Poem: The Cold


What is this nose

like a pink petaled rose

and the streaming eyes

looking like they’ve cried

The booming head

so sunk on the bed

fever chilled sweating

leaving all freating

How did this enter

my core, my center?

And then spread all around

on my sacred ground

Taking over with delight

good blood cells take flight

So miserable I lay low

till it decides to go

taking with it my pep

and slowing my step

Thanks to all the trees

donating tissues for my sneeze

One day I will recover

and won’t be such a bummer

Hopefully soon

next year…immune??

 

 

 

 

 

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Poem: On Growing Old


The rutted road

winding

unfamiliar paths

carved by years

The rolling tracks of scraping tears

and curving twist of mirth’s sharp shape

A body once

so ripe and round

now clinging close

decaying dark

in parts unseen

Sluggish now to greet the day

but still its beauty

sweet

For each step sacred

the more

and more

we take

 

 

Poem: Clandestine


Rising again

lips drenched

from former kisses

the taste of dissipating sweet

arising to awareness

And filtering rays

lay like lovers

resting softly nearby

The visits

are now clandestine

quiet furtive touches

felt briefly–barely

and then are lost

Laying still

feeling lingering longing

layered on remembering

will it never leave

as the endless nights

continue on

alone

 

One


Humans have so many peculiar traits. There are a myriad of cultural, ethnic and race oddities we humans have adopted that allude me. How far in the centuries do they go back and from where do they stem?

For instance: where does royalty come from? Watching The Crown last night, it struck me as, well, silly (no offense to anyone reading), that we as humans actually regard other humans as somehow superior. That their blood is somehow ‘royal’ and to be treated specially; that we should bow down and kiss their hands etc. It struck me as funny.

And then there is the black vs. white situation. We all know the horrors of that situation, not only in this country, but in South Africa too. How do humans come to a place that one race is more deserving than another? Where does this feeling begin?

In Germany, we have an idea where to trace the hatred of the Jews and subsequent extermination of them. But was it really just one man’s idea or is there an underlying theme among humans that somehow we are not all equal? I see a trend.

There are so many examples we can look to in history where one people feels different and better or somehow higher. In some cases, like with royalty, maybe these people are held in high esteem. But in most cases, it causes bad blood  among the groups.

I’m no scientist, but I do know that at our cellular level, and when you cut us all open, we all bleed them same. We all look the same on the inside. We all have a heart, two lungs, two kidneys and a brain, although some don’t use it as well as others. That’s why when you get right down to it, it’s all so foolish that we fight and kill, destroy and bomb, displace and denigrate folks we feel are others. Because really they are not.

They are really us, maybe with a different color paint, but filled with the same parts.

Poem: Four Chambers


Portraits

painted on a four chambered heart

each room an echo

a synchronized sharing of the apex

The fluttering climax

upon squeezing beats seeing beauty

And the hiccupping hitch

when gathering moments of newly formed love

Or the sudden thud

of rock dropping grief when its gone

gone

Oh the silent tap tap

when at peace

hand upon your breast

knowing

that what you feel

is the artist

who paints your life

 

Poem: From Within


Skin

carrying scars

picked at by fretful fingers

The loss of heat

or

vacuum suck of cold

(interwoven at times)

left on integument ripples

trying desperately to hide

bone wrapped melodies

played on organs

finely tuned by fingers

fretful fingers

of the merry minutiae

on drifting cells as the float by

Song of the soul

Hum of the heart

Picking at a piece of the part

the smooth skinned shell

to hear the singing chorus

from within this finite enclosure

its voice secretly serenading:

I, too, am here

Poem Art: The Sentry


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Years of giving

torn from the skinned Birch

to carry others

across rushing waters

while naked the Tree remains

rooted

watching

as the world walks away

Not listening

to the endless clawing on Jesus arms

the sucking tendrils

that have grown up

twisting themselves around

the age-old rings of Her heart

Move on! Move on!

whispering through the thousand hands

waving goodbyes to those

that left her standing

still

and siphoning life from

dirty earth thrown down

around Her

Immobile

a sentry seasoned with sight

the beacon to set others

on their way

But forever bound and grounded

in the place she chose

to be born

 

 

 

Poem: On Waking


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Pinned

a butterfly plucked

from flight by a

4-eyed entomologist

tacked and hung forever

frozen

Limbs

askew and filled with lead

pumped dry from

sleepless climbs through endless starts

with dry breath and thick lips

Eyes

swollen marbles unseeing

remembering lilting dreams

un-blinking

tears dried from cracked blinks

Deep

beneath fathoms of murky sea

bubbles squeezed nitrogen pop

as spiny creatures swim

too close

Heart

chipped down to pebbles

swallowed by a bird

it beating too fast

in her chest

Hammered

to the slab

by the nightly joy ride

that crashed upside down

leaving the driver

Pinned

with the seat belt

still on

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