Tag Archives: #heart

Racing the hesitating sun

Racing the hesitating sun

They leave it in the dust when i am a dirty lost boy. Uprising cumulonimbus towers
Clearly indicating showers to drown all the growing flowers aAnd flood the ground
with their power winds blowing from the east
Cold and warm air mingling Like ghosts dueling with the living the air feels fuzzy
and strange Something evil is coming
Curling leaves and swelling wood ..The trees can feel it too \It’s in their roots
and in my blood Quickly pushing its way through This is not good
A storm is beginning to stew Rain announces its arrival
On pitter patter stomp stomp feet Whispering gently from the sky
Before knocking loudly at the window
Begging to come in, OH WON’T YOU LET ME IN
Flooding my doorstep with darkness Eyes open

Lightning volleys down from the sky Searing my eyes with its image
It scrapes its long fingers down my window What is light and what is dark?
My lungs are being crushed from the inside I am falling I am falling
Let the currents take me Eyes shut Silence
Beautiful unknowing No harsh flashing
The clouds are receding trees not reaching for me
No more water between my fingertips
No more wondering what I might lose
Welcoming the cool shiver and soft echoing ripples
I drift back into dreamland into darkness into night Sweet peace.
Gates of Eden

Rosemary was resting quietly in her bed when she was awakened by the most wonderful sound she could ever imagine, her mother’s laughter.
The sound cut through the night like a ray of sunlight, bathing everything in radiant warmth.
Her eyes sprung open and she turned to look at her mother as she bustled around the room.
She was giggling and bouncing her hips as she prepared breakfast for the family.
“I’m fixing sausage gravy and biscuits, Mom!
Is there anything else you need?”
Rosemary rubbed her eyes and yawned.
She wondered what could have possibly woken her so early.
She had only opened her eyes an instant before.
“Actually, there is.” Her mom replied and then popped a piece of sausage in her mouth.
“We have company.” She winked at Rosemary and continued, “They’re coming right now.”
Rosemary slowly sat up in bed.
Her heart was beating rapidly, almost out of control, but she tried to remain calm.
“Is everything okay?” She asked, her voice beginning to rise in panic.
“I hope so.
I hope so.” Her mom responded as she brought the frying pan of sausage gravy and biscuits over to the table and set it down.
“Pour me a cup of coffee, will ya?”
Rosemary quickly found the coffee can and poured her mom a cup before bringing the pot back to her.
“Here ya go, Ma.
Drink up.
I hope you have a wonderful time.”
“Oh, Rosemary, I’m so excited.
I haven’t seen her in so long!” She said as she sipped on her coffee.
Rosemary’s heart felt like it was going to break out of her chest.
She was jumping around, unable to hold her tears in.
She could not believe her mom’s reaction.
She was jumping and wiggling and squealing and hugging her mother.
“Mom, she said her name was Rosemary.” She sobbed and clung to her mom for dear life.
Her mom looked at her in confusion.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” She said softly.
Rosemary looked into her mother’s eyes, the tears still flowing down her cheeks.
“Do you remember my friend?
She used to live here?”
Her mother reached across the table and took her daughter’s hands in hers.
“Yes, Rosemary, I remember her very well.
We’ve been friends a long time.
What is this all about?
Is she OK?”
Rosemary nodded her head.
“I’m sure she is.
She was here the day your daddy and I got married, you know.
She came to the church.
She said she wanted to come and meet the young man I was going to marry.
Isn’t that strange?”
“That she would remember that far back and the fact that she came to meet him, well, that’s something else all together.” She agreed.
Rosemary let go of her mother’s hands and began walking back and forth in front of the kitchen table.
She began to wiggle her hips and bounce her shoulders.
“She was here, Mom.
Her name was Rosemary.
She and I used to play together. Remember?”

