ohm mitted

it seems to be so fitted
that i would be omitted
from times so good they had
why did they think me bad
did they not know that i cried
that is why i never tried

deep waters run still

i have taken a dip in the self pity pool
i try to void it, as a rule
but at times it catches me
and pulls me in
so hours i sit
lost in chagrin
to extricate oneself
from this mire
can be so hard
i so easily tire

precipice

the trick is to keep your edge

when you are one foot

off the ledge

serenity where

i think with some solemnity
about reaching serenity
the things i can
and cannot fix
its hard to sort out
in the mix
disheartened by
what will not repair
would be so much easier
if i did not care

until the window closes

i am letting air in until the window closes
feeling all of life's breath, with all its changing poses
want to feel the sensation hear the rustling sounds
do not want to be stale, that's for in the ground

woman alone in the movies

she had spent many afternoons by herself at the movies, her own prison asteroid. she sat, untouched, unnoticed, a face adrift in a sea of other faces...there were couples, families, children unaccompanied. people sitting without another. some even looked vaguely familiar.

as she walked home to the street where she used to live, she felt stingingly alone, it felt as if even the trees turned away from her. head downcast, she would walk up the path to the apartment building front door. it seemed that noone would be walking out, as she was walking in.

a few years passed. she went for the first time in what felt like ages to an afternoon at the movies. she had a sense of distant camaraderie with the solo movie going community, part of a larger planet, but her own continent. she looked at the other women who were alone in the theater. she was a part, not apart. she rose from her seat, proud.

she walked home, head held up. smiling.

do the children cry

do the children cry as they go out to play
in the ruins of their everyday
do the children cry as parents work in their fields
wondering if this years crops will yield
do the children cry as the monsoons rain
or the ground opens up
causing endless pain
do the children cry when the soldiers come
trying to kill all in their path
but sparing some
do the children cry when their stomachs do
will this hunger ever be through

heart and soul in rock and roll

most days she felt as old as some trees
tainted by some unknown disease
mulling over a life misspent
wondering where all of it went

at times she heard music that touched her soul
the once current hits now solid gold
the brown spots faded her lines erased
sadness, regrets, by the music chased

she danced so freely around the room
singing away her sense of gloom
the teenage girl who loved to roll and rock
came out again, to beat the clock

rock on

do not let the grey roots and wrinkles
try to fool you
i am still rocking
through and through

pho told

he had a picture of them together
before everything went wrong
before life loosened their tether
and they drifted, tossed along

their dreams cast out by reality
it happens as you sleep
struck down by a finality
left wounded much too deep

he sometime thought about
how he looked when he was young
when she was living, vibrant
before everything was done

a valentine fable

it was the dread day valentine
oh what was he to do
he had to buy her something
before the day was through
he needed a plan
he needed it right now
or he would spend the weekend
locked in chateau bow wow
he ran to the jeweler and to the candy store
oh life could not be much crueler
he had to buy her more
the necklace looked right at him
he knew that he was lost
like the apple was to adam
to be bought no matter what the cost
he watched with a big smile
as she opened up the box
that necklace is not my style
she slammed the door and closed the locks
he sat home and ate the candy
watched some sports on the t.v
played with any remote that was handy
and guzzled cold beers, three
the moral of the story
dont ask me i dont know
but the man was in all his glory
and the woman had nothing to show

ghosts and shadows

we two live together
but we do not live alone
we live with ghosts and shadows
who sometimes howl and moan

no part of life is a given. it is what we give to life, ourselves, and those that we love

forth i shall venture
hopefully without censure
those who say nay
get out of my way

i am lost in a puzzle
i can never leave
my fears need a muzzle
i want to believe

the night before the day after

the night before she sat and typed
hands so tired from dishes she wiped
the next day would herald a new routine
not like her life had for decades been
her quiet posture inner churning
what was up ahead, would she be learning
anticipation dotted here and there with dread
all these things swimming around inside her head
her composure she was going to maintain
or no good at all would she stand to gain
the night before the after day
she closed her computer
and walked away

...

life is safe in dreams, you can always wake up.

but upon awakening, do not lose sight of your
dreams

dog

if ever there was a creature on earth close to spiritual perfection, it is the dog. yet everyday i am subjected to images of this wonderful creature being starved, beaten, neglected, abandoned, poisoned or shot just for being a dog.

these images are horrifying in their own right and in their display of mans dark nature. they are unremitting and unrelenting. they take no emotional prisoners, wreaking heartbreak at every turn.

it is impossible to look at these tragic images without sensing the suffering of these sentient beings. their eyes hollow and lost, heads downcast. trying to be small in a large, hostile human landscape.

yet look i keep doing, as my heart turns in its tears...

to forget any holocaust is to create another

roanoke

a money clip was given to him, years ago. he always carries it in a pocket of whatever pants or shorts he is wearing. it was given to him by a woman who died young, and hard, bore him children, shared his life. his former life, his family, his lost colony.

he misplaced it. the woman he was with at that time bought him another. as soon he found the first, he quickly retired its successor, much to the chagrin of that woman. they did not share a life, but lived together, then, inevitably, moved apart.

when he takes this money clip out of his pocket, he dreams. lost time, lost life, things that could not be fixed, nor replaced. he holds it gently, looking wistfully at the initials, its texture. a soft, sad look cover his face. when she mentions this to him, he denies...to her, to himself...