Rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall
Her chest should be like an empire — rise and fall.
But lungs no longer expand; no heart beats.
Bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum
The heart-drum should count off the cadence.
But no pulsing thrum, no sigh of exhalation.
And yet, I thought I saw her breathing in the mist upon the glass.
days roll into weeks; weeks — years; years to a lifetime.
and still I never could.
strangers become friends; friends — lovers ; and love is forever.
but I never could.
heart sends words; words — mouth; mouth stays silent.
because I never could.
I never could.
I never should.
…I never would…
silence to words; words to paper; paper to you.
strangers to friends; friends to strangers; then back again.
a lifetime rolls back into days.
Alone, my thoughts, my fears envelop me.
Awake, asleep, at work — without you there.
I reminisce; the memories abound,
True, some have fled, but eyes yet see your face;
I still can smell your hair — your scent — your tea.
Look around, it’s easy to see
the worst parts of humanity.
You hear them spew hatred and fears,
suicide stories; few shed tears.
Hiding behind a shield of brass
makes it easy to kick some ass.
Now look again, more closely still:
see those who stand; sheer force of will.
I Got Your Back; Hands Up Don’t Shoot!
All of us share a common root.
A wall of love, support and trust.
So stand we all together must!.
There are no lesser people here
It’s time to put away your fear.
Wherever I might go today;
It does not matter if I stay
Or walk or run or step in stride;
You come along; you’re right beside.
Wherever my two feet might land,
If tucked away or in my hand;
My phone ensures that in the end,
You are my omnipresent friend.
Everything lasts “until”…
Iron rusts to dust,
Glass shatters to shards,
The Titanic met an iceberg.
Everything eventually expires.
Love, Life, Laughter.
Yes, everything expires.
Cold, Gold, and Mold.
So hold on to the precious… “until”
But know that even the pain will pass.
studying Picasso I suddenly empathize
with those whom I generally criticize.
“stop pretending art is hard.”
“stop pretending. art is hard.”
artists make it seem so effortless
to craft a scene with cleverness.
“stop pretending art is hard.”
“stop pretending. art is hard.”
but when the truth is full well told
it takes some work to change shit to gold.
My mind jumps to the cliché;
“Possibilities” and “endless” spring to my head unbidden.
Explore it more; think of the … DAMN! more clichés leap into view!
“Choices”, “Options”, “Possibilities” … no, No, NO!
a myriad of stars in the heavens…
the grains of sand on a beach,
NO! I will not use these trite clichés.
The problem presents itself as a solution:
There simply are not a myriad of ways
to conjure words to discuss the feelings “myriad” evokes.
Fighting. Arguing. Who will win?
Quiet smiles, a twinkle of eyes.
Screaming, bickering, such a din!
Loving glance, cannot jeopardize.
he said she said take it out to the bike shed.
Let me in, I’ll let you win, can’t we be at peace again?
A statue spoke to me and said,
“Make art because you love it so,
Because without, you would be dead.
Give it for free, to those you know.
Also to those you don’t, my friend.”
Wise words she spoke to me that day,
“Give art away, your heart defend.
Just ask for it, and they will pay.”