Summer Music by May Sarton

Summer is all a green air—
From the brilliant lawn, sopranos
Through murmuring hedges
Accompanied by some poplars;
In fields of wheat, surprises;
Through faraway pastures, flows
To the horizon’s blues
In slow decrescendos.

Summer is all a green sound—
Rippling in the foreground
To that soft applause,
The foam of Queen Anne’s lace.
Green, green in the ear
Is all we care to hear—
Until a field suddenly flashes
The singing with so sharp
A yellow that it crashes
Loud cymbals in the ear,
Minor has turned to major
As summer, lulling and so mild,
Goes golden-buttercup-wild.

I Drink You In

I drink you in, as though, there be no end.

I ache your ailing spirit, as though, it were mine.

If I were set upon a lost ocean…

Whatever you found to be amiss…I would find.

Lover, it hurts so, when your world…

Resigns to the being of…unkind.

us-2

Tomorrow will come and take us away.

Import us to the blues.

Retrieving each soul, as though we were never one.

In the deepest of my smallest conviction…

With all of infinity…

I will understand…

We have only just begun!

Peace Dog

“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don’t know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring–it was peace.” – Milan Kundera

Head in the Clouds

head in the clouds

“Always best to keep the head in the clouds…

and feet planted firmly on the ground.

That way the best of both world are at your fingertips!”

Blue-green music-pink-and-blue-ii

“One day a hummingbird flew in–
It fluttered against the window til I got it down where I could reach it with an open umbrella–
–When I had it in my hand it was so small I couldn’t believe I had it–but I could feel the intense life–so intense and so tiny–
…You were like the humming bird to me…
And I am rather inclined to feel that you and I know the best part of one another without spending much time together–
–It is not that I fear the knowing–
It is that I am at this moment willing to let you be what you are to me–it is beautiful and pure and very intensely alive.”

-Georgia O’Keeffe

Big Brown Dog, and a Roadside Poet

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Everyone deserves to be a poet…for one day.

A knock off…laureate on display.

Fortunate, daughter, it is your day.

I found the river not lost but…wandering.

The water so clamorous,

that pockets of everyday living…can flow, in and around you.

Decisions that can be left for another day.

Battles, won or lost, whether you go or stay.

Coarse, they are, these headstones or markers, along the way.

The big brown dog always aware of impending calamity.

Roots boulder deep…

So much so, they could arise the dead from their sleep.

“It must be not enough to be the voice of someone else’s reason.

It must be enough to be our own reason.”

But these are dreams we dream…when we have no other dreams left.

Blue collar workers of rhyme, denizens of word theft.

Course, there are dried, deadlock, beds…

and, one wonders who else has come before to steal time?

But I have just got my broken feet back on the ground.

And, am not prepared to settle down.

The big brown dog…she does not care.

Taking it as it comes.

Life…that is.

More or less, as long as, there is a roadside rest.

And, the occasional, foot bridge requiring an athlete’s best.

So, it is myself, and the big brown dog…with big brown eyes…

Myself, mostly upright.

She, in a habitat of brown leaves.

Down by a random stream.

Dreaming a roadside poet’s dream.

 

No Ugliness In the Dark

There is no ugliness in the dark, it now soothes my soul.

It is pruned and hidden behind all that I know.

A midnight hour…now, has become as slow and methodical, as a turtle in spring time.

Quiet, watchful and meandering.

Where there had once been discomfort from the levels of kindness…

I offer myself, whatever will be…will be.

Where had once been fear and disenchantment…

an ease.

No more hardship.

I am hidden and appointed…no longer is there someone else’s misery.

Cracks in the Pavement

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Way up here, a universe between the…

here and now.

There is still a chill in understanding the undertaking.

A personal best, per say,

in choices for the forsaking.

These are but cracks in the pavement, earthy and routine.

Times when the public handicap is less sublime…

Perhaps, to some, more obscene.

My sister does not understand…

or, better yet, has not taken the chance to know.

