when

when will he let go

i do not know

he muse

he "writes" the poems because he holds my hand

he has given me a home

and he understands

confusion reigning must get out

cannot be quiet cannot shout

an inner riot

living in a pout

i would like to create a little poem

that says it all, not in a tome

that expresses how i feel

what is imagined what is real

what has not been spoken waiting unsaid

swirling around my heart and head

can this be done remains a mystery

as each new day becomes a history

living faster than i can write

the blur that makes the day the night

i shall continue as long as i live

my words the best things i can give

 

 

she checks her email trying to find out

what is up and what is about

to fill the void her life has created

friends cannot be replicated

empty words give her a connection

an escape or cause for reflection

her feet redux

her feet stood still in the path they made

half in the sun half in the shade

surrounded by sounds by human voices

what were they thinking were they mulling choices

children running just to run, the best reason

trying to steal the last part of the season

cars flying by what is their rush

time is fast enough in its lightspeed crush

leaves wind bristling joyfully green

knowing soon they will not be seen

with or without her this she knows

something comes while something goes

her feet

her feet had walked this sidewalk paved

where sadness dwelled her life was saved

she was 15 the ground was hot

lying ahead, she hadnt read the plot

concerned with truth lost in her youth

the years brushed by, they tinged her face

as over and over she walked this place

she knew the park in both its light and dark

but through the years other  feet had tread

some still living some long dead

the sidewalk looked tired in greyness fade

so many lives upon it played

 

at times i partake of a nip of rum

as it blots out that sense of glum

but standing behind every mellow buzz

there lurks the is with its friend the was

sometimes a poembyte i will write

on topic heavy to keep it light

a word or two can say much more

than tens of thousands sure to bore

dont want to suffer a recession

in important word expression

the little girl revelled in what she found

afraid that it would run aground

what could she say to describe him

except before all lights were dim

sifting through emotional archives

she sat still and mulled

why some memories were sharp

while others were  dulled

there were entire pages

blank without  a word

she passed through all her stages

not a memory sound  heard

was it because with time softness settles in

or is it facing truth would cause too much chagrin

was what she was still running from

a source of liberation

or would its hard uncovering

be cause for much libation

would she ever know

would it help her grow?

 

 

sailing too

the water tapped rythmically against the boat, as hungry gulls scoured the water for prey.  the sun, in its gentle splendor, blanketed all it purveyed with its warmth.  the breeze tickled and teased, part balmy and part hinting of the autumn chill to come.

for her brother, this was the one place he could really be. he revelled in sharing this joy with anyone receptive, especially with his sister and her husband, who seemed to appreciate it most.

she lay back on the deck, feeling as if all her stress had been and was no more . she watched as her brother and his brother in law navigated the boat. it was a most primitive bonding...men, the sea, the air...

her inner world was at peace...the only movement the waves, and the love

if animals ruled how would it be this question often comes to me

dogs would want peace to  leave things alone

just give them some food, a lap and a bone

cats would want playtime  to romp and to stalk

we would have to be careful to watch where we walk

birds would be busy, smart and alert

keeping us in a tizzy, never inert

but would there be war

no not anymore

 

 

angel, sue et al

today i feel like i can soar

my words have reach, they touch

i dont feel so isolated any more

well at least not that much

for you who read my thanks indeed

 

i am young and i am old

i do both of them at once

i am shy and i am bold

i am smart and am a dunce

where did i get this prediliction

for such a  human contradiction

all is quiet i am tired and worn

not exactly happy but neither forlorn

just sitting in limbo alert and yet sleepy

my thoughts not akimbo nor am i weepy

idling to rest all that needs to be rested

ready to fight inner foes to be bested

why is there such a dearth

of any good news on this earth

every day its people dying

children alone, families crying

what ever happened to peace and love

the proverbial fist in a velvet glove

is it because it is not in style

gone the way of that :)empty smile

and what ever happened to a friendly word

is it now with the dodo bird?

they

they schooled her with deeds and words unkind

she tried to chase them from her mind

but there they were in every decision she made

every sound she uttered every move she played

one to one

please do take me one to one

dont lump me in a group

just because i am coughing

dont think i have the croup

his eyes

his eyes are a mirror but what does he see

so much more than i see in me

he sees a young girl laughing and fun

a shiny new pearl, where i see none

a life full of potential dreams unfullfilled

where i see the torrential streams yet untilled

but will he still see me this way as we go

or will he grow tired as we both grow slow?

