In time an arms length away
I flew into the bird cage
Seeking a nest, following the others
As we connected and made it homely
The bars changed into windows
And doors
Then a place where we were all happy, together
Now, after two years of friendships, new and old
The cage-turned-community, near-sighted
Closed its eyes and turning away from the inevitable
Then the day hit 25
Everyone, dressed up
Dancing our hearts away
Turning blind eyes to the looming warmth of hottest season
Then the lights turned on
And the music stopped
Our hearts stopped too
Our eyes losing their lids, forced to witness the end
Our hearts, reminiscing
One by one, each bird left the nest, heavy-hearted
All unready, some with resignation, some with acceptance, to migrate so soon
Some flapping off together in search of new things
Others flying off to new nests
Even some soaring off alone
Leaving the hollowed nest
For the next generation to find and transform
So even if we meet new birds and find a new nest
We will never forget Our Nest
The homeless are not unskilled.
The homeless are not unlearned.
The homeless are not indolent.
The homeless are not lackluster.
The homeless are not those unready to embrace the dawn.
The homeless are not hesitant to walk into the daylight.
The homeless are not feeble or sleep-drunk.
They are not oblivious to the voice that speaks in the tranquil night.
The homeless are not afraid to journey into the unknown.
They are not uncalled or undesirous of a new beginning.
They are not frail-gifted.
They are the unprivileged.
They are those who have faced unfortunate circumstances.
They are the voiceless.
They are armed but unshielded.
They are a dim light waiting to shine.
They are those in the depths of the stygian night.
They are those seeking the stars to illuminate their long night.
December 31, 2025.
Regrets strung across the rope of half a lifetime—
I hang upon it the rising ache of lingering sorrow.
The courage to gently cure an unready death
burns brighter than a freshly opened peony.
A quiet wind, bearing seasoned migratory birds,
waves farewell to sixty distant peaks.
It offers a cup brimming with the time to come,
and with a steady gaze, says: now, walk your own way.
What happened?
We no longer climb trees
with ease and strength as before.
Excitement once promised safety,
change only startled the unready.
Now visions linger —
diligent, deliberate,
handing the unaware
what they never knew they sought.
The path waits,
patient for your arrival,
to step forward,
to bear the image
of responsibility at last
You love me,
but somewhere along the way,
I couldn’t keep up, couldn’t stay,
your words stopped meaning what they once did,
and I felt lost in what we hid.
You gave me all, I couldn’t give back,
I thought I was ready, but I lost track.
I tried to make it work, tried to find the key,
but the truth was clear it wasn’t meant to be.
And though I wanted it to work,
we didn’t plan, we didn’t see,
I loved you, but I couldn’t stay,
so I had to turn away.
I loved you.
Tightening our grip
we enter life unready
to conquer it's feats
The ancient four legged poem
had been premeditatedly cut loose
and now it haunts
the unready, frail and ailing poet.
It barks abruptly from underneath the lush hortensia bushes
shocking the blue light of an unready poet observations,
casting impetus over the faux peace,
rolling around aimlessly.
An apple of discord, fallen
from the mischievous bosom
of a spirited muse.
In the midst of the night mist
A lone blackbird sat
Considering his options
Knowing he had choices
To bring death or silence
Or silent death
Unready to decide, he sat quietly
Surrounded by swirls of confusion and fear
Loving the consternation his presence brought
Listening to the howl of a lone wolf in the night
it’s an endless void of emptiness
in a starkness filled with play
it’s a synonym of every dream
in an antonym yet to try
it’s a darkened apron of inkiness
in a sparkling bejewelled sea
it’s a long in-tangent monologue
in a verse-laden melody
it’s the flailing arms of solitude
in a crowded room of song
it’s a screaming siren tempest queen
in the court of an unready king
it’s high above what I can hold
in the grass I lay my head
it’s a dry old gaze as I’m looking up
in the forming dew before bed
Keyhole dreams floated out into the world
Butterfly wings, powdered sugar, dots of monarchs
Faerie magic might have brought this on
Even the fey were not certain how it happened
The world was unready, confused, consternated.
Keyhole sent out the colors orange yellow and pink.
Reminds me of the sixties, someone said
You are starting to get there, replied another.
Peace signs and tulips arrived in hot air balloons
Unicorns and faeries floated out into the ether
Cinnamon and sugar arrived on rolled out crust
Keyhole dreams floated out into the world
now that things will end
I realise I’m not ready
to do anything
Butter the toast, butter knife, bread.
blue plate, no sunlight, short-sighted blue night,
electric rings of silence.
Breakfast is slow,
not that hungry but there is honey
and I am lonesome in a tired body.
Soon, hands will press the tabletop,
will rise up, push up to lace-up walking shoes,
enter the coming light
that unsteady, unready light
with its slippery yo-yo gleams,
enter it all; the concrete hills,
the leaf and branch, the cast-up legs
of the still twitching,
the buoyant tumbling of the living,
the pumped-up throats
of the starry-eyed singers,
enter it fully, growing less unlikely,
enter myself as an unrepentant prodigal son
returning home.
A man reached me at the market that day.
He lifted two handcrafted seats on his head.
He urged, "Won't you buy my chairs?" Today.
Nobody took my chairs. All moved instead.
I recall helping others with daily duties in life.
If you find a poor partner, avail him in strife.
None are so flush that they might not borrow.
The fate of the poor may be our lot tomorrow.
Look, these are the best things I have made.
Please buy my seats. I slum my children frayed.
He seems gloomy. This person is my age.
Words nag me. I gave him cash and change.
I echo helping others, even when being mean.
Do not judge your pal's deep suspicions, lean.
No fine, people can avoid shame or misery.
Lift others in the race for a swathe of glittery.
I replied, "I need one seat, but sell the rest."
Kids are waiting, and I wish you all the best.
Thrusting his hands to pray, I was unready.
For me, it was an incomer with tears already.
I never lost the venting of the chair salesman.
It may not be a lot to exalt others when we can.
If it turns on a brother, do not let envy ruin it.
We pray for each other's rightness, joy, and grit.
Written: November 28, 2022
The day I had pushed away and buried
Hidden away in the depths internally, I couldn’t hide that
I wish you were for eternity
Inevitable, and unforgiving
A swollen heart unready to let go
Life had said too soon that
Your last breath was overdue
I had watched you slip through my hands as
The ocean mourned through my eyes, death to withstand
Frailty soon to be over lament, crushed entirety
Where am I to find you, you cease to exist entirely
To think about the day, you hadn't had a choice to speak
Death of life, I am incapacitated by grief
For I can not surrender
there is a party underwater
nobody is really celebrating
i swim amidst the decay
very soon i will be a member
there is a party underwater
the mold is so overwhelming
i swim amidst the apparent danger
very soon i will be a perfect match
there is a party underwater
many unready poems from broken spirits
i swim amidst the toxic stench of creepy cold regret
very soon i will add my similarly unread collection
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