Perchance, had she ever glanced at the forever…shaking of my  hands.

Or, the new trend of hypocrisy across the North land.

She would see same blood…different set of plans.

As a youth, frozen in a tundra of moral mediocrity..

Envy, infinitely, encompassed me.

Heeled, I walked with my sister’s feet.

Begging my veiled thoughts to…retreat.

The truest wish I had ever spoke…

‘let those after me…feel less remote.’

Alas, the ‘stoned’ split tongue undertaker has come…

Blowing winds pass my attempts at changing the tides.

My sister…still, obtuse to our different rides.

In anguish, as I have done before,

I point to the cattle prodded like guileless clowns at the door.

Yet, the hand of many prop her to her fence.

And, stage sister against…

a forest to which she can never be lent.

Rural, I am.

Nonetheless, not so different from others…of big talk…small lands.

My heart, just the same… larger than life.

Urging me, these choices you’ve made cannot be broken by gun or by knife.

hallowed 6

 

 

the Blade or the Brake

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Pristine and crisp…like a second chance to catch a breath.

Traveling to far-flung acres looking for the new growth of more.

Dank darkness combined with black coffee before propping open… of the barn door.

 

As a young farm hand, I had chance to renew the fields.

Scrubbing for sod.

Boasting with migrant workers during a noon time meal.

 

In the innocence, a lifetime discovery…

tractors run but they also roll.

Choices made were all in timing the blade or the brake.

How little to know…a dry season would be all the calamity it takes.

Frost and Flannel

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The clapping hollow and harrowed noise of hiking boot on a hardwood floor

The mystery surrounding a Dixie cup of corn liquor.

The lanky old man

The slamming of the improperly fit…screen door.

After all hadn’t it been her way to travel down paths unknown

Granite faces

Fallen ways of cobblestone.

So what to make of a diminished thing

Long after the spring.

So what to make of a young writer’s dilemma.

My handler submerged in her own poetic plight.

Filled with daydreams

A self-imposed creator’s right.

Year after year

I have gone to what I know to be best.

Frost farms

a meandering Raven’s charm.

Indeed my only play had been what I found.

Chasing critiques that made little sound

Bending the white off the birch

Reflecting the dog’s menace to the earth.

Those days I ran on the ray’s of innocence

as though, sunlight glow no more.

A purposeful forgotten promise

fireside with my father at the cabin door.

So, again the basking of clove and lavender has begun

Will the ache ever be done.

Yes, I took a road less traveled

And, I shall not forget all I have chance to marvel.

Love Me Twice

if you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion -Dali Lama
if you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion
-Dali Lama

If you only love me now and again

Love me today

Love me tomorrow.

I you only think of me on occasion

Think of me when you need me

Think of me on the days that you have borrowed

Hear me

in the winds that caress your cheek

Hear  me

upon the days when there are no words to speak.

When you need me, from time to time

Need me as the days grow shorter

Need me in between life’s fine lines.

When you love me

Just love me twice

Love me today

and

Love me as the skies begin to gray.

In between today and tomorrow...there are big bites of love!  Relish the moment
In between today and tomorrow…there are big bites of love! Relish the moment

Dusk Flirts

imageedit_93_6485758073

It is late at night.

Perhaps, just ’round midnight.

Dusk flirts with a lit lamppost.

I place my hand gently in the curve of your hip.

And, soon…

What strange monsters that lurk.

In the mania of the mind.

Fade to darkness in the beauty of your design.

Repaired with Care

imageedit_20_4066985689

There is relief for us…

Somewhere in the forest of our dreams.

A broken down…

Repair with despair.

Wooden, spindled, chair.

Let there be no promises made.

Only hope covered in moss and unnamed flowers.

There is relief for us.

There is hope in nature.

It is in the depths of unknown.

