How does renewal often begin?
With deconstructing.

I can't stop the feeling.
I'm breathing it in.
I'm mending already.

And I am ready to begin
Again.

How many times did the one requesting your secrecy
Fail to keep the "secrecy" you bound them to?

How many times have you been betrayed
By the one whom you would never have betrayed?

How many times was your innocence torn apart
By the one who should have protected it?

Should your loyalty not be measured by loyalty?
Be careful what you promise and then owe or vow.

Some promises are made to be broken.
Some promises need to be broken.

Do not judge love by its length.
How long is a piece of string?
Love is not a piece of string.
It is a spool of thread that goes on
Unwinding throughout all eternity.
It is untangling, all encircling for those
Fortunate enough to be entangled by it.

Oooo, oooo, the wind has a sudden voice
Ice crystals like trinkets hanging in the trees ******
As the stiff wind blows and mourns, we mourn

Banks of snow are built, torn down, rebuilt
The howl is haunting as it cries in distress, and we cry
New snow atop hard-pack crunches beneath bare feet

We have walked the soles off our moccasined feet,
No water can quench our thirst, for no water is given
We have dried up, blown away, like the husks of corn

Oooo, oooo, the wind has a sudden voice, we do not

Believe me, I was once vibrant and young,
Strong but lithe and slight of frame, and pretty.
Filled with love of life and with hope,
I felt nothing could match my strength,
And throughout much of my life, few things did.
There was this whole world that was for the taking!

I strove with gusto to grasp much knowledge.
And flitted like a butterfly amongst it at my will.
Trees and fields were my currency, and
I felt rich in nature, which surrounded me.
It was what I valued, wealth spent judiciously.

I renewed and burned through storehouses of energy.
I wrapped myself in cloaks of green, wore flowers
Like talismans, encircled charms about the head and neck.
And I walked carpets of wildflowers as my path.
Nature, treasured, is imprinted on my soul to this day.
It is where I long to be, here and now, aging.

To my beloved family, I ask, only this request:
When life is done, sprinkle me among the pecan orchards,
Which was my first school, filled with many teachers, where
I, in studious quietude, spent my formative years. Remember
What shapes a person carries a person forward in life, yet,
Time, which we cannot alter, has its way with us, after all.

It is often true that you
Must sink to the bottom
Before you can rise upward.
Swim!

How brief, this life, oft filled with pain
That those more worthy should die,
More worthy than me.  

And I live still.
"Hasta luego," until later, dear friend
And until the day we meet again.

My love, I know, I know sweet love,
You used alcohol and drugs to stop the war in your head.
It never did stop raging within, as you raged without.  

The Viet Cong didn't get a bullet into you.
But the ****** was cheap and to a combat soldier, sweet.
So, I guess, they killed you slowly, softly.

You had been handsome, gregarious, and brilliant even.
I would help you clean yourself up, put you back together
Only to have you load that "gentle bullet" and fire it into your arms.

Stopping things in your head means eventually becoming brain-dead.
I saw the beautiful, intelligent man that you were become stupid.
Killed by that slow-moving, gentle bullet.

But it was not merciful.
It was not gentle.
Was it, my love?

(I borrowed part of a concept from Nolan Bucsis.)

You are not here.
You have never been where I am now,
Old age.

I told you:
"You are killing yourself.  Don't you understand?"
You did.

I told you
That I could not watch you **** yourself, slowly.
You did.

And now,
You have been gone for some forty years
From our bed.

You lived on
Still slowly taking the numerous poisons
That would end you.

They did
So, by design, I suppose.
You have been gone for almost twenty years.

You are not here.
I still am.
And yet, you keep perpetually leaving me.

Reality should soon set in, I warn you.
We are coming into that time of the year,
When temperatures rise and energy is too costly
As wages go down and prices climb higher.

Yes, we have failed ourselves and one another.
You will see those hungry faces looking for a crust.
While you are grateful for a roof and a bed
Hunger will continue to spread even to you.

