It feels like turning an orange slice outward

Wrenching it into the wrong position

flexing it away from protection

There is where you access the deep roots of its sweetness

where you can consume every last fiber of the blissful, juicy radiance it offers

Yet there is a brutality to it

Force is required

but what hurts the most is the betrayal

The inversion of that spherical skin against its will

There is resistance

there is a tiny rain of its essence lost in the process.

As you wend toward that succulent prize you can feel the breaking that occurs

how unnatural a process it is

how all the shape that it once knew now becomes flaccid.

The strength once contained there now operates only through habit and has lost all meaning.

As your eager mouth mines it’s treasure from the inner white of it’s skin

once all the value you had perceived has been collected

you release it to fall and it remembers the shape it once held.

It reverts back to that sphere

though misshapen

though bereft of its once solid glory

it remembers, it returns.



A credentialed man with a reasoned plan is easiest to follow

But what to do when his words come through and are difficult to swallow

Do you tow the line cause the rest is fine or cry for insurrection

Do you simply coat a now threatened throat with the sweetest of confections


Will the forming shoals deep within your soul still allow a good night’s sleep

Will you make a stand put a direct hand to ensure your oaths will keep

Will the tales you told of the streets of gold become a mocking farce

Will you hide in sight taken with the fright that your statements may be parsed


Just what does it take to admit mistakes when a thing has gone awry

When you’re faced with facts it feels like attacks so therefore you must deny

Can you still locate why you still fixate does it uphold your intentions

Does your leaders cunning guarantee a shunning if you speak about dissention


You have lost your mind in a search to find the most comforting of logic

You refuse to bend as the world’s ways wend and your rendered hypnagogic

You perceive just phases and you cling to phrases that preserve your way of life

So you march along to the blaring song of a tarnished broken fife


The gnarled and naked limb

Reaching for its sun

Within its graying fingers

The string, woven and spun

A joy from warmer days

Also hoping for the stars

Trapped within this wooden grasp

Leaving chafed and aging scars

Its urge to float diminished

But still aloft, it dreams

A strong wind still brings hope

But alas it always clings

Perhaps the knots will loosen

And one day the string shall fly

Or perhaps it twists forever

Grateful for its piece of sky

The Golden Days of Yesteryear

I lived outside for hours

When I was just a girl

I’d run or bike or cartwheel

And dizzy myself with whirls


I played pretend each night

After singing until hushed

And only ever grownups

Seemed to do things stressed and rushed


As time moved ever forward

I slowly lost that ease

I rarely now will play outside

Or risk skinning my knees


The days of youth seemed endless

Almost fitting years inside

The golden days of yesteryear

What a bitchin’ ride

Into Life

Cling to me  

sweet scent of you

Please help me to recall


How the feeling of you

Near to me

Means everything and all


How the world was just

a place to be

Until you brought your magic


How before your light

Would shine abroad

I steeped in all things tragic


But breath and balance

Hopes and dreams

Began to grow anew


For existence sprang forth

Into life

When I was gifted you

Hate is a Door, Truth is an Axe

A tempered steel with which to cut

A door always intended shut

Locked and guarded for many ages

The propitious crusaders locked in cages


So many destroyed by this vicious battle

Obfuscation keeps the masses addled

When truth emerged and was rightly spoken

The speaker then was bruised and broken


Those who questioned beyond the thresholds frame

Were cast out through it, shunned, defamed

Some began to exit freely

To discover what the truth was, really


So together they would fabricate

The weapon that could gash the gate

It took so many just to wield

To ensure the gate became unsealed


And even now the reconstruction

Continues on despite obstruction

Though many hands still carry splinters

It may be ages more ‘till all can enter

Listening to Speak

Your tongue sits poised

Against your teeth

Hungry for

Your chance to speak


And what they share

Is whisked aside

To be devoured

By your pride


Their only voice

Is stolen thusly

With your reply

Made loudly, brusquely


Their unclad soul


By the careless words

You’ve just conflated


A living aphrodisiac

An emotional kleptomaniac

Who renders most insomniacs

Once present in their mind


The kind of love you dream about

But mostly cry and scream about

The kind you feel supreme about

Because it’s hard to find


So as all others salivate

Over your lovely profligate

Your standards slowly dissipate

For your ego’s struck you blind


Yet once the fire quells to embers

It’s harder for you to remember

What’s between you, save their splendor

And your moments spent supine

Happy Place

One day you may still conquer

And lounge within your keep

But today you’re just a bed

For a child who’s gone to sleep


You could make the products

That no one can live without

But today you search for patience

When your little tyrant pouts


You could find the cure

For the deadliest disease

But today you struggle to keep up

While walking on your knees


Your focus on the dividends

Will quickly be diverted

When almost every moment

Is a crisis you’ve averted


For the magic of a giggle

And the sunshine of a face

Or a little grasping hand

Will become your happy place

The Throws of Life

No matter how we try to cleave

To the lessons of our masters

Change is unavoidable

As sometimes is disaster


Those interwoven wisdoms

Wrapped so tightly ’round with care

Can be snatched apart by life

And after many years, threadbare


So cling tightly to the swatches

That can stand the test of time

For that is what can warm you

When you’re moving past your prime


Begin to weave your wisdom

As soon as it’s attained

And through the grace of time itself

Perhaps it shall sustain

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