It is no stranger.imageedit_8_7254150409

IF

If I stand here, not so firmly on the ground…

as the world continues to spin around

If I squander here within four walls, tinder that has ground to a halt…

as my small space smolders and smokes

If I lay here among all the stars burning the sky, amidst all the lies, lies, lies…

as my complacency issues a good-bye

If only, IF, I know what I should have known before…

could I have given more?

Thank You, Elmo!

In spite of temporary victories, violence never brings permanent peace.” “We adopt the means of nonviolence because our end is a community at peace with itself. We will try to persuade with our words, but if our words fail, we will try to persuade with our acts. #Martin Luther King Jr.

Tumbler of Forgotten Notes

imageedit_73_5367108974

How transcending…

Wonderful moments, historic and sweet.

Then emotions fell into retreat.

A repugnance…cast its shadow on me.

When I misplaced the lesson plan.

Love had learned to mis-handle all that I had believed.

An unmarked headstone.

As if, I were a character in an ancient mystery.

Crude bones.

An uninvited tombs became my destiny.

Confinement may not have killed me.

But strength was hard to find.

It is never far to travel…

When the last plan is to lose your mind.

Shy, as the memories we hide in our reflection.

Loveliness appeared as, hectic as a tumbler of forgotten notes.

A lover to the fears I had buried over the years.

And, as my fortunate teller, pressed a delicate finger to my parted lips.

Just a few words…

‘Love is a lesson that gives and gives.’

imageedit_80_6422401607

Love Me Twice

if you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion -Dali Lama
if you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion
-Dali Lama

If you only love me now and again

Love me today

Love me tomorrow.

I you only think of me on occasion

Think of me when you need me

Think of me on the days that you have borrowed

Hear me

in the winds that caress your cheek

Hear  me

upon the days when there are no words to speak.

When you need me, from time to time

Need me as the days grow shorter

Need me in between life’s fine lines.

When you love me

Just love me twice

Love me today

and

Love me as the skies begin to gray.

In between today and tomorrow...there are big bites of love!  Relish the moment
In between today and tomorrow…there are big bites of love! Relish the moment

Repeat Love

a Rainbow Bucket List
a Rainbow Bucket List

In a lifetime of love like snowflakes…none being the same.  Somethings are worth repeating.

 

i carry your heart with me
i carry it in
my heart
i am never without it
anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling.
 
 i fear no fate
for you are my fate,my sweet
i want
no world
for beautiful you are my world,my true
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
 
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
Knowles Chilled
 

♥♥♥

I  CARRY YOUR HEART

I CARRY IT IN MY HEART

 

##I Carry Your Heart – EE Cummings

the Thunder

thunder comes up over the hollow and lays down in the street

circles my yard and peaks at my feet

I try to wake my loved one to make her aware

then I realize that beside me she lays…rumpled here and there

to stay at home or not

no matter… the thunder rounds herself up

she will always be near

the Northern Wallflower

imageedit_3_6452119298

The day after yesterday…

the lilacs were gone.

Then the iris.

One by one, they were, also,  all departed.

All, but the northern wallflowers…that is.

Never do the gods account for the ever so green…up on the ridge.

This is where the grassy knolls have always replenished me.

I come here daily to see what it is you see.

No, you are not just a simple plot of trees.

What has been, seen daily, yearly, at your limbs hand?

The growth so measurable…

Yet, your roots have begun a different kind of land.

 ∞

In deepest sincerity,

my strength has atrophied.

But my vigor…as I watch your vastness…

I admit…is thought of differently.

In freshened mind, as you have portrayed…

I cannot walk this walk…only to return to my cave.

Though in beckoning winds I may…become altered.

A small resolution should not be what I am after.

 ∞

Came fall, ever green will turn to rust.

Came winter, your poignancy will become a changeling, yet, robust.

Sheltering all who follow you.

Giving the time to renew.

 

 

 

 

Minister’s Daughter

Rare…

But there is possibility in limited reflection.

Burdens on the verge of fevered detention.

Shallow screams.

And,

spirits going bump in the night.

Occasional,  end trails in sight.

