So, here
We are
They say so. So, I guess so too.
I’ll go with that. We are here, apparently.
A plasma membrane, and a billion years,
Boom, this consciousness writing on a laptop, a poem.
Or, maybe
It’s something else --
A third thing
Reaching in – the will, free
Reaching down deep
Low in me
Tugging at my guts
Across the edge of the universe
Through an atomic black sea
Piercing the fabric of matter
Through my skin
Settling in my shabby, ratty existence

His wooden legs soaked his feet into the sloshing
salty water. His body lifting up a board to walk
on. Sheets of purple lights drowned its slumber
with their glow.

A theatre of marine air mixed
with thalassic crabs and briny seafaring lobsters
sailed, filling are nostrils.

Strolling past we were met by a
turbulence of screaming pink lungs pirouetting
on a blur of neon lights on fair rides.

It curls into my head
like cigarette smoke
above a whiskey glass,
Settle on ice;
you cannot stay
so cold forever.
You have to look down
from the ledge
to see how far
you’d fall,
to see how small
of a step it is
to think twice.

no longer my home
the family I once knew
seat of betrayal
this place where I grew

shame and denial
covered up deeds
of lust and hatred
that killed tender seeds

fear of exposure
created cover-up lies
shattered the spirit
until innocence dies

I left them behind
no memories to save
regrets aplenty
for all that I gave

as much as an orphan
sets off on her own
spurred by abuses
unable to condone

Flying flippant, flailing
wild fouling.
My son tried out foot ball
a week or two.

I knew it went wrong
when he came home crying.
He gave up that summer
in some ways me too.

Next summer was hot
so he tried out for baseball.
He wanted to pitch,
but I had to work to do.

I saw a few games,
but again he was crying.
Trying to pitch
was a thing for a few.

Our family was beaten down
soon my boys chose new schools.
I tried to console
there was naught I could do

written September 19th, 2018, and following words still ring (more true) today – exactly six years later.

The then forty fifth prez
of United States of America
best get sent packing
to Lake woebegone
forced to coexist amidst University
of Pennsylvania Dutch
men in breeches
(May Apple lie)
swampy netherlands awash
with bipedal hominid

Metal spoons ping
The thud of a pot drops in the sink
I hear chopping and stirring
The oven door is closing
I know these sounds
My Mom is making dinner
And soon I’ll be called down from my room

I notice I’m hungry -
Right on time
As the smells move up, and up
Until I drop my pencil
And go see what she’s making
I hope it’s that Roast
I asked for
When she asked me what sounded good

Exploding bottle rockets, sirens
detonating the darkest of blue blanket
starless night
a fusion of bursting brightness

of a Multichromatic flamboyant sky
and beaming jazzy clouds

Enrapturing kids holding white
hot glaring sticks making shapes,
wrapped up safe guarding mothers
gazing up filling their eyes with
pyrotechnic bursting missiles.

I never did find
the great wide open
where the city skyline dissipates
into watercolour hues.
I stood out on the edge,
wooden arrows tried to
dictate my direction,
but the words were all wrong.

And the dust blue daisies
grew around me
when I lost my mind.
I let the world pass me by
so I could break
where no one could see.

Something hidden,
something blue,
something I don’t
care to admit.
Years are behind
many are still ahead.
Many to contemplate
the love that I keep
hidden from view
like tiny fish
in the Great Reef.