“Yes, I remember.
She has been living with her Aunt and Uncle.
They moved to Louisiana a few years back.
She had no one here, so we thought it best for her to come and stay with us.
It was so sad to see her so upset.
She has a beautiful red wagon that your daddy made for her.
You loved that wagon, didn’t you Rosemary?”
“We used to have so much fun playing on it.
We used to pretend we were in an old western movie.
We would sit on it and have tea parties.

You’d bring us cake and cookies and we’d just pretend.
Remember, Mom?”
“I can’t believe you remembered.
I’ve tried to forget.”
“Well, I know you have, but I remember.
I remember all the fun we had.” Rosemary’s face was bright red from embarrassment.

“But, she was here, Ma, I know she was.
I saw her.
She was in the garden, Mama, and she looked just like me.”
Her mother closed her eyes, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Rosemary, honey, she’s gone.
You know she is.”

“Oh, she’s dead, isn’t she?
Just like Pa, she died in the war,” Rosemary said, chocking back a sob.
“I’m so sorry, honey.” She sat down and put her arm around Rosemary and held her for several minutes.
Finally she pulled her daughter close to her and held her tightly.

“Rosemary, we need to tell you about this.

Now, I want you to put your arms around your daddy and tell him all this.”
Rosemary began to sob as she hugged her daddy.
Her mother turned her head and kissed him on the cheek.
“I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you, Daddy.
I know this must be very difficult for you to share with our Rosemary.”
“Rosemary, listen to me, you must remember what this wonderful woman looked like.
Can you remember?”
“She was old, Mama, very old.
I was sad to see her go, but I know she is at peace now.”
“It is very hard for a child to understand that, but I think she was able to die with as much peace as you could wish for.
She died the same way as your Pa, without any pain.”
“No, not like Pa. He was in pain and he died with some of that pain.”

“Daddy, she wasn’t sick.
She was just old.
She was the grandother I’ve always loved.”
“What is your Grandma Rosemary’s name?”
“My grandmother?
My mother’s mother?
Rosemary Johnson is her name.”
“Yes, that’s it, but what is her real name?”
“Her name was Lydia.
I guess I forgot.
You know Grandma Rosemary never told us, but Lydia never told us, either.”

“Are you sure she never told you?

Perhaps it’s something you wish to remember.”

“I just thought she told us because we are named after her.

She never really told us anything.

We never really knew her.

It was always just about my mother.

She talked all the time about Grandma Rosemary and how much she loved her and all.”

“You know, Lydia could be right.

You should be able to remember more about her.

You need to know what kind of woman she was.

Do you remember any stories about her?”

Rosemary’s face turned red and she buried her head in her daddy’s chest.

“No, I don’t remember any stories.”

“Well, remember she had a rose garden in her back yard.

We lived on a farm and had several gardens.

It was her flowers she loved.”

“Yes, I remember the roses.

She always had beautiful roses.”

“That’s because she loved you very much.

She was a wonderful person and I’m so sorry she died.”

“It’s hard to forget how much she loved me.”

“Lydia was a special woman and she loved you very much, Rosemary.

She would be so proud to know you remember her


GOGH’S FIELDS OF GOLD

IT is dark down here & this awful reality
satisfies the ego and frightens the soul
but makes a state of distraction
; an abomination –an abhorrence
for all that it implies -a living organism
as a leaf or a particle.

There is no non-life only emptiness & this filth
whose existence is temporary– a first-trimester pregnancy
in an animal –a rejected spiritual soul, it is real-
life in simple terms– the personal growth we are
so ignorant of the brave face of existence –a thing
we will ‘never’ ever come to terms
with –the vagaries of Time which call to us
‘cross the bridge’ & walk the Yellow Streets
of Van Gogh.

Hav you never ever walked the edge of fields of
so yellow they smell of gold — the wheat fields
of Vincent Van Gogh: he was a bastard
to most but greatly to ‘self’ –> killed the personality
but never the Art
nor the Soul

:: 04.29.2020 ::
rev: 0-10.3.2020 ::


A HUNDRED MILLION ANGELS SINGING

“And there went out another voice from the four beasts and it was shouting with a great voice, saying, ‘Come now, and let us kill him, a horse, a horse, a horse!’

