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

A Hard Look

Many thought him a miscreant

With hair well past his shoulders

His demeanor always casual

His integrity much bolder


He possessed the musculature

Of a fighter close to winning

Yet he never seemed surprised

When pushed back to the beginning


He walked with such a calm

It betrayed his warring mind

Funny that so many feared

A man so saturnine


The deep lines laid upon him

Surely spoke of his exhaustion

Still his peaceful glide did not turn back

Those who would accost him


We’ve lost his hardened wisdom

And unprecedented patience

An ever gleaming mirror

Of the dangers of complacence

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