As the insurance they paid into is cut off
The elderly will swelter and die in the heat.
As others look on, unable to sustain themselves
Or save precious others.

My mind: Go from here!
And do not grace my door again,
Nor walk across this floor.

Yes, old habits die so hard
And often these leave you
Screaming for more.

But I am no longer addicted to you.

The sky was filled
With the most
Beautiful shades of gray

We don't often
Think of gray
As being beautiful

There is a depth
To this color
And much nuance

There are many
Shades of gray
There is gray

With a pink tinge
Gray like charcoal
And icy gray

Dusty-rose is but
Rose with gray
What gray is should be

Black and white, after all

In a forest, I hugged a tree
And this tree spoke to me.
It said I have branches above
And I have branches beneath.
I have leaves for photosynthesis,
Just look at my wondrous work.
I take in carbon to release oxygen,
I allow you to be able to breathe,
As I take sunlight into my leaves.
Take off your shoes.
Feel this life with your feet,
The process continues below.
Beneath your very feet
A highway for travel exists.
My roots, pushing through
The soil in hairy branches
Spreading out in all directions.
With chemical trails, they speak
To tell bacteria to wake up!
My sweet treat takes up, then
Share with our microbe friends.
Dear human, I want you to know
The phyla inside me and inside you
Are four and exactly the same.
Together we can feed all life.

We shelter in place with our shadows
With eyes darting back and forth in fear,
Wondering what might come creeping near.
Thoughts haunt us in every place and every space.

Painful detritus blocks the doorway of release.
We can only wander from room to room in grief.
Trapped within an encumbered mind, we find
Blacked-out portals of foil-covered windows, all!

Our fears only serve to make us each feel small.
But we are not small, not at all.  We can win the race
If we allow Grace to shovel a path through the mess,
And Hope grasps our hand and leads us out.

This is why it is said: We all need Hope.

“If only I had wings like a dove!
I would fly away and reside in safety.” Ps. 55:6
Yet, you see my struggles, hear my prayers,
For your mercies never end.

Like the stone that sank into Goliath’s head
Became the turning point of the battle
In the safety of your power, I reside,
For your mercies never end.

And even if my own father
and mother abandon me,
You, yourself, will take me in. Ps. 27:10
For your mercies never end.

Outside my window
Dark wings go flitting by
Like a shadowy great hand
I sit looking out, and inside I cry
A darkness is growing in this land
From the evil of men

Conmen see a greedy need in you
Make you feel it’ll be fulfilled
But they’ll take your diamond
Traded for a big chunk of glass
Leaving you feeling you got a deal
If you need a better medicine
He fills your bottle with snake oil
And for just a million down
He’ll sale you Brooklyn Bride

The next round is rolling up
As everything goes down

You look like you lost a $10
But only found $1

Trust me, you will bleed
Green and blood

He will never be bled to death
But you certainly will

Scums in a cesspool
Cling to lumps flushed down the drain
All releasing stink

Unmoored from reality
You never intended to listen
Idiots piled into your tiny boat
Set adrift in a vessel but
Was never meant to float

One rules above the doomed
Chaos kings and queens all fools
These thought they co-ruled
All paper tigers wadded waste
Who thought they could drive

As these blackout-drunks steer

Time traveling is possible, a river said.

Traces of lives left behind in multitudes,
Bones and jewels beneath the mud,
Bent and buried blades, buttons, cufflinks,
Pipes, and dress pins upon dress pins.

The backdrop of so much history
As the Thames flows on through the
Land and hearts of Londoners.
A witness to thousands of years.

Each tide reveals historic artifacts
On the changing foreshore.
An unwritten record of discovery.
It is the city's longest archeological site.

Modern mudlarks find the clues to its use
Across the city, across the ages of time,
As a transport artery, a connection to the gods,
A source of sustenance, or a place for dumping.

