unexpectedly came about,
when possible prospect
of the wife going
to Puerto Rico by herself
(for a fêted celebration
of our eldest daughter
and her significant other,
which occurred years ago
courtesy justice of the peace)
attended by family and friends
across the webbed wide word
found me positing how I would feel
staying back at the apartment alone
for a couple of days -
maybe a week at most
enjoying a quasi
short lived bachelor existence -
fending for myself,
which would mean

Into oblivion
she assumed he would
slip one day, but her
dream never came true.

He was ever in
her dreams and
ever in her heart.
Days came and years went.
Still, the spectre of him
flooded her mind.

Days came and
decades went, leaving
her mired in her loss
and puzzled at
the absent love
in a limited life.

They call us mad, they call us cursed,
For we will not bow to their painted gods—
Their temples reek of incense and decay,
Their priests chant empty words to dying fires.

But we—we keep the old flame alive,
The wild song, the untamed heart!
Let them rot in their gilded cages,
While we ride the storm, unchained!

My Heart Remembers…

“War of Hearts by Ruelle plays in the background”.
…
Like a long-awaited holiday,
My heart remembers You.
Ahava.
Yes, you.

Ache,
I am again handcuffed with the reality that I can not have you near.
It feels like centuries since our paths last crossed.
Yet I recall every detail of you.

Come sit next to me.
I am waiting so patiently—
to slip away from anxiety,
its words no longer holding my interest.

Guardian angel, please—
Tonight, grant me this request.
Don’t ask how I feel;
if I narrate this,
my horror story becomes real.

My mind keeps me occupied,
missing my meal, leading me
to find faith in dirty plates,
scraping scraps
like prayers no one heard.

I woke to rain like pigeons scrapping in my bin,
the sort that wets your socks before you’re dressed.
Kettle clicks, the telly’s zoning in,
the toast goes black, it’s biscuits and we’re stressed.

The street’s half-lit, a wheely bin's been nicked,
some sod’s been tagging walls with “FUCK THE TORIES.”
Bus late, of course, and it smells of sick,
the driver grunts, swears, and sings his songs of glories.

Together
meant something very special for us.
We worked together.
We lived together.
It was just the way we were.

Shaya
was a tower of strength
for all of us.
He had a big heart
and he showed how much he loved
us all.
There is a very large hole
for all of us to fill.

The six of us
when we went out,
together,,
was a gathering of warmth and love..
So easily expressed.

Of how the world would bloom without me
I've run out of petals

Now i have rotten dandelions
And salty tears
I know how pain tastes
I know how self hurt is
Acrid
Self
Pity

My stepsister shared her joint with us
on a resplendent summer afternoon in my youth.

Mostly I remember us spending hours
making up nonsensical words we felt should exist,
trying to give them definitions,

wondering who decided 33-1/3 RPMs was a thing,
and wishing we had more wine to smoke.

Knock, knock —
Is there anyone home?
Answer the damn door!
You need to hear this...

Turn off the computer,
Plugged into your brain.
What you are getting
Is no connection.

You are powerless?
Can somebody turn
On that mind
That’s been trying
To connect?

You gave out hope,
When all you had
Was malware.
Enable your firewall —
Before you need
To wipe out your favorites.

Tell fear to go do
A crossword —
Maybe it could
Spell out “Disappear.”