my eyes

my eyes are twenty i look at the man

does he see me? i do all that i can

my eyes are thirty and still feeling wild

i am an adult but am inside a child

my eyes are forty and clouded a bit

he still looks young, perhaps a good fit

my eyes are fifty, twenty looks like a boy

emotionally thrifty but perhaps someones joy

my parents are older ive watched them age

from every corner, every page

in the twenties young and strong

working hard to get along

in their thirties, their forties too

living dreams they thought would never come true

then middle aged and grandparenthood

defending their bad by calling it good

now they sit at the end of the clock

viewing their lives and taking stock

while dodging infirmities, illness and pain

wishing they could do it all over again

they are the mirror i see my time race

with every wrinkle of my once youthful face

she walked around, shuffling her feet as she imagined the soon to be fallen leaves under her . she had lived this life for so long yet at times it felt surreal, as though she were living it through a raindrop, viscous and distorted.

she turned her head from side to side, taking in all within her range of vision. her eyes swallowed the verdure of the leaves, the sullen grey sidewalks, faces passing by. she thirsted so for every image, unable to take enough in.

ever the outsider so desparate to be let in 

within the parameters of her essential being

seen your...

i do not want to be this way

time gave me no choice

i may be getting older

but i still have a voice

should i write something more commercially viable

with inspiration not so easily deniable

or stick to my own self being pliable

at least my angst is reliable?

she sat quietly watching as her fingers hurried over the keyboard, running from the hurt by pounding out her pain.  the crickets outside her window ushering the end of summer, seemed to accompany the torment inside her.

she had reached out to someone by revealing herself, this was greeted by the slap she knew would come sooner or later, but this time, she would keep on going.

a frayed

she sits by the water toes dangling in

this someones daughter not going in

wanting to dive too afraid that she'll drown

yearning to thrive but afraid she'll fall down

afraid of the dark afraid of the light

dreading the lows yet afraid of the height

toes loving the cool water foot goes in deep

liquid inviting so why can't she leap?

 

it is friday another high day

an attempt to run from who am i day

 

i should sit and write something down

i tell my self as there's noone around

the music is playing but apartment is quiet

no thoughts are staying

my minds in a riot

will i die with nothing achieved

noone to understand

what i believed

or will i be heard

with my written word?

it must be nice to be young with a plan

everyday feeling like life just began

but this perspective belongs only

to those who are aging

youth is too busy

with hormones engaging

we who run daily from the

truth so heart rending

we are closer to leaving

our lives to be ending

 

 

h

 

the little girl sat on the shelf

not all alone

but by herself

darkness around her

no glimpse of light

only her fantasies

warming the night

 

she watches him as he sits, reading his paper, head resting in his hand. she sees him as someone trying...to live a life, to make another life with her, the woman he is with.

she wonders if the women before her share their bed, when he touches her, as he dreams.  she wonders how much of his mind they occupy, in his private moments, what regrets, grief he still experiences.

and what of his heart?. are they still there too, shoving her into a little chamber?

she thinks about men in general, are they all from the steven stills love the one your with school of living? and if so, as long as it works for them, that is ok.

 but what of the "one your with" , me, she asks herself. where do i fit in, or do i? am i just a little bandaid on a big wound that has not healed?

will i ever occupy the center chamber?:will i ever feel i do, if i did?

you will only get a shadow

at the most

if you love a man

who still loves a ghost

what insurmountable hurdles could she have crossed

what unfathomable miseries were her way tossed

were walls surrounding her blocking her way

so much that she could not face another day

the little girl in her driveway no longer playing ball

the house so empty only whispers in the hall

an old neighbor of mine needed to hide

she chose her place, by suicide

the young girl i knew i watched her grow

just had enough decided to go

on the surface to others her life looked grand

everything she needed within reach of her hand

but something inside could not be sated

all hope within her slowly faded

a life worth living came and went

no more giving lost in descent

 

Q

the oldies i hear are so golden

is there a way for me to

enbolden

sobriety is sometimes like piety

it cannot exist without propriety

 

 

in my other journal

musings, confusings

eternal

most times i try to avoid

all the things that make me annoyed

but i revel a bit in the parody

i find hilarity sometimes in clarity

with eyes wide open all coming in

no clouding no hiding

no drowning the din

i hope this happens more often

before i fall in the coffin

 

my mind is always meandering

when i try inner gandering

it gads about from space to space

unable to anchor in just one place

twisting turning web-o-lutions

always seeking sound solutions

i ran a roller coaster

from a hermit to

a boaster

could never find an even keel

just drowning out how i feel

 

he looked at her through eyes so quizzical

this was something that transcended

the merely physical

she reclined softly on the bench, resting her head on a bright yellow life jacket,. lulled into a nearly calm state. the boat swayed from side to side, accompanied by a warm, gentle breeze. her never resting brain was almost quiet,

the sun caressed her face, filling her completely...with those she loved, who loved her in return. the planet seemed almost inviting

 

absinthe makes the fart grow honda.....

do i indulge in my proclivity

for some sort of creativity

or is it just lividity

from a tad too much

liquidity

i sit in this humidity

languid with stupidity

this rhyme has gotten corny

although its roots are thorny