I remember how it feels to levitate,
To rise from the floor and hover there.
Recalling how I glided across the room,
Breaking, overcoming the law of gravity
By my own strength of belief, I laugh with the joy of the memory.
So clearly the days live in my memory.
How familiar the sensation felt,
How perfectly normal to skim along
Light as a whisper against skin,
Mere Inches above the floor.
In those innocent days of childhood
I believed I could float, so I did.
But how long ago it has been
Since I could float?

Feeling lost at presence
with a broken heart
mourning for the losses
at a devastating sight
drowning into
a deep sink-level
of the body wash
carrying with a
heavy burden weight
bringing tears to flow
in an emotional stage
with life barrier
whisper in grief
embracing with helpless
words have no form
are falling from the lips
with a heartbeat race
at an excruciating fright
in asking for help
to shed a light
of guidance
for peace and
forgiveness

It's a lovely day
Springtime is on its way
Azalea ‘red slippers’ is in full bloom
Monarch flutters by in all its majesty
Hardworking bumblebees are busy pollinating.

Springtime is busy with life
I hear bumblebees are friendly and won't get agitated if you pet it
Are they flying pandas?
The black monarch bounces from bloom to blossom
pollinates and brings balance to our ecosystem
Springtime brings fun time after the winter blues

getting fitted for a new pair of dentures
at Liberty Dental in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania;
The tab picked up courtesy
Aetna Medicare Advantra Cares (HMO D-SNP).

Does there exist a special place
Somewhere safe in time and space
For poems started, bright with thought,
But never finished? Well, there ought
To be an orphanage for verses
Whose forward motion struck reverses
And never quite became complet…

Too troubled to speak he grabbed pen and paper — this
in the days before nearly everything everyone was connected interlocked
chained together in the air the ether — and let words flow
words of angst pain rage from the tips of his fingers onto the page

Before Alexa and Siri were with a spoken word available at beck and call
to summon a musical mood or answer a nagging query
the words said there’s nothing to be said that hasn't been said
no matter what you've read original thought is dead

I was waiting in line,
just standing there.
Been waiting so long
I needed a chair.

Why was everything
taking so long?
I stood fidgiting,
humming a song.

Long hair and jeans,
a Pink Floyd T-shirt.
I knew in a moment,
this look would hurt

I'd be searched for the drugs,
they knew that I had.
I was a smuggler,
they knew I was bad.

What's in the bag,
that you have right there?
My clothes and a doll
for my dearest, sweet Claire.

I had lost a child just five days before,
a stillbirth, and so, time was already meaningless.
Hours bled into each other, and heavy thoughts
settled around me like a fog - cold and empty.

And then came such irrational news that December evening.
Dakota.
Shots fired.
The Catcher in the Rye.
Lennon, dead.

April again, and back home the snow lilies must be bursting out of the ground.
The crisp New York air must be beginning to warm, the lake just barely starting to turn over thousands of feet below the rocky beaches.
Back home, I know the daffodils must be in full bloom, dotting across the lawn like freckles, yellow and orange and golden in the spring sun.

Baking "Magic" cookies today
staying nice, what it's all about
Start the stove, pre-heat that thing
get the ingredients out

Smell of sugar, flour, vanilla
Carmel drops and all things nice
I add the last ingredient
It's my one and only vice

Whir of mixer, relaxing
Heat of the stove, the oven
I'll get it all together
On baking pans and then...

Nice warm cookies, cup of tea
I feel the glow of magic
Couldn't be any better
My favorite cookies do the trick