So shallow sun
You’re on your way, I see
I, unwittingly lingering at the South end of the street,
Noticed you
And remembered, too
The promise of That December day
Also on its way
Whence I became oh-so-able to endure your tallest morning shadows
The Original Roosevelt
Crumbs on the wooden floor
And I am too
Not crumbs…but on the wooden floor
Although, I am fragmented, as are crumbs
Coming from something whole,
Valued and desired
Then suddenly, maybe violently so, not seeming
As whole
Here on the wooden floor, my knees hurt
My heart hurts
Because the world hurts
But I’m reminded that the world
Much like this wooden floor
Of Bull Moose bungalow-era origin,
Is resilient
As Hell
God’s guitar strings
I confess my foremost thought
Will Satan steal my ballad-blues
I let him steal my joy for you
He wants to have my therapy too
So should I wade through what the truth brings
To your hard heart through God’s guitar strings
Beyond my green-blue broken life
I will, I’ll breathe
And then I’ll write
The Truth Is
Yesterday felt like that strange, suburban taupe that fleeing people paint their houses.
As if to differentiate they made it out from the color, as if that is the goal.
The brass-ring door knocker the badge displayed, front and luke-warm center.
So as to say only some are welcome to come a-knocking.
Dare to spend the sweat to tear down the white-washed fences, to bring in the yellow.
To draw the eye from the curb to the threshold, to inside where the warmth is golden-brown.
When should we gather, finally gather, at a light-lit table and see the truth is black and white?
Today feels like that.
Nervous Tics
I’d never ask you to be invisible with me.
The impossibility of it.
Though, I sometimes summon you silently, then think better of speaking aloud.
But we both hear me, don’t we?
We both know it ends there.
For your magic is more.
Different than my magic is.
You make the good appear.
I make the bad go away.
We Keep Hope
Winter and alone
Unbearable uncertainty
God what will you do
When wind forces its way to the door
Carrying icy-cold information
Crystalizing shut
The truth after all
There’s no school today
Hooray
Last Perfect Place: A Haiku
Oh my pineapple!
Why have you, where have you, gone?
Hawaii, I hope.
The ride: A haiku
The one in the sun
He found his way home with me
Brave and orange and all
Merged
I believed, I believe, in you. I touched the edges of the shadow of you that I found myself in.
I knew, I know, you’re on purpose. I was promised a plan and your arms just so happened to reach ‘neath my path.
I wanted, I want, to walk onward. I treasure the somehow-spilled-from-you pieces as I journey.
Intent
Bad, bad wisdom
Borrowed initially while window browsing
Then purchased at too high a price
Only to learn it’s all lies
Disinformation
Fast and loose
First hustling Saturday morning cereal
Now each night seeking votes and souls
(Photo Credit: Tiger R., age 9)
