UnWanted Guest

More to a vestibule for the dying

More to the communion

More of obsession’s admiration

More to those who fly

More to those who do not ponder why

Over and above…I keep the gods lowercase

Over and above, the stone dead and gone

Less of a willingness to comply

Less of puppy’s in the window

Less photographic harmony

Less bouncing joy on bended knee

“Let me go”  I say, more or less

There is a quiet place, more or less

Oh, sporadic the occasions of an unwanted guest

gravestone pitch

 

 

barefoot pallbearer

vanishing a toe into the surface waters

I have reached another plane

coming-to, from this a fitful union

a cow…feasting upon hay

nothing but a nervous, deliberate, ploy

constant combat towards dreamy imps

who exploit any attempts at joy

I allot to carry slurping, acidic, pails of tears until the willingness comes

or

until I am turned from friend to foe

I am not the water girl for original sin

nor a sorceress with chimes of time to ring

just a nervous barefoot pallbearer…

mistakenly trying to soak up the other side

 

 

Scents of Creosote

I had been easily tempted to witness the burn out house.

To recollect those feelings.

To cherish my hatred.

To bemoan decades of fear and doubt.

I drove by the structure

times 1I drove by

And, drove by again.

My wanting for display began to wear thin.

Scents of creosote and thin dusky air does not change.

So, I went to raging waters to rearrange.

To evoke black soot tragedy from another’s time…could never be mine.

I had discovered the healing rains ever so kind.

Breathe

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Breathe…breathe in the air.

Don’t be afraid to care.

Leave…but do not leave me.

Look around and choose your own ground.

Long you live and high you will fly.

And, smiles you will give…

And, tears you will cry…

And, all you will touch…

And, all you will see…

Is all your life will ever be.

Run, Rabbit, run…

Dig that hole.

Forget the sun.

And, when at last the work is done.

Do not sit down.

It is time to dig another one!

For long you live…

And, high you will fly.

But only if you will ride the tide.

And, balanced on the biggest wave…

You race towards an early grave.

##Pink Floyd

 

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Under the Weather

It is a cluttered step I take…under the weather.

The wilderness calls to me…

Reminding me…’I am the lost soul.’imageedit_14_2355741925

I have surrounded myself with other wanderers.

A circle of seekers…under the weather.

None of us deceived by items we do not need.

But for some there is no tourniquet for the bleed.

THEY take sips from sorrow’s cup.

And, only when the wilderness calls…enough is enough.

Under the weather lies the love.