Freedom…Just another word for nothing left to lose.
-J.Joplin
Born on an Overcast Day
The Pains of Neutral
There are eccentricities about time that many… will never get.
Similar to chasing the family pet.
There is a mortal need to have it all around.
Thou, it is injured and too tightly wound.
It may surface that there are brisk critics regaled for being too passionately black.
And, those willing to make the ‘devil’s pact.’
As followed, before, the ache arrived, minutes filled the air.
As original as, the snowflakes in which we place our grateful cares.
Mind over the matters of time.
The pain of neutral.
No joy from fast forward or rewind.
For myself, revelations, on a dusky December day,
That, I too, conceded,
from the comfort of living in the in between.
There had been a frozen dust to the air.
It covered my tracks…
Or, considerate me…
I found myself not lost…for I never looked back.
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Shadow’s Harm
Careless Shadows
Did you say…that
you didn’t know
Soon after the overdrawn winter…
Before the summer’s baneful glow.
Are we not the same
Did the news report a day without…
unneeded rain.
Have the skies gone aglow
Neon yellows and cosmic greens
Our shadow’s harm,
watch it go, watch it go, watch it go.
Whether or not in fanaticism
Possibly in a good-bye wave of discontent
Mother is on a ravenous tangent.
These hints
These clues to lunacy and
ignorant bliss…
Knee-jerk disasters blatantly missed.
Between the stars and the middle class
Present is past, yesterday is tomorrow
No matter, the gift is fading fast.
‘Not quite right’ heard someone say
Half a continent wasted away.
Tepid places burdened in snow
New species of unknown origin
Dabbling in the science of things we don’t know.
My shadow matters… so does yours… nature needs a cure.
Congress?! -Just give me some truth!-
Ill nature can only be conquered with goodness
Momma always told me not to look into the eyes of the sun… But Momma, that’s where the sun is (not)
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Silent Misdeeds
Silent Misdeeds
Which form of abuse is to your liking?
Why?
You say….
The choice never had been yours
to make anyway…
Though it had always been your voice at stake
Just another orgasm faked…
Choices, options, delusions of narcissistic grandeur…
Why not a familiar bent take on beat her down pleasure?
They all say twice more than what they hear
Guardians of hand-me-down fear.
Everyday serving up a family owned tactile recipes
Everyday reminders turned mystery thrillers.
Everyday the salts that eat the pillars.
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Shaker Road
This old house has seen it all before. The rummaging of angst…The backdoor horrors…
Three crows circling the unkempt gardens, pecking orders for the leftovers.
Descending much like beggars to pennies upon the floor.
This old house…closed for repairs…missing steps in the stairs.
Leaking self depreciating humor…encased in toxic rumor.
This old house…if only you had known sooner.
A foundation built on Christ.
Dining in prayer with the Father and a roll of the dice.
‘Come home.’
I shall tell you now.
I shall tell you now…
what all these years…
you have missed.
“Nail and frail and lying low. A legacy cast no shadow. For it must have not just shape and form, but contempt for danger…or, it only lay shallow.”
“Occasionally, we have to take care of those who once…took care of us. Often leaving, the participants, stuck between wonder-lust and antiquated mistrust.”