 

Beautiful impostors flare up.

Along the line of pretense.

And,

open a mythical gate.

 

Yet,

well wishing has been down this road more than once.

Walking in ill-fitting glass slippers.

Stepping into the abyss for a promise of more.

A minister’s daughter…

Who cannot find an open door.

 

Panicked to be Free

I stagger around in my thoughts…as if an open book

as if a locked attic with no key and skeletons that wish to be free

My panic sets in whether day or night

In small snippets I remember the daffodils, the farmland, the rebirth, the light

In small, form fit spaces…this is where the head and the heart fight

I assume nature is alarmed, possibly having already panicked years before

Perhaps, the reason for a locked attic door

Today is a Gift

imageedit_131_4372194938

Many people will walk in and out of your life,
But only true friends will leave footprints in your heart
To handle yourself, use your head;
To handle others, use your heart.
Anger is only one letter short of danger.
If someone betrays you twice, it is your fault
Great minds discuss events;
Small minds discuss people.
He who loses money, loses much;
He who loses a friend, loses much more;
He who loses faith, loses all.
Beautiful old people are works of art.
Learn from the mistakes of others
You can’t live long enough to make them all yourself.

Friends, you and me … You brought another friend …

And, we started our group … our circle of friends …

And,repair-1 like a circle … there is no beginning or end …

Yesterday is history.
Tomorrow is mystery.
Today is a gift.

##Laszlo Kotro-Kosztandi

 

Cracks in the Pavement

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Way up here, a universe between the…

here and now.

There is still a chill in understanding the undertaking.

A personal best, per say,

in choices for the forsaking.

These are but cracks in the pavement, earthy and routine.

Times when the public handicap is less sublime…

Perhaps, to some, more obscene.

My sister does not understand…

or, better yet, has not taken the chance to know.

Perchance, had she ever glanced at the forever…shaking of my  hands.

Or, the new trend of hypocrisy across the North land.

She would see same blood…different set of plans.

As a youth, frozen in a tundra of moral mediocrity..

Envy, infinitely, encompassed me.

Heeled, I walked with my sister’s feet.

Begging my veiled thoughts to…retreat.

The truest wish I had ever spoke…

‘let those after me…feel less remote.’

Alas, the ‘stoned’ split tongue undertaker has come…

Blowing winds pass my attempts at changing the tides.

My sister…still, obtuse to our different rides.

In anguish, as I have done before,

I point to the cattle prodded like guileless clowns at the door.

Yet, the hand of many prop her to her fence.

And, stage sister against…

a forest to which she can never be lent.

Rural, I am.

Nonetheless, not so different from others…of big talk…small lands.

My heart, just the same… larger than life.

Urging me, these choices you’ve made cannot be broken by gun or by knife.

hallowed 6

 

 

Fife Farm

fife farm 3

The clover is invincible…

The green gold grass…waist high.

Stocks of infant corn stand in allegiance…out of the corner of my eye.

And, that is all I need to know today.

That is all I need to know.

Strangers with Common Faces

junk yards 5

I would not if I were you.

These are stark pages, delinquent places,

for strangers with common faces.

As the raven flies,

Edgar and prose, linger on.

Clutching the mystery of the dark-side with ravenous pride.

I would not if I were you.

We all know Lucifer is beauty in black and blue.

We all know righteousness is flawed.

Pride, the ice in which the sinister rain thaws.

someone else's demons 2

Promises Given

At some point,

promises given out…weigh greater than…the ones kept.

The heft of diminishing worlds…overwhelm delicate scales of time.

An eternity of missteps…lost in tall pines.

Stockpiles of contrasting beauty…yet, no apparent sign.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I frequent my primitive vows.

Though they have snapped and rotted…

Cracked and shattered…

Receding over the years.

Bare and illegible, I must own my incomplete ‘why’!

Seek it out under azure skies.

For without ownership,

I am but a false warrior.

With a fistful of lies.

