Past the gate unhinged and worn,
‘Round the ruins, towering old;
Down the hill of grass and thorn,
To the brook that’s clear and cold.

Cross the rill, then in the wood,
Spy the beech which is beyond;
Scan for trunk where oak once stood,
Find the stump, then search for pond.

Near a pool a wall will wind,
Fringed and tall with stone and grass;
But where side has trumpet vine,
Slip behind so you can pass.

Main Street, it ran from one end of town
straight through on route five
all the way to Schenectady
and in the other direction, to Fonda

It seemed like almost everyone on Main St.
was a refugee of some kind from somewhere
from war, economic disaster, socio-paths
who dreamt of running a country with guns...

Goal
Retain
Older thoughts
With love and joy
I will keep my dreams
Never will I forget
Growing up in days gone by
Only thinking about my life
Learning about the things I have done
Doing things to retain my self respect

The windows here are cleaned each night
From smudges placed on windowpanes;
They’re always found at children’s height,
No matter if it shines or rains.

Some youth with Fragile X and Downs,
Abandoned by their parents’ care;
Will sit in class and learn the sounds
Of different words they’ll come to share.

Though struggling first to say a phrase,
While teacher prompts them to begin;
Each pronounced word is met with praise,
Which make some light up with a grin.

I should feel

Grateful.

For,having come from you.

But, I'm so angry you are dead. Not gone,dead.

I'm so angry.
I want to burn myself,
I want to die too,and
find you.

Mother of my mother
Mother of my mother

You were mine too,
My mother.

Notes from under my apathy,
Down below the crust,
Bellows of catastrophe,
Escape and evade is a must,
The cabin of my mind reaches max capacity,
Soul corrosion aura radiates rust.

The causes of it are potent,
All encompassing degree it's hung,
This is something that steals the moment,
No apologies once your bell has been rung.

The heritage village
with the mixture of diversity
of the street where I grew up
in the Hollywood glamorous
where do I see myself belong to
with the different images of
the color tone of skin
The mother tongue that I speak
The ancestral history that I represented
To learn the true value
To showcase where it began
I found my heritage came
with bravery and beauty possess
To carry out the beautiful legacy of the culture
I am humbled to call myself
ABC -American-Born Chinese

My tattooed babe is blue.
The world to him was a hullabaloo.

I try to sweep in, my sparrow blue,
But my baby withdrew

As quick as morning dew.
He's unwilling to unscrew

To open and trust.
And for me that's a must,

A concept he can't cusp,
Pick up or even make up.

My babe is blue
While he asks for twos,

Smoking his problems
Singing the blues.

My baby is blue indeed,
Playing guitar, my Lou reed.

But can’t he see?
My love for him is true,

It’s true.

They saw themselves
in each other's eyes.
Coming together in a
hungry embracing of arms,
lips and swollen hearts.
Eager to reunite, smiling,
She felt His strength
although His hug was
gentle and reassuring.
hesitantly releasing Her,
as a bedroom door opened...
"Daddy!"
little Susan whooped;
sprinting to his side.
Holding up her pudgy arms
for him to lift her,
happy expectation,
which he obliged.
Hefting her and
kissing her soundly
while She looked on

RAINSTORM

Hey, I’ve not been caught in a rainstorm
I wanted to be out here today, like this
Free to breathe, and feel rain on my face
Let it wash regrets away, leaving no trace
Pushing all doubts right off that precipice
And happy inside, whether cool or warm

Grab the chance to see clearly once again
Enough being blanketed in shades of blue
That has me wrapped tight in this cocoon
Never knowing morning from afternoon
Not even believing what was really true
Like an old fashioned swirly window pane