With mornings' breaths, I inhale my pain
and urge it to stop while humming "don't complain."

Those little nagging things are life's daily spices
we need to smell and taste, they're trifle prices.

But what really hurts is this worldly oppression
that paces under everyone's recognition,

and what deepens the aches into my heart,
I find no painkillers work to make my pain a past.

I am not a window pane
To be sat upon in the rain
I am not a viewer with a hallucinatory brain
To the box that sucks out souls
And sells them in the street
I can walk on my own
With my two cut off feet

I pushed aside the low brushwoods new
To find my peace there hidden from view
These many years since I returned to see
There waiting for me my favourite tree

Amidst a sea of emerald grass seen
A seat for me to sit and dream
These dreams to my mind shown
Normally touching my soul alone

I feel the presence of the years
My inner self releases its fears
Not tethered to a physical being
A free spirit climbing to places hidden

Predatory
-
dim-milled eyes raked filled with flies
there's no guile for death to prize
one open cog is broken
bosses' golden log token
gotta hire by next friday
just a wasted holiday
-
what's-her-name was pretty good
but now she is gone I should
go to her funeral-NAH
body in a box, too raw
ya never know what she did
in May little katydid
-
My arms around her tightened
her shallow breath so frightened
my hands tapped her youth away

manicured vision-scapes;
nature trimmed into straight lines
and angles, sharp, clean, respectable.

obviously, to the symetric eyed,
it is the preferred version.
.
such a squared-away world
is not a place for me to be.
I'm a cock-eyed slob of a caretaker
indeed, a zenish-zoned snob
with my own rustic code
...let it go, let it grow, let it flow.

unkempt means time unspent
on policing tendencies
of leaves to blow
snow to fall
grass to grow

I would like to be content with my own company
but often dissatisfied with me
to sit with myself, silent
is an act I think I’d repent

I’m not confident in my opinion
in my comfort zone being a minion
of my own worth, I’m not singing
my self-esteem issues loudly ringing

My poetry makes me feel free
but I’m safe in relative anonymity
wish I could speak to my soul
whisper sweet-nothings, make it feel whole

seeking bluebirds,
those feathery nose tickling
variety of myth,
I board,
in pith and khaki,
a junk van
packed light for flight.
running on hot
rattles of hope
scratched aviators
and a new plastic identity

mirror cracks,
kaleidoscoping
the back-side of motion,
scatter the rain pretty
mud flaps, caked with
the debris of a muddled past
ragged and worn,
fall by the wayside

a hard-nosed cynic
is disappearing

there
ahead
somewhere

poetics of space, opacity of breath
placement of words, stepping stones
subtle pause, falter –or go on-
gaseous syllables left unformed
cosmic birthing of the stars
richness of the not yet said
deeper than the newly born
ears, sound struck , open to the sun
music , note expectant, waits -
harp’s crested gorgeousness,
voluptuously flowers, enfolded,

silence pulses in my tongue

Saying good-bye to a friend
can sometimes seem unfair,

one tries to express things
showing they really care.

So I’m tackling this task
even though it’s quite rough,

I won’t say, “good-bye”
but, I wish you enough.

I wish you enough sunlight
to lessen your pain,

and to enjoy the sun’s grace
I wish you enough rain;

I wish you enough happiness
so you’ll enjoy every mile,

with just enough sadness
to appreciate a smile;

to satisfy your “wants”
I wish you enough “gain”,

wobbling close to a cliff
deep in shit
can't go forward
can't back up

the Man's up my ass
pushing His might
pay, and I'll stop
He swears
it's His right

lying, needy bastard
He's always horny for more

the Man has a hungry monkey on His back
...and a major ever-breeding greedy pack of steroidal goon-guards to feed

I'm starting to wonder
what's at the bottom of the cliff