In the Midnight Hour

A frightening thought during the midnight hour…

Something so beautiful as you, crying in desperation.

How can beauty be hit so hard?

Where had my fevered mind traveled?

The woods of ash and hemlock surround the bed dipped by morning dew…

made black and blue.

My illicit youth became a blackened mirror to the truth…

Fevered pitch ran from the pines asking not ‘what if.’

But is left to do.

A daydream within a dream

Cry the Languid

Sometimes, I wonder too much…if I wonder too much.  Live life within a dream.  Or, at least, a daydream.  

How lucky am I?  To look up, as well as, down.

As if my grievance with nature is that of anxious inspiration.

As if these walks were cheap snippets of temptation.

“You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”
Edgar Allan Poe

Rolling Back the Years

At some point,

promises given out…weigh greater than…the ones kept.

The heft of diminishing worlds…overwhelm delicate scales of time.

An eternity of missteps…lost in tall pines.

Stockpiles of contrasting beauty…yet, no apparent sign.

I frequent my primitive vows.

Though they have snapped and rotted…

Cracked and shattered…

Receding over the years.

Bare and illegible, I must own my incomplete ‘why’!

Seek it out under azure skies.

For without ownership,

I am but a false warrior.

With a fistful of lies.

Changing Direction

“Alas,” said the mouse, “the whole world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into.”
“You only need to change your direction,” said the cat, and ate it up.” #Kafka

Lone Chair

The lone chair is everywhere.

Is it only for the lonely?

Traveled the countryside, in search of the deserted, solo seat.

Thru leaf and fallen shafts of wheat.

And, in due course, not a single one would speak.

As the multifaceted traveler, I had to interpret what I was after.

Thus, I took the chair offered me.

It was then that the chill in my bones subsided.

And, the words of, ‘alone’ but ‘not lonely’ collided.

Rectory on the Hill

I found my wants in a pile of residual snow.

As if, it had no place left to go.

Over the wrecked rectory on the hill.

Beyond the country store where the town drunks get their fill.

Ten miles past Franklin Motel.

A habitat for the loners looking to get out of hell.

I nudged my desires with a blackened steel toe.

As if, I had no place left to go.

Years before gravity took hold.

I fanned a flame to a luxurious limbo.

It had been an overfed shelter of lust and misconstrued need.

But my flame grew higher and harder to fed.

I kicked at the embers.

Such as I do now.

With a lessened ego.

Ash to ash…I made sure it had no place left to go.

It would appear that contentment starts slow.

As in the vacant burning back lots.

As in the gradual interment of lack luster thoughts.

Standing over the stained melting snow.

I now have some place that I can go.

To live, To love, Another day

If there is a battle
I hope my head always defers to my heart
-T. Chapman

somebody else's heart 2

 

 

Some…things, so beautiful…one must look away.

Of these things,

the giddiness

and

jest…

set us apart.

Moments worth capturing…yet, set so

hush-ful,

you wonder about the state of your heart.

A corner curls just a trifle from the far reaches of her parted lips.

A nuance clutches your breathing.

Something that never was…

Something that did not always fit.

It is the kind of love that ruptures and raptures your heart…

Though it was not yours, you watch it, well lit.

Even if it is somebodies love you did not know.

It was someone’s else love to have and to hold.

Pain…

…condensed in the snow…as dark and sorrowful as the northern wind will blow…

…only the truth of distrust lies in the shadows…distant as a mother’s touch…

…pain knows I am a fool…no one understands this…better than I do…

…this discomfort…the blink of an icy pond…no longer lingered upon…

…agony taunts me…reminds me of who I used to be…

…pain is a constantly unraveling thread to the tapestry of my soul…

I Don’t Know About Your CAT…

I don’t know about your cat by mine show affection in many ways…

Refuses to look you in the face!
Puts some shade on your love!
Wants you to just leave them the fuck alone!

