sudden gifted breeze
the heat had melted my shoes
fluttering silk speaks peace

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I am tired
write me a poem, he said
one not full of scars

Little bro

stevie
My little brother, not so little anymore, but still the sweetest boy ever

 

How come we say
that time passes too slowly?
when we all know
it slips out of our grip
way too fast–

I didn’t pay attention
while time has rambled on–
and I remember (don’t forget)
the old times (don’t forget)
I remember some good times
( they weren’t all bad)
and I remember some very bad times
(but they weren’t all bad)

Birthday’s just a day
and today it is your turn
to be man of the day
little boy with a deck of cards
and a magic wand, grown up
come on little brother
show me some magic
’cause I’m feeling tired–

Then let’s toast to the days coming
the ones we look forward to
and the ones that will lead to eternity–
there are many smiles left
daydreams of your reflections–
the golden faces looking up to you
for some good old days.

*

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Luke 12:6-7 NIV

I am tired of hearing
how you feel
everyone feels
he said
you are not special
except when you make that cake
the one
with orange and dark chocolate
and your tears
falling
falling

Coupling as improv

I always thought I was
good at ad-libbing–
even in the midst of a tornado
ripping the seams of our house
while we slept;
I figured we’d get by
on rations

But when you told me no
it gave me a new resolve
and all the denials
did not lay me outright
like before
lying flat like a lizard for years
drinking from a puddle, of
my fears and your
disappointment

Are we a mystery or a thriller?
because much of what makes us
we
is not difficult to understand
regardless
of the storm coming
and are we not thrilled?
your hands shoved up my dress
remind me of green fields
every 3-leaf clover a let down

falling in love was easy
once we got inside–
getting out
took more work than we
could have imagined
doubt oozing around the windows
suspicion coating the walls
trying to read the future
in the dishwater–
always murky

wither (or not)

for the fourth time
in my time
I have watched him wither
and
whither or not he goest
he speaks of it
for hours
(days)
of litany
I no longer say
do not go
(he will not go)
and we will go on
happily
reading and saying
and doing
until he does
go

my eyes are brown
yours are blue
that’s good too
this poem needs work
it’s true
I planted seeds
that never grew
I woke up blue
I spilled my coffee

fireworks

last night’s dog day
in sweaty angry silence
melted into sweet morning
lime tea words
over cups, with a
steamy cover of regrets
and guitar strums balm

we cannot have it back
can we, that sweet
close smell of together
amidst shooting stars–
stepping out of our place
to face the world
again, with secrets

is it me on your mind
when this song plays–
1989 is a meteor
and all our hopes
have got to be enough
to shield us, if
you do not turn to salt