Mudlarks of the mid-19th century were
“Compelled from utter destitution to seek
For the means of appeasing their hunger
In the mud of the river.”

Today mudlarking is a hobby, relaxing, fun,
But generations of the young to the old sought
Lumps of coal, rope, bones, iron, or copper
– anything that could be sold.

Time, the river, and its people are survivors.

I ate tears for food
Love comes at a price
For some a little, for some great

I ate tears off porcelain plates
Had I known the price up front
I would choose to starve

I keep you here in this big box.
You are aged and brittle around the edges.

The white album is now yellow,
A Jim Morrison poster is tattered.

Love beads with a peace symbol tarnished,
My Jimi Hendrix in psychedelic paint faded.

You all carried my teenage angst,
Now in this box I carry you.

Go celebrate today
For you won’t be able tomorrow,
Nor will you feel like it.

The golden age has turned orange.
What you thought was gold
Has proven to be faux.

(My great-grandmother lost most of her family on the forced march, which came to be called the Trail of Tears.  Indigenous people were moved off the land they had been on for thousands of years, no doubt.  This poem is for them.)

Dancing Rabbit dips one paw
Into clear creek waters. Pink nose wiggle,
A shake of the head to ready thoughts.
Leaps into the unknown histories of a people
Who knew these lands long before blue eyes.

Echo, I cry out
Echo, my words bounce back
Echo, a controlled narrative

In this vast echo chamber
I cry out the words I want to hear.
Then I no longer hear the truths

Which causes me to fear.

The facts become a strange thing
As truth has flown on fragile wings
And all sound reason with it.

What could extinguish
The last glowing coal of love
Whose embers still faintly cling
To that flaming life it once had.

And who would deny it life?
I cannot, and so I shelter it
From rain, through storms,
With gentle breaths, I keep it

Forever burning in my heart.

Inspired by a comment on Sabrina Benaim  

When you realize
What you didn't know,
You are well and truly
On your own.

You fight alone.

Self-awareness is
A lucid torment of
The cruelest part of anxiety,
Mental unrest.

Can we just skip ahead
To the crying
To the heartbreak
To the part where
You say you're leaving
Then I can begin
To live again

And, I did

-In the style of Solange Loe-Sack-Sioe, aka Shell

The purest love is often silent.
It speaks volumes without words.
In silent words throughout the day,
It prays.

April 2,
It snowed in Minnesota
The poor who were cold
Are caught in the trap
Their help is long gone
The programs cut
Why?  To help the rich,
Of course.

Stand
On the shoulders of the giants
So that you might see
The places we are going,
The places we have been.
Stand to be seen.

Stand,
So that you can see
The future you,
The future me
Looking into the past
Standing in the future.

Standing
You realize that giants stood
Upon the shoulders of giants
And all walked with purpose
So that we all could climb up.

Don't let that be for nothing.

Poem of hate,
Poems of hope.
Poem of love,
Poems of none.
Poets understand.

Some poems grab you,
Some by the throat
Others by "the hope."
Which one do you write?
Both?

Poem of hate,
Poems of hope.
Poem of love,
Poems of none.
Poets get 'cha.

In the style of Marc Morais

Become a boulder for
Those who need a place to lean
Between solitude and stress
A tide for the jagged shore
For those who feel unmoored
And no longer want to be moored

Mighty strength to meager strength
Wrap your strength around mine
Become all things to all things
Then in this act, you will find
Two become mightier than one
And many hands make lighter lives

My strength in you, yours in mine

Buttoned into wrinkles
Of time and mind

Like a melody
On a tin whistle

A lingering sense
Of otherworldliness

Hardwired for folktales
Oral traditions filled

With mythical traditions
And practical wisdom

Time, like a whistled tune
Blown and gone, remains

Amidst haunting,
Faint memories

And your green isle

Pretty lips on a pretty boy
But those pretty lips will
Never bring me any joy

Because his lips belong
To his pretty boy-toy
And it rankles me ‘cause

He used to be mine

(This poem is not autobiographical.  It is about someone I used to know.)