The bottom line on cat affection and cat communication

Cats are very good communicators, using a combination of body language, postures and vocalizations to express their feelings. Although cat affection is subtle and at times complex, they have a variety of ways of showing affection and trust to the people they are attached to.

How Do Cats Show Affection? Look For These 7 Affection Signs

1. Cats show affection through their eyes

A gray tabby cat with his eyes closed or blinking.

Slow blinking is a common sign of cat affection. Photography ©KandM-photography | Thinkstock.

How do cats show affection with their eyes? It is a pretty good indicator that your cat trusts and enjoys your company when she looks at you with half-closed eyes while slowly blinking. These special eye blinks are called cat kisses and are reciprocal. You can tell your cat you love her too by giving her cat kisses. This sign of cat affection conveys relaxation, contentment, affection and trust; they help build and strengthen your relationship with her. She may respond with more slow blinks.

2. Cats show affection through their tails

A cat tail curled at the top.

Tails are a good way to tell what your cat is feeling. Photography ©Photodisc | Thinkstock.

How do cats show affection through their tails? Tails are emotional barometers, accurately conveying emotions through how they are held and positioned, and the degrees of fur puffiness. When combined with body language and other indicators, they communicate a gamut of emotions from fear and aggression to affection and happiness. Whereas most people readily recognize signs of fear and aggression, they are not as aware that tails are indicators of cat affection, too.

Cats often show their emotional attachments through tail placements. Connection is demonstrated by twining tails around the legs and arms of their favored buddies. Sometimes kitties express warm feelings as they relax next to their people while physically touching or resting their tails on them. Although I try not to anthropomorphize, the sweet behavior reminds me of holding hands with a best friend.

In addition to tail wrapping and touching, kitties express happiness and warm feelings by fluffing out the base of their tails while subtly quivering them. Simultaneously they hold their tails upright with a slight curve at the top. This behavior is sometimes called the happy tail dance. Usually it is accompanied by an endearing kitty love blink.

3. Cats show affection through cheek rubs

A cat man getting a head rub from a gray cat.

Check rubs are another sign of cat affection. Photography ©Matteo Viviani | Thinkstock.

How do cats show affection when they rub their cheeks on you? One friendly way cats greet those they trust and feel safe with is by rubbing their cheeks on them. Cheek rubs are a sign of cat affection that are also invitations for socializing. Kitties have scent glands on their cheeks that produce pheromones. In addition to showing their favorite people trust and affection, felines mark ownership through the behavior and mingle their scents with those they are attached to.

With cats you don’t know, you can encourage socialization by extending your index finger toward the cat at about her nose level. It doesn’t matter whether she is a few feet away or across the street. If she wants to say hello, she’ll approach your finger and touch it with her nose and then turn her head until your finger is on her cheek. If she trusts you, she will rub your hand with her cheek, indicating that she is open to socializing. This may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!

4.How do cats show their affection through head butts, or head bunting?

This is a sign of cat affection that also marks you and mingles her scent with yours. This is a social cat affection behavior that does double duty. In addition to showing trust and friendship, head bunting proclaims ownership. Scent that is produced from glands located on your kitty’s head is transferred on you when she butts you with her head.

In…Mother’s Nature, she keeps me

she keeps me 2

 

In Mother’s Nature…

She keeps me gentle

She keeps me sapient

She keeps me legitimate

She keeps me with timeless testsshe keeps me 3

She keeps me with flesh

She keeps me with dignity

She keeps me shady

She keeps me with chemistry

She keeps me with fragile, breakable reverie

She keeps me

She keeps me

she keeps me 4

…a most indulgent mother, has placed her best gifts out in the open, like air, water and the earth itself; vain and unprofitable things she has hidden away in remote places.
##Thomas More

 

 

She, Me, Her, WE

She…my favorite weakness

Me…her favorite mistake

Every wrong that could be said, brought her my way

Her imagination stretching from land to mountain to sea…to encompass me

Sardines and garlic embolden with…

forgotten history

Her passive, passionate affection, a lending hand to settle my turbulent needs

She is the matter for my life and my death

We pepper each other’s stories with bits of salt for human frailty.

