When my oldest brother, Todd,
came back for my mom's funeral,
he had this light about him.
His face was a poem.
Sure, he was the oldest, and he
had a healthy-looking tan from the
hot New Mexico sun, working
outside with turquoise, silver,
and bear claws to make
jewelry for the tourists, but there
was more than that.

He was an artist, and all artists have
a fractured ease about things, but he
lit up.  Something from the inside
projected out.
He comforted everyone else, we leaned
on him.  His eyes oozed serenity.

A few calendars later, when I traveled
back for his funeral, I saw the same
look on a few of his friends' faces.
His wife told me after the service
that Todd had gotten sober years before.

You say you are ready to talk,                                                            ­                  
                                                                ­                                                    
after I tell you I'm gonna walk                                                             ­                     
                                           ­                                                                 ­      
Tired of the procrastination,                                                 ­                                             
 you bring to every situation                                                        ­                        
                                                                ­                                         
I hear your silence out loud                                                             ­                                           
                     ­                                                                 ­                              
I'm the only one in the crowd                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­      
who's always picking up the pieces,                                                          ­                
                                                                ­                                        
whenever your attention ceases                                                          
­                                                                 ­                                                 
This is the same thing, different day,                                                             ­         
                                                                ­                                                  
you don't know what to do or say                                                              ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                      
and when you speak you tell me
  lies,                                                         ­               
                                                                ­                                                     
 so many reasons that you can't  
  try                                                    ­            
                                                                ­                                                        
I have heard all of this before ,                                                                ­                      
about how you will be there
more                                                             ­   
                                                                ­                                                        
Your love has filled my heart with
doubt,                                                           ­ 
                                                               ­                                                   
you have nothing I can't live
without                                                          ­              
                                                  ­                                                                 ­     
I really can't take on another
bout                                                             ­               
                                                                ­                                                      
  of surviving your nuclear
fallouts

Feelings tend to be hard,
From them,
We long to break apart.

But if you're going through hardship,
Baby, know that you're loved,
You're stronger than what you oppose.

I’m the harshest critic,
the truest of nonbelievers,
when words of love are used.
Soapy words will not deliver
so please stop trying to be smooth.

Don’t compare me to a summer’s day!
I know that’s from some Broadway play.

Waste not flattery’s rose
praise not my grace,
at least not to my face,
you’re better off praising my clothes.

Forgo sweetness, promise nothing
then you may be onto something
say it, straight up, I won’t faint
trust me, sir, I am no saint.
.
.
A song for this:
Words of love by the Beatles
.
Maddy’ Music challenge:
“Write a poem based on three words from a song.”
Song: 'Words of love' by the Beatles 1964

"In memory of Eliza and Emily"  
Twelve Years a Slave, Eliza Berry's life marked by cruelty, a tragedy of slavery.


She rose to lower heights as she plucked the cotton with  
                               her bare hands
Stooped over she pulled the cotton from the bolls, fine cotton
                               that it was !  
Twelve years of slavehood, her daughter taken for her beauty
                                  was separated from her youth...
Haggard, hollow-eyed and filled with sorrow she worked soberly
                                     for she would not be sold, she was not for sale !
Eliza wept tears of grief but, there was nothing she could do,
                                       her daughter had been taken away from her.
Come back—don’t leave me—come back, mama, was her last cry
  until distance intervened and then all was finally wholly lost.

Foot Note: Eliza never saw or heard of Emily. In the cotton field, always and everywhere she was talking to her.  Only when absorbed in that illusion or asleep, did she ever have a moment’s comfort, afterwards.

Wise man say: “There are too many ways to look the fool without
arguing with one.”

Stalin had the oil
****** had the cash
Von Ribbentrop
And
Molotov
Made a cocktail
That couldn't last.

One step, one shot, one final breath.
I walk through war, I talk to death.
He never speaks, but I still know
Not yet, not yet. There's more to go.