Poem: 17


One more sick

abandoned child

take Lucifer’s hand

and go Heaven up

to rain down wild

with hate no heart

Your Mother left dark

Father a hole

nothing you took

would fill your soul

The world now turns

17 lighter

Shattered and sadness

killing the gladness

Add to the countless

that suffer their fate

The spirits gather round

holy disquieting gate

for they wait

in bloodless shock

as the next enter

their flock

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Poem: Dearest


Hands wrapped round

lonely lost child

hide and seek come out

and smile

Touched with warmth inside

the past slipping distant

sweet kiss

on lips long laughter gone

now sing sweet song

Close face pressed

cheek to virgin speaking

whisper soft past meaning

fondly lift heavy heart

away

away

 

 

 

 

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: To Those I Know By Heart


People are songs

melodic magicians

who orchestrate the chorus

of our hymnal life

Some drift out

in random times

where their notes are left

to dissipate

within the holy air

Others repeat over and over

stuck in the groove

the turning wheel

of fate

which plays endlessly

on and on

And there are those that

blast

loudly around our bones

only to shake us down

to listen for them

alone

quietly in the descending night

But

the ones that hum within us

and weave gently around our key

are easy familiar tunes

we will always

know by heart

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


bookmark

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


wpid-20150201_140808.jpg

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

wpid-0520142142a.jpg

 

 

Go Easy…


20150119_102458

Sometimes thinking about the past is appropriate, especially when you get news about someone that meant something to you, even if you haven’t spent much time with them in recent years.

Families are such slippery things–they are fragile and sometimes easily shattered. They also are defined by many different things, not just by blood. And often the ones that aren’t put together by blood can mean more. We define them ourselves.

When the some things that created them, like a marriage, dissolve, then they seem to disappear too–at least in the physical sense. But we may realize, especially at critical moments, they still linger within deeper parts of us; that these people who were once family are still dear.

So when I heard my ex-father-in-law is now in hospice, I found myself extremely sad. He was someone who had been very good to me while I was married. It’s been easy to recall so many memories of the kind things about him: his easy acceptance of our decision to adopt a HIV positive child, and his special love for her. And his overly enthusiastic attitude (and long conversations and questions) about my career as an EMT/Paramedic, something I didn’t always feel at home from his son. He loved the stuff!

I picture him as the typical unassuming New England man, quiet but always willing to help; that crooked smile, bald head and slight limp. He was my go to guy, always aware of what was happening with the weather, and loving to talk about it.

Maybe he’s not officially ‘family’ anymore, but in my heart he will always hold a very special place as he made me feel welcome and a part. I felt like family because of him.

Thank you, and may the rest of your days be easy…

wpid-0925130656.jpg