A story of a mother's passing was the catalyst for this poem....

The Observer.

Preservation of life
gone so rapidly
from a morning more ususal

than none.
Smells are similar
soaking the air
of hallways and the phone I last held
dialing for help.
A cardinal chirps on the other side
of the window for bread,
or suet,
or seed...
or a life inside to feed.
Her dead eyes are fixed on his stance.

I hear the red sirens
scrape the gray curb
as my fingers tingle with numbness.
Preservance of life goes so slowly,
to the scarlet bird as he takes
off in bored flight.
This is the start of the rest
of my life.

The Wind

the wind whispers new patterns of movement
new paths to directions unearthed
I listen to this wind
Feel its cold touch on my ear
Walk in the style of its force
It warms me inside with a confidence never felt
It’s so strong that to turn my head
I fear I will fall back –
Back to where there was no wind…..
No want for change, no sense of hearing…its call.
I was deaf and lacked perception of the pressure.
I like this wind.
I don’t know where it came from.
Maybe there’s a portal finally inside that opened
Allowing this new wave of smiles
Wider and deeper than any ocean of tears I’ve carried on my shoulders.
A new wave of pace, for my walk is more erect….
Straighter than the lines I’ve allowed myself to cross.
A new wave of boundaries, limited by grace….
A grace that now opposes irrationality and unbalance.
This wind came in a week.
It moved me out of the deepest holes yet.
A hole so familiar in obsession…
A hole to hold all my past.
A whole desperate emotion.
This wind carried me and lifted me out.
It was so strong at first that it blew out all the dirt from inside me,
All the dirt surrounding the hole caved in, and all the concrete negative notions settled.
It’s covered. I cannot fall in again.
As long as I ride with this wind, I cannot fall again.
Be it as it may, if a foot slips, it will be in a new hole.
One not created by my past, but rather a future I have not labeled yet….or let label me.

Filled Up With Empty

Conversations collide
As the fan blows air
Circulating tones of people
And their voices

Closely listen to
The sound that is
There
When they stop talking

Hear it?

Sleepy and dazed
Work redundantly speeds
My nerves, shakes my body
Work gets done

Closely listen
Fingers stop typing
The fan comes to a stop
Chairs push themselves in.

Hear it?

Traffic signals the night
Peaceful reads
Books that smile on my pillow
TV’s electric light show ends

Pets are called
Lights extinguished
Sleep programmed to fall
90 minutes to go and counting….
I’ll be out.

Hear it?

It’s like the day is filled up with empty.

Hungry Cat....

Slapping tail
Small paws attempt cabinets
Attention!
Fawlty cries
language barriers
I raise the white flag
with frustration
tin can warns cuts
clean plate
rough chews
Calm tail
warm blanket
night vision
sleep

batteries....

right clocks
that tell the wrong time
get
new
batteries.
surged with power
for only a minute
leave broken hands
and
lost
wonder.
envious faces with
aged lives,
reflect passing
with a slow
t i c k
t o c k.
the best time tellers
stop time cold.
only alive in a thought
or a sound...in someone elses
loss...
the clock rests on the wall
and begs for the power
to click
and
tell the hour of my day.
it stopped at 8:42.
i still hear it beat...
habit at best.
i bought batteries today...
they're still in the bag.

Buggin'

sometimes a scorpion, in the pleasure of my sting....
sometimes a spider, in pursuit of my prey.
sometimes an ant, carrying anothers load...
now though, my heart fees like a cocoon...
not sure what colors will determine my
wings........

rhymin time....

fading days, of a passionate phase
makes their way through a memorable haze.
sticky nights, monthly frights,
are forseen sights...
to more love bites.
your talk, all wrong....
i sang my song....
and wore my thong.....
it didn't take you long.
no longer can we play,
this make believe day,
of you having your way.
so we part, and i kept my heart....
far from your tart
ways....from the start.