The stream (all workshops)
It’s December and you ask me about love;
And it’s funny because this time last year we were both necks deep in it.
I tell you I dabble, here and there,
a touch, a glance, a fling.
a rendezvous with a dark man in a dark blue truck.
I tell you that I’m scared I won’t be treated right again.
“Again?” you ask
“Yes.” I say.
you beg me to elaborate and I do,
I could never say no to you.
Try sleep.
Wake up,
Shaking,
Shaking,
Shaking.
Finally, sleep.
Wake up,
with a bloody mouth,
spikes attacking my temples,
and a bitten tongue.
The tremors must have come
to visit in my sleep,again.
Such dear, friends,
they are always close.
Try sleep.
Pills bring on the fog.
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Wake up! Wake up! Just stay awake.
Don't let them see.
Don't give the fog Power.
Although the following poetic/prosaic material written January eighteenth two thousand and eighteen, I came across these encapsulated, enclosed, encoded, and encrusted with barnacle clad body electric of my trademark crafted gobbledygook today January third two thousand and twenty three.
She was saying goodbye
in so many muted ways.
But I was somewhere else
in my redoubt of indecision.
Indifference that couldn’t mask
her blue and walk-away eyes,
should have made It clear
she was already gone.
It took me a while to get here.
To get you to fade away.
It was just that my timing was bad.
In the hustle and bustle of everyday strife,
There are moments that bring a touch of life,
Small but beautiful, they sparkle and gleam,
Making our existence a wondrous dream.
A gentle breeze on a warm summer's day,
Caressing our skin as we laugh and play,
The sound of raindrops tapping on the roof,
A lullaby that whispers with a soothing truth.
A smile from a stranger passing us by,
A simple gesture that makes our spirits fly,
A heartfelt conversation, shared with a friend,
Words that uplift and help us mend.
Sit in a window seat
for one last look at this place
Memories on that bench...
Never thought I would be leaving here
See what thinking gets you?
A good portion of my life
has been lived here
Now, off to a new adventure
"in my golden years" pah...
Nothing golden about them now
Two bags of clothes, a shaving kit
newly polished silver
nestled in my shirt and jacket
clinging to my neck,
like the last of the albatross
In the darkness, I can see a light
though I'm not supposed to look
Pale white it shines at a distance
at thought of it, I'm shook
Full moon; I cannot help it
the draw of you like a flame
A moth am I, all fired up
I try thinking of my name
Your story has me mesmerized
the pain you've had to take
I want to hold and comfort you
But, too soon your last mistake
Aria, fairy of dusk
appearing
with the first
star.
Sweeping away
the reign of day
by her bidding.
With gentle touch,
introducing
sweet tendrils
of evening.
From which
velvet canvas
takes possession
of the canopy
as soon the
full moon rises.
First, low in the sky
horizon alight
with shy moonbeams,
she takes her place
amongst the stars...
Leaving on a train
Allows us to seek our goals
Hopeful dreams to share
Spinning to heavy symphony losing
myself weighless on my feet. Head pulled
Back enjoying the vibration dancing around
through me. My pool hazelnut eyes glazed
and dreamy. While the end of daylight overlaps
the beginning of night.
The caress hug I gave you when I transported
you back so we can both relax and enjoy the
the emotions the ecstasy your taste the drug
instilled in your honey.
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