In a world where love has forgotten its place, lost all meaning, left floundering in the mud—courage has found its nirvanic horizon, its ruby flames rise up in the end~ Poetess
Destroyed, slain,
smashed and driven to the ground~
a brutal odyssey of dispiritedness
of rude awakenings endured
around this, fire kept burning within
intoxicating every vein in my body
when welled up eyes, pools of tears fallen
I was the ocean, the lone firebird that flies over
a lone star ablaze, weightless, free-spirited
and alas, rising from the ashes
in glorious splendor for all to observe and marvel
born outside rose walls, from wind, at night,
from red clay, the flowers and the mud,
weeds and roots they know my name
its not attention I seek, its resonance
smashed and driven to the ground~
ignored, displaced, and all but forgotten
and from this despair, I am the phoenix rising
f r o m t h e a s h e s are the gauze wings,
refined in sapphire gossamer velveteen
walls turn to rubble, no rose-stone left unturned,
left unseen is what most is valued, light sifts thru
I’ve won life’s prize—contentment's invaluable gifts
After finding an old rocking horse in our attic…I was so excited
then I became aware…
on the other side of the attic
sat a dusty little rocking chair.
When I showed the chair to Deborah…
She was a little bit surprised…
“That’s my old rocking chair!” She said
as tears welled in her eyes.
She said, “Be extra careful while you move it.”
“I sat in that rocking chair when I was small
and I have the photo to prove it.”
With her chair in hand she ran off
and behold…
returned with a photo of her in that chair
when she was 3 or 4 years old.
In the photo she is sitting next to her sister, Pris
and it was easy for me to see…
how one little old rocking chair
brought back two cherished memories.
A memory of a young girl…and her childhood rocking chair…
And the memory of her sister…who is no longer sitting there…
I imagine the makers of this rocking chair
could not have guessed…would have never suspected
all the joy this chair would give…all the memories it collected.
I imagine they’d be overjoyed…If they were here to share
the look on Deborah’s face…
when she was reunited with her chair.
Beheld
Through lenses, welled,
A pool,
Reflections -
Echoed pressings of,
A fool:
Can I be the poem, and not the poet?
Bestowed with solace, still and stoic?
The admired, not the admirer?
Draw a gaze as licking fire, cause unrazable fixing desire.
The captured, not the capturer?
Found; unbound, sound faith unfractured.
The written, not the writer?
Penned in tense intention, tide-script monad gripping tighter.
Can I?
In this life -
Be the loved, and not the lover?
Stood under; not left, bereft, to wonder.
The wish, and not the wisher?
Made; spoken verily, heard, save tokens merely whispered.
The yearn, and not the yearner?
Nor rough refuge, nor shunned sojourner.
I exhaust myself so foolishly,
Being poetic, mulishly,
Admiring, captivating, writing, loving, wishing, yearning,
While never learning -
To be the moon and not moonstruck, dismayed?
Not to hold to those, who never learned to stay.
A young man found an object
Unsure if it meant danger.
Here is how he chose to tell
His story to a stranger...
"By the glow of the fire
In the calmness of night
I saw this thingamajig
Twinkling near the light.
So I scooped it up
To examine it, you see.
And it started to whisper
Curious truths about me!
It revealed to me things
That I couldn't express.
My secrets, my desires,
My ideas of success.
My eyes welled up,
Filled to the brim.
I could hear the others asking,
'What's the matter with him?'
So I quickly rose and ran away
Leaving the others behind.
To find out what this was
Needed a scholars mind.
After my long, exhausting search
Can you explain to me
What this thingamajig actually is
Thus solving its mystery?
Why is it that only I could hear
The things it said to me?"
He quietly stroked his beard
While squinting thoughtfully.
"When you've found your truths
You must let it go for someone else to find.
Only the holder can hear it
For it echoes the holders soul and mind."
As a citizen poet without pretension,
I offer a true tale of my invention.
A solid everyman in my community,
with a reputation of immunity,
I was happy and content.
I shared my thoughtful insights,
and wrote about the northern lights.
My words made grown men cry.
I think about it and breathe a sigh -
I was something else!
But, one morning, I woke up
and drank acidic coffee from my cup,
which my wife served black as pitch.
Inside I felt a strange, hot itch.
Could it be indigestion?
No ordinary heart inside my chest,
was it the Devil who had me possessed?
Burning inside, I fretfully undressed,
as, to despair, I acquiesced,
and went back to bed.
But, the feeling persistently welled,
until, at last, I was oddly compelled,
and in terror, I was gripped,
so my own skin, I violently ripped,
exposing my insides.
There, I saw sprockets and springs,
gears, knobs and other things,
and screamed an existential cry,
knowing I could neither live, nor die,
for all I was, was just AI.
As I cruised down the road to nowhere,
the cool breeze rushed past my window.
Trees danced in a hurried retreat,
while birds sang together in harmony.
The scenery mirrored the place I once belonged,
memories of my childhood flickering like ghosts.
Tears welled, clouding my weary eyes,
as my heart ached for home.
I should have been home yesterday.
But home isn’t a place—
home is someone,
home is people.
Yet, I had no one waiting,
only me and my broken heart.
One day, I will find home.
But for now...
I'll just keep driving.
