A Balloon Let Go

The balloon our sorrows filled
like helium floating upward
we held earthbound too long.
I looked at you and with eyes
swimming into one another’s
heart. The wordless answer
spoke by opening its hand
giving the sorrows flight
until they burst like the sun
rising on our horizon
whose orange melts
across the darkness
allowing the deep blue
meaningfulness of day
to arrive
to stick our hands into
to find the star
to light the remaining days
like an umbrella of softness,
under, we hold one other close
when the rain falls as
little drops of inspiration
drawing us closer and closer
until we melt into one
flash of lightning
at last, released.

A Mad World Poem: Queue the Music

A collaborative poem with my talented friend Christine of https://braveandrecklessblog.com/ -Gecko

fills my ears like
gin in my glass
accolades for how well
I convey pain
others consume
I am their proxy
their stand-in
these words
I give
tiny pins
that prick
nerves like
tying up
this human condition
I am grateful
for the shot
at the main stage
the time you give
me to speak for
the lonely
the voiceless
the desperate
the crowd
praises my performance
my art
feeling too much
this fancy
red carpet
dress returns
to an empty
dressing room
to drink the gin

Robin-bird Hopped

We await You in flannel and fleece
The wind cutting through the crying sun
To remind us and Her that winter,
The warlock of our discontent wins.

Robin-bird hopped just yesterday to eat
Thawed earthworms that emerged from dirt
Like us, sun-smiling, believing in its moment:
Arrived! But the warlock cackled a whisper.

“No! Not yet, Smile, not yet.”

We await You in flannel and fleece
A smile cutting through our crying heart
To remind us of our beat we knew worthy,
Its moment, our content, at last, comes.

Image: American Robin, Audubon

Song of the Week: Bjork “Army of Me” and a response poem: “An Army of Me Met Met at the Door”

An Army of Me Met Met at the Door

An army of me met me at the door
and kicked me in the balls
so hard they rolled off my tongue
like ben wa and dropped
like a teenager’s waking up one morning
with a sticky surprise

An army of me met me at the door
and laughed in my face
until i had to laugh right along with me
ha ha ha, roll on the floor, jackass
and look at the teenager you became
30 years after it was hip

An army of me met me at the door
and came in for a scotch
he had it neat, i had it messy
with ice that melted
into a puddle deep enough
to go and drown a little sorrow

An army of me met me at the door
and we decided to hang out a bit
turns out he was good company
and so we decided to become one
and just get on with it:
the rescue squad was exhausted.

Continue reading

Blank Slate

Arrows and stones: a child’s song
Protects the fragile boy
From all who want to paint him
As if he were as blank as Locke
As if he just arrived on the cul-de-sac
That morning for the first time:

He had not.

He was there the day before.

He had been there days before that.

And so on… like a hall of mirrors
reflecting him back and forth, forever
He’d been there.

Now, though, now,
They see him cry
And think:
A fete!
On him,
We can paint all the shades of our pain!”
As if the color under his skin wasn’t on the spectrum.