Forsaken, forsooth

Have you seen a secret? Someone  else's-specifically?

The way they fiddle with it in their pocket-It gets stuck between their

first and second molars, like poppy seeds, or opium and needs constant stroking

or protection by its caretaker who thinks-who believes-utterly, no one else can see;

the touching devotion, the precious obsession, the random gaze, sneaky smiles, daylight        
dreams late labored nights, off-kilter emotions,

or most simply the love of its keeper-buried deeper than they think any other can see.

Indulgence even has its limits.

Honesty was never a necessity for breathing easy.

Instinct can be turned down, or diverted to other carnal needs such as

survival of the keenest wills.

All the bile was meant to make you sick of yourself.

Betrayal, often thick and yellow in-consistency corrodes from the insides-
tastes like lies.

Love smothered with these dies in a shower of saliva’s acid rain. Kiss me...

for another's wish

for another

denied all this to me in sweet secrecy.

Painting by William Dyce [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

She seas you

dreamt that you brought me
a bag of sand
for my hourglass

the gold flecks sparked, alit by
the sunlight in your eyes, whereby
the ocean leaked

and the bag was empty...

certain it was you.




Painting by George Bellows (1917) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

3/3: Whole (again)

5 years past, Today
-found myself hiding in seas
of Carribean toxicity

5 short years, 1 long day to
morrow my bones fold back in
stratagems to the shale, or osteo-psychosis

5 diagnoses, desperation diseases
rampantly trying to stuff wholes,
fill up cold blanks with liquid heat

5 cycles, I find
myself-Welcoming fresh air
respiring It

5 forms of matter, liquid, gas
solid, vapor, and...
some one to sense

5 nickles make cents, part of
one quarter of one whole dollar
broken down to small change(s).

Point zero five of
one life, 5 years I began
living this real life, embracing the cool
elements.



Pastel by István Nagy [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Their father and his Illegitimacy

A father has a chance to live eternally;

Deeds do not die.

The man with no story passes on

rumors; Lies fall down,

Children grow up,

the man was rumored to be a father.

His story was short-lived.

Jasons Legacy:

"It was ALL about Me"

with so many me's

none will remember which Jason story-

since he's left nothing

Generously.

Painting by Albrecht Dürer, The Painters Father (1497) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

inner child

My body disrupts this empty room.

Thoughts are just whispers

but move matters around.

Inside voices, 

no need to interrupt

by asking

Nobody was home.

Woman at the Piano (1889, oil on wood panel, 26.0 x 13.1 cm) by Tom Roberts (1856–1931).

The painting is in the collection of the Art Gallery of South Australia.

A line meant...

Look at that desk, he said, five-hundred-page shuffle,

Don’t tell me that is the sign of busy,

Don’t give me some stupid story.

Obviously, to the untrained eye, the olio of font shapes, ink colors,

mixed mediums, led, lead, led to rushed conclusions-false starts-

See the red? I pled. This shows a state of flux.

Minus. He said, Excuses. I use that color too.

What do you do all day? Rotate sheets-scribble letters-

And he was a numbers guy, a math man, a counter of beans,

so the only way to balance

our opposing views was to speak strict geometry,

and stepping outside on  that crisp clear night I said,

See the equilateral triangle up there-look up-

Venus on the bottom right, Mars atop and the

Crescent moon? He smiled at me like the moon.

And said, I see, but what does that have to do with you,

You haven’t shown me anything new.

The next night, the same time, the book keeper asked

the book collector, Red anything today? She denied doing any further editing.

He preferred being in black himself.

There is no less of a mess on that desk. Tell me, Sweetie,

Have you gotten somewhere today? We still needed to reconcile.

So I took him back outside and told him to look up at the scalene now,

Venus sinking, the moon smirking, Mars winking wide and weak,

and asked him what does it mean?

He could not figure out the answer I was looking for,

So I helped him a bit and filled the space in with the correct operators,

Operate-hers, Calculate-hers and Compute-hers

were all aptly named for gender roles.

Without needing further proof,

he understood the expansion and rotation,

All at once he said

Read me one of your poems, Please. 

Image credit By Smithsonian Institution from United States [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

Daily Meditations (I)

Seek inside a stanza,
ducking down, let the sound bounce free.
Wish or pray for more time to meditate, like this
while shuffling with neural nets
and through flightless filtering experience,
in a sense
of meaning, meaning
conclusion, for now.
Answer, meditation, as in
time spent lingering inside a poem,
perhaps hum
when it feels right
or seems to resemble light.
Yes, Make time.


Painting by Cornelis Bisschop (17th century) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.