-
a *Spark- something switches
Something ignites; thoughts burn our brains
The cinders inside us burn our cylinders
Thinking thoughts over and over, and over and over
Thinking facts, thinking fiction, thinking the unimaginable and
the imaginable, the what ifs, and the what if nots
We think what we think is thinkably unthinkable
We make sense out of the unsensible
We go out there, and man, we go way out there
We go to the limits, to space, to the place
To the place where all poets go
To the place where anything can happen or unhappen
To our own little worlds
To our world's,
where we can even make horses of a different color' real
Mind you, what goes into a poet's mind
Mind goes into it, man
Mind
The grandkids are heading to sleepaway camp,
Their clothing all labeled and packed,
Plus all of the extras they may or not need -
Way too much, as a matter of fact.
They bring pillows and blankets and flashlights and fans
And shin guards and sandals and cleats
And towels and bug spray and sunscreen and stamps
And shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and sheets.
They need rain gear and sleeping bags, books and canteens,
A laundry bag, backpack and socks,
Plus sweatshirts and jackets and underwear (lots!)
And their sneakers and rain boots and Crocs.
Of course there are bathing suits, t-shirts and shorts
And sweatpants and PJ’s and fleece,
But there are no iPads or Switches or phones
So some wonders, I guess, never cease.
The days spent at camp will fly quickly until
All that stuff gets repacked to go home,
With some missing or ruined or filthy, but that
Is a topic for some future poem.
As the wind cascades out in a frenzy motion
Nephophilia, a thudder crave
Exclamation is a sudden urge
Since soft cotton candies switches to pastels and iridescents
Looking up close
Still immeasurably far
The old regime of sunrise and sunsets finna come up to horizon
where moons and suns collide
stars surrounding them
blues and whites around them
casting shadow of white daisies
So small and wrecked
spurting a yelp of joy, when a cold breeze wheezed out
In blues and whites
they gleam
As a boon to the demure daisies
It is eternal
Feverishly eternal
When they run about in adorbs
It is mushiness and sweetness scattered all over in the morn
This is where I am, in this season
the season to hold upon these clouds
to hold as tight as it gotta be
This season is everlasting
this season to swim the length of the sky
Just for the blues and whites
Just for the blues and whites...
The blender switches on,
The Clock starts ticking.
Stitching it's imprint,
Into Existence.
Each Instant,
Different.
Gears whirring,
Agitated, Stirring Emotions,
Splicing, Thoughts churning ,
Forcing Conforming,
To the vortex That's forming.
Conflicting Actions,
Unconscious Reactions,
Robbing Our Satisfaction.
We Keep on Running,
To the Next Attraction.
Unaware of the distraction,
Keeping us in Line.
Trapped in Times Design,
It Defines your day.
How Long you have to Stay,
Then Sends you on your way.
There's even Time to Pay.
Never Enough for Play,
So throw none of it away.
Attached to every move,
It fills all the Grooves.
Smooth and sly,
It slides on by.
Flying beside you,
Guiding, and Dividing,
Perfect timing.
The more fun we have,
Seems as it were cut in Half.
Yet an hour in sorrow,
Feels like no Tomorrow.
Your Faithful Companion,
A Wound mender.
Or your toughest Contender,
Keeping you in The Blender.
Into the fog I fell,
amidst the bone chilling cold,
caterwauled by silence -
eerily the end
of the year, dismal.
With the call of a forefinger,
I float through the mist,
silence switches
to a whisper,
rays appear through the haze.
Into the cradle I amble,
dizzy from 2024 strange happenings.
Lemons and apples fill the trees,
bright, juicy, bountiful, and
plenipotentiary fruit
of a Happy New Year.
Here’s where it gets weird:
we must take care
to love and serve
and the trees will prosper.
Love, joy, peace
patience, kindness, goodness,
gentleness, faithfulness, self-control* -
the kind of fruit that will produce
good results
for years to come.
The Whos in Whoville give praise.
The pennypinching Grinch** gives in.
Bells ring and voices raised.
Cheers, hopeful and kinetic.
*Fruit of the Spirit, bible reference
**Whos, Whoville, Grinch - Dr. Seuss book references
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