The Cast of Pain

the Mills, Franklin NH

Don’t want to walk through the pain.

But the want…

and

the need…

are not the same.

There is no religion to the agony.

There is no need for the ache’s shame.

Suppose…

only the want remains.

Only remains a cast of shadow in the day.

The day I stop…

walking through the pain.

Shallow Grave

grunge family 1

You will not catch me sleeping in your shallow grave so wholesome.

Nor napping in the tomb of discontent.

Though the hands do tremble

a victory should be claimed.

without fanfare or extravagance.

In true discourse,

mine not yours,

of course.

It used to be…

that I belonged to you

you belonged to me.

So what of the past

picking apart peculiar trips…

set adrift onto different seas.

A clan unleashed in the barren desert

awaiting their ships of plenty…it had been lost at sea.

As siblings we were swaddled in damaged cloth

So I suppose to disrobe the anger…

well, that is all I’ve got.

Humbly I will ask you

Step away from the shallow grave.

Only the ugly becomes more perverse with the tall tales

we create.

There are many out there just like me

Walking a lonesome solo path

step by step reconciliation is the only fact.

Brothers and sisters, I stand at the shallow grave…daily

Casting a lucky penny in…

Full knowing I am not without my own sin.

Goddess, today, grant that I maybe less judgmental and more mindful of those I met.  I am unaware of the burdens placed upon their feet.

Meaning While in Scouting News!

https://www.theonion.com/catholic-church-not-about-to-be-out-molested-by-goddamn-1836702707

The Boy Scouts of America declare bankruptcy due to continued allegations of sexual abuse!

While the Girl Scouts of America become the entrepreneurs they were always meant to be!

Girl Scouts set up stall outside Chicago weed dispensary, sell ‘several hundred’ boxes

I Will Keep Broken Things

hardship and vision- Dorothea Lange

I will keep
Broken
Things:
The big clay
Pot
With raised
Iguanas
Chasing
Their
Tails;
Two
Of their
Wise

Heads
Sheared
Off;

I will keep
Broken
things:
The old
Slave
Market
Basket
Brought
To my
Door

By Mississippi
A jagged
Hole
Gouged
In its sturdy
Dark
Oak
Side.

I will keep
Broken
things:
The memory
Of
Those
Long
Delicious
Night
Swims
With
You;

I will keep
Broken
things:
In my house
There
Remains
An

Honored
Shelf
On which
I will
Keep
Broken
Things.

Their beauty
Is
They
Need
Not
Ever
Be
‘fixed.’

I will keep
Your
Wild
Free
Laughter
Though
It is now
Missing
Its
Reassuring
And
Graceful
Hinge.

I will keep
Broken
Things:

Thank you
So much!

I will keep
Broken
Things.

I will keep
You:

Pilgrim
Of
Sorrow.

I will keep
Myself.
#Alice Walker

Elderly Walker

A weary traveler, he had turned into an elderly walker.

Quiet, unassuming, yet refined with his thrift store shoes.

And, mindful with midnight strolls.

Never tongue tied.

Infinity bold.

When we had become one…along with many a collection of souls…

I needed

I wanted

to know what I did not know.

The manner in which the elderly walker skipped and limped with impunity.

The gale force gait that entwined his grumpy smile.

His gesturing hands that informed those passing by…we can be free…we are not all that we have been told.

Grasping at Straws

Loud enough to be heard when a pin drops.

Tangled moments of clarity.

Ancient strife and last century poets…

Have not held the key.

I, too, have been known to grasp at straws.

That I do not hold.

As I wheeze through another breath.

And, hobble towards indecision.

I am distracted by a presence of the unknown.

Half stacked cords of rotted wood.

Raspberry bushes…too ripe to pick.

Fanning ferns, chaotic root and birch…

Dancing in and out of the shadows of life.

Then a remembrance…

A poet’s trail is ancient strife.