DeLiberation

Disappear
is a simple enough
request of such a pret-ty little word.

Pass
this test
of strength without kil-ling
this too

Walk
it off, putting thoughts
in some order, neat-ly notice
all the lit-tle things
in the path

        Above
Rise

Sleep
time taken
in an alternate real-ity
vacation and breath

Find
moments, like this
to feel
(me)
Charge
up, forward, through
the r-evolving gates of Dis
                   never
                                              falling
behind

Time
to think
about things
like pret-ty lit-tle words
like 

These.

Composed 9/9/15.

Image By Sonia Sevilla (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Patina's Purples

Remember-
Under the light of dusk,
when our eyes are quiet;
wordless, we watched
pink crests crowning purple clouds
passing by on the pale canvas sky...
Grey grabs all with its notes
taking the lead
.

“I want to see a new color,” she said-

I remember, “but there are none left.” 

Instead

Imagine a new blend, a color made from none of these

I pretend it cannot be seen, but better felt-
inside closed eyes

like blue

or a red
Aura

“A new hue,

another shade made of you.”

“I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror,” 
she confessed.

You ripen while you rest. 

And thus this innocent request

was bestowed.

A complimentary color, 
a gradual gradient 
evaporated and echoing
the tone of dawn

a radiant hinge on the fringe
of the rainbows wheel
angles ajar
prismatic and enigmatic.

Image By Anonymous [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. Flammarion Woodcut, c. 1888.

Mi casa es su casa

You dwell in poetry-
A vulnerable Place to linger-
Barbed wire Words on windows
Galvinized steel-for Definition-

Of Places inside, nested under Forest-
In seas of Autonomy-
And to the Horizon
Poetry meets the blurry eye-

Guests-the wandering-
For chance-serendipitous-
The unfolding of another Dimension
Fused within Imagery-

(A mimicry of Emily Dickinson's #466 I dwell in possibility...)
Image by Peleg, Wikimedia Commons, March 2008.

The stuff we're made of

The things that make the People
Gathered by Hunger
and insatiable growls
and Justified, Need
The goods are Good
And stuff matters
The Hunter and The Gatherer
tied at the waste
Harmonize their Note
A Mantra of Meager and Impoverished
and chorus off key-then the dreams shatter
Leaving you Naked-

(This poem is a mimicry of Emily Dickinson's #729, The Props assist the House)
Image By en:User:Smm650 (en:File:General Picture.JPG) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The lessons taut

“Surfing with Jesus”

the sign read

in front of the Pilgrim Church

across from the high school.

Not the Mormon one

across the parking lot

on the other street
with the lemonade stand

and portable orange bibles

towering high.

A teenage boy with earbuds

sits at the bus stop

smoking and snarling

waiting insecurely

to be picked up

or to be saved.

The bell has not yet rung.

Image By Hogyn Lleol at English Wikipedia (Self made by Hogyn Lleol) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Published in the 2017 Magee Park Poets Anthology.

Cause and effect

                                                  (I never meant to be the cause,
                                                    but I know
                                                          I too
                                                                   shall pass)
Because I am here now
because now never was
because I was a mistake
because my children were perfection
because knots can untie
because I have thumbs.
Because we are all smarter
because we learn from the past
because the past is a leash
because we can escape
because we try to avoid death
because hurting is feeling too much
because healing is a miracle enough.
Because nobody will ever know
Why we are here.


Image By not stated (FBI Photos image source) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. FBI Laboratory scientist. 

Finding one self conscious (in a back-pack)

High school can be so cruel,
horrible not to mention
adding a new bright
canary yellow back-pack
cheery to a fault, a tweet assault
and glowing it seems from afar
a beacon, a candle,
or the sun.

She said she wasn't ashamed
before the first day
of sophomore year.
She said she had no fear,
she loved her bright
yellow book bag.

Rich and poor are both so brutish.

I was right,
she said.
They made strange faces
sneered up and down and
around her stylish lemon
fresh attache.
She didn't bend, or bow.
She was stubborn too.
Soon enough, "They all asked
where'd I get it," she smiled
radiantly,
stepping out of the mold
and into her sunny warm self.

Image By Molku (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.