At The Bell

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Fling that thing to the Moon
That thing that’s ailing you
Red flags, white flags, too

It’s not a day too soon
Let’s leave crazy to loons
Whose flightiness consumes

Consider this day new
Its call goes out to you
To sing the champion’s tune

The Bond

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My condolences in advance

When dawn dawns
When your light proves up
How you’ve chosen one who doesn’t choose you

When without masks, you’ve given freely of yourself
In vulnerability
In honesty

Maybe messy, but as a firework

To a soul-less soul

One steeped in habits of hiding and avoidant attachment
Devoid of words or a will to stay

Champion yourself, champion, and know you’ve fought the good fight

Though you fought alone
Though you shadow boxed

Know that next time, there’ll be no next time
No room for their prose in your poem

Hamstringed

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Somewhere between rounding third

And sliding into home

I’m hamstringed

I stop

I fall

I decide

I’ll not be tagged

There in the middle-ground

Could I crawl back and recover?

Counting on my brother’s full count

His double

Sweet time

His home run hit

Sweet savior

Instead I stand again

A fool, for certain

A rocket gone awry, we’ll see

But to the delight of the crowd

I seek home