The silent kiss from the morning's sunbeams
softly brushed the beauty of your face
in a tender embrace of halo light
where my heart quivered in wonder
As our eyes began a spellbound affair
Time seemed still, and the world faded away
Clouds parted and sunlight spilled upon the land
The dawn became weightless when passion welled
into emotional boundaries crossed
where a moment of splendor allowed truth to breathe
like rose petals opening from a fragrant rose bud
seeking warmth from a wondrous sense of awe
When your beauty became a sensual vision
painted by dawn's breaking glow of sunlight
revealing your tender eyes from this silent kiss
that caressed the face I looked upon
As I wandered into the dewy eyes of love
It was a tale,
but her eyes glittered as she spoke,
her face beamed with a smile.
Was there something she kept secret from us?
We listened with rapt attention.
She told us a story about a young lady meeting an elderly woman.
The former was a solitary seeker,
and the latter was the mysterious mistress.
They met in the park at twilight.
She said the meeting was an accident that unveiled the hidden.
Sometimes, collisions reveal the unknown.
There can only be a coming out when the pathway is decluttered,
and there can only be bloom when the meadow is out of the shadows.
The young lady found answers to her questions.
She understood who she was.
The elderly woman told her that an enigma is an elixir to mystery
and that turbulence is the route to redemption.
Tears welled in her eyes as she shared these insights.
June 9, 2025.
When the wellspring failed,
thirst recast the shape of longing.
For the trust it bore had deserted us.
We then knew not. if and when, its source
would ever yield to meet our needs again.
We drank from it freely, without questioning.
Without asking, doubting why it flowed so fluently,
forever trusting that it always would.
With our thirst so easily quenched,
we never had need to look at its source.
To see where and when the spring welled up from.
To unravel its purpose from intent,
belief from faith, will from fate,
hope from just riding along,
to reveal whether our well-being
in our wellness was well-sprung.
There I stood where the smell of ancient oaken trees ran cleanly clear through the time honored wood only to be hung there lithely clinging unto the very breath we could not do anything but hold… as it became to be beholden to none it seemed to be tied to the polarized tenacity of the moss which thereby us clung in comical yet musical strands around the worm ridden bark a foray of bird’s voices were at play as though bells it rung from trunk to leaf to feathery beak again and again beneath the sound of our breathless breathes being trapped as deeply as time alone dared too…and so these hearts our hearts were then flung along this very same path until we two all to soon swelled with passionate wales only be quelled to surrender to the silence surrounding us…our eyes then welled upon swollen lids only to calm again peacefully longing to bathe in those deepest feelings and upon those very wishes each sound filled thought were caught then sprung free to ride the very same wish to a crescendoed volley down into our hearts to rest in and about our smiles that gloriously magical day...
Near the yard, I heard the mother bird's loud cluck,
A signal to pull a sly trick on the hick.
Yuck! Her chicks all ran wild and scampered amok,
Scattered by the bumpkin swinging a big stick.
The dispersed chicks drew a cast of circling hawks,
That were happy to see meals within their grasp.
The hick and the hen, they must quickly outfox.
One hawk swooped low, its talons poised to clasp.
A chick grasped, the hawk then tried to fly away,
Mother hen ran after the hawk, eyes fire raged.
Fight ensued; chick-hunting again went astray.
The chick broke free when hawk and hen both engaged.
Like incense in a flower's heart, the chicks hid,
Their clucks hung like heavyweights on their weak necks.
Unseen tears of fear welled in their thin eyelids,
At least, from hawks their mother earned some respect.
a wax tear formed
on redwood heart
in the dark
yet lit by many
a candle wick
my dry eyes wet
acapella soars
blood sweat tears
adorns
welled up
wall to wall
ascent
hearts rent
and bound
in grief
silent, deafening
defeating
lies
spurs on healing
stoked by
perspective
straight candlesticks
proud, on fire
a Holy Spirit spire
I’ll scrape this mud off of my heels -
That’s caked from years of trudging.
And soak these wounds in orange peels -
To persuade scabs into budging.
This bar of soap, my sword of choice -
Will slay bruises that have haunted.
Replacing aches with citrus’ voice -
Who soothingly tunes the daunted.
This plunge of water, warm and welled -
Will calm my anxious weather.
And put to rest thoughts that rebelled -
As I bathe in crystal summer.
Storms will come
The wind will rage
But do not be afraid
My love will keep you
The Storms did come
The wind did raged hard
But you never let me down
Your steadfast love kept me.
The wind was hard on me
But your love welled up in me
Praise from the inside broke
forth
And your love covered me like
a cloak.
I am standing now still still
Because the wind and storm
you stilled
(Written 5th January, 2025)
This bright and sunny morning
I watched a bluebird fly
She landed on my table
I thought that I would die
She looked just like my Bluebird
I'm telling you, no lie
I wondered, should I question
From whence she came, or why?
I asked if it was really her
As tears welled in my eyes
Tears of joy, although they were,
I didn't want to cry
She smiled first, then winked at me
She beak-synched out a "hi"
Then chirped a word in Spanish
Which caused my tears to dry
She told me not to worry
I told her I would try
Then three more words in English but
Before I could reply
She spread her pretty feathers
And flew into the sky
She said, "I have to go for now,
But this is not goodbye."
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