The four beasts, the four devils, were unanimous, “Who can withstand him?”

Come now, and let us kill him, while the virgins are all trimming their wings.

“I was shaken, and I fell to the ground, and I heard a voice saying to me,
‘Do not be afraid, my son, and go to your father and say to him,

‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and against you, and am no more worthy to be called your son.’

“I said to him, ‘Here I am,’ and I threw myself at his feet, and I worshiped him and said, ‘My father, save me!’

“And he said to me, ‘My son, keep your voice, and do not make me angry, for you have rebelled against the word of God. I will deliver you with scourges and with horses.'”

There are people out there who will always blame someone else for their own sin. They will always place blame on someone else.

It will always be someone else’s fault for their own failures and for their own problems.

The funny thing is, they won’t ever admit that it’s their own actions that have caused their own pain and that it’s their own sinful nature that they will always find a way to blame someone else for their problems.

I don’t care who you are,

It’s your problem.

It’s your fault.

And there will be a golden ladder reaching down when the hairs stand up in all terror.

:: 10.03.2020 ::


FERTILE SOIL

if i had two hearts;
one for your soul
the other for your beauty

if i were a farmer
i would tend to a garden
and gather today’s eggs

  but as a broken-hearted
  poetry i till words – so
  excuse me;  

you see, i am not here
nor there — and the worse
feeling is planting Love

and nothing Grows.

:: 09.17.2020 ::


A PALE SOFTISH ROUND COFFIN

A PALE SOFTISH ROUND COFFIN

SKIN can make me cry as roses. Scents of a female? for i do forget
spoken clearly; i am not afraid of death but life.. to have control
means relenting focus for a perfect soul. my questions are purely
my own as though if i ask, ‘what has become of you?’ the world may
never know but i am here. my heart is a shape of a pale softish
round coffin yet to be buried within your mind.

:: 09.17.2020 ::


NEVER

TO never solve miracles of science
TO never have crawled out of a c–ave
somber thoughts
although some are a blessing
to a curse
some ensure military solutions
never understood words : but if
i ever lose my love | IF i ever lose
my Faith …my faith in you |
come home with me…that i may fill
my arms with you.

:: 08.07.2020 ::


GIANT rabbit

the giant RABBIT stood staring at my shoes (of
all things) . I cleared me voice, “Hello mister GIANT
rabbit…” its whiskers twitching.
The air was thicker than gossamer and a faint hint
of ethereal music over the hills, over the clouds and
the tears of my delight.
Finally (as I was holding my own breath) the giant RABBIT
spoke:
“Do you like celery?” without hesitation i said,
“Yes oh yes, of course!” I followed and eventually
ate many acres of not just celery but carrot.”

:: 07.25.2020 ::


BLOOMING ARTIST (whore)

for the true artist — art is bifurcated
into many brilliant pebbles of expression
     and many will hate you for it___smear
your work deeply within their heels –>
& tell the kids you are the devil.
    Say again?
       wait until i whip
the tar from my pants
(she was brought up religiously
silly-like)  i cannot wait
to play guitar!   Oh say release
the stress of any shooting star
— where is the one /sometimes
in winter\mostly within the sun
  we go.    hate to leave but the moon
comes (like a kid) over the terminus
of Earth.  

:: 07.23.2020 ::


THE EAR I NIBBLED

precis give me a life-line
and off my mind
waiting and hoping academia
will come back — waiting,
flooding tears all along
university walls:
i wait
cry
and hoping you’ll come back.

(what? a precis for every
poem? Okay)

:: 07.21.2020 ::


POLYGON

Polly gone
oh polygon
what quadri-
laterals you
possess!

two-dimensional
(go) figure made
up of straight sides
(besides myself)
oh Polly’s gone
prolly so i still see
your shadows within
my head but full fleshed
within my beating heart

is why Polly’s gone
oh polygon what quadri-
laterals you possess!

:: 07.21.2020 ::