Whispers to a Scream

Ice caverns scrapping and scraping the back of my mind.

Respect a disillusion that I can no longer find.

How do I speak to trust…when whispers turn to face the screams.

Tell me, how is it the embedded with bedlam human claw marks…know where my faults have been?

I am just a faded albatross playing a clairvoyant…wrapped around a keeper’s neck.

Over and over. Under and under. Through and out. Nothing in doubt is what it seems.

Young, old, all spirits carry their own ashen crosses to the forehead of make believe.

Make believe in the air. Promises of graffitti etched in membranes of friends, long since gone.

Persons and their bundled parsonage chisel a tunnel from my ethical dreams.

the Good Mother

Marion Post Wolcott

There had been placid times when the good mother gave me trust.

Faith held together with duct tape and the watered down glue of stability.

The stroke of my cheek while facing the end of times were infrequent and often malignant.

I often wonder had the sterile touch of veiled angels been too much.

Too much to transfix my childish mind to what was kind.

Had I ever truly had a mother.

A mother to curl into with my twisted body and troubled mind.

With purity dug in deep into blood and tears,had she wanted, needed, another.

Ignorant…like me!

ignorant 1
The ‘honesty’ level that people are will to commit to…is the difference between closed doors and open minds!

To yearn for goodness, should be part and parcel of human nature.  Instinctually, it should be something…tangible from the get go!

If we glance around, looking up, around, and, instead of, down…constantly: most every living thing around us, is basically good.  And, if not?  If some part of their behavior seems unethical, unrealistic, it is this way for pure survival!

Humans, persons-not-so-kind, for centuries have attempted to make nature come to us.  Pushing the boulder up hill, repeating the same event over and over and over, again!   From events past and present, if viewed in honesty (and, let us be honest, no one is honest anymore) and with a step back, it is obvious and just a matter of physics, that the big bad ball of stone…will keep on rollin’ back down upon us.

In other simpler terms, instead of taming the tiger by grabbing it’s tail, putting it under a microscope and manipulating it’s survival tactics…does not work.  Most anything that absorbs air, other than the human and it’s condition, will be genuinely good…because it is only natural!

Black like Me, had been a wonderful book, placed in my hands by a lovely, drunk, English professor of mine.  Right after he told me-

“…the world does not make sense!  It is up to the writer to make that truth more bearable..even if that is in an ‘unrealistic’ manner!”

In 1959,  John Griffin, took it upon himself to…

indulge in a radical step: he decided to undergo medical treatment to change the color of his skin and temporarily become a black man.

Obviously, John had been in deep support of displaying the injustices pushed on the minority of the day, the African American male!

What he found in America’s heartland, is the difference between indifference to hate, and out and out, unpardonable hate.

I cannot stress how important this book was many decades ago.  I wish I had the words to accentuate and portray…how history does repeat itself.  In particular, if we are unwilling to listen to it’s messages.


“For so long as we condone injustice by a small but powerful group, we condone the destruction of all social stability, all real peace, all trust in man’s good intentions toward his fellow man.”

“Nothing can describe the withering horror of this. You feel lost, sick at heart before such unmasked hatred, not so much because it threatens you as because it shows humans in such an inhuman light. You see a kind of insanity, something so obscene the very obscenity of it (rather than its threat) terrifies you. It was so new I could not take my eyes from the man’s face. I felt like saying: “What in God’s name are you doing to yourself?”
John Howard Griffin, Black Like Me




the Cracker and Lucifer

Grant me to know …

false illusions of the twin.

To being, the twin…

that twin that crawls beneath

the skin.

That twin…

that will not go away.

There are no angels in a sideway…


No, significant to the others.

Know good

beyond the distant attic.

To put the evil,

mistakenly uncovered,


This is me, you are talking to

No matter where your secrets LIE.

You will always have to…

look me in the


You will always have to…

look me in the


ignorant 3


I am hobbling into the woods with two persistent thoughts…

This is not the Wonderful World that Louis Armstrong sung of…

…How do I know you cannot fight anger with anger?  Because, once upon a time, I lived in that anger…