Like a stone in my shoe

I cannot help but think of you
Leaving me sore and bruised.
Then when I feel I might forget
It is there with painful intent yet.

And I am unable to shift it or to lift it.
Although I have loved with no regret
That painful stone continues on
And Memory never leaves me alone.

In the end, though, it should be Friend
For my comfort comes from the stone
Because you lie cold in the ground.
No longer able to come home.

Serene, float among green growth,
Buds desire to open, join the flotilla.
Gentle one, you are like the waterlily
Which grow across the surface,
The still surface of my pond.

I am the sun setting in spectacular glory.
You are the warm Gulf waters caressing
As you wash along my ragged shoreline
Lovingly lapping late into a humid evening.

I hear the soft whooshing, smell the brine,
Watch the shorebirds returning home,
Hear the earnest, varied calls and cries,
As they with singular intent soon disappear.

How dear you all are to me.

There will be birds
Flying through my dreams
Diving like ballerinas
Dancing on bright wings
There will be birds seen

As they cross the sky's path
From one place to the next pass
To carry secretly away the past
And lead to the future's next
Birds will be there,

To always fly me free

I see your beautiful mouth as you edge forward.
Your lips open, almost caressing the mic
And then honey pours out.

Your lyrics curl around those sitting here
Like smoke from a lone cigarette in a tray
And bind us all together.

Eyes close with tender inflection
Dragging us into his pain, again and again.
The music ends and his pain is gone

But will resurface the next time he sings.

I smell the damp earth.
The scent rises into my nostrils.
Under this pine rain drips down
Dimpling the ground all about me.

Some distant bird flutters up
Making a whirring, whistling sound.
It echoes across the field of thoughts,
Brings me back to my reality.

That truth is sharp and pain-filled.
It stealthily digs under your skin.
You are gone, but life continues.
Tell me it does.  Your answer, "Life,

It is in the scent of earth,
The whirring of the distant bird,
The dimpling of raindrops on soil.
And in each molecule of the universe."

You invaded minds
Like a brain-worm
Munched your way
Until all is in decay

He is like a cannibal
Who consumes the strongman
Because he thinks it will make him strong

Alternate version:
Mania Munch
He is like a zombie cannibal
Who consumes the strongman
Because he thinks it will make him strong
And then wears the skin, because
He believes he can embody its strength
He drinks from the skulls of his many victims
As he consumes their life's blood
And cares not a modicum, nor understand
Other people's fears, feelings, or lives, for
He is incapable of actual feeling or love
All he can do is feed his many manias
You must have a heart to be human

My heart holds no reason
Other than this love
Eros fills my senses
Agape guides my way

No reasoning with my heart
Though I talk to it
Love for you remains
Mania, mania, mania

My heart needs no other reason
My love is a golden apple
Ripe for the bite
That your lips might

O, that your sweet lips might

Mountain crocus'
Reach purple arms
Towards the sky
Spring twinkles
In their yellow eyes

They walked into the booth
“Pulled the lever,” pull out their gun
Then shoot themselves in the foot

And hobble away.

Now these days, as they slap themselves
Upside the head it is heard them say,
"I could have had a V8!"

Now is the time to
"Break glass in case of emergency"
Anybody got a hammer?

Evil is a light sleeper
Hate is a light sleeper
Prejudice is a light sleeper

Bedfellows who keep one eye open
Rouse at the slightest vibration
Of their wicked spiderweb

Pink bald skin shines through
A few plastered strands of hair.
That is just the back view, there.

O, this silly, psychotic old man
With the reigns of power
Held tightly in tiny wrinkled hands!

Make no mistake you need to quake
Because all this crap is very real,
Pretty much it’s a done deal.

Straight up it's a ******-land.
We’re living in a reality show
And in reality, we all know.

As he listens on a private call,
Step-by-step instructions from
"How To - The Manual," y'all.