Morning Mist

our most treasured tales
are those that cling to us
for reasons known and strange
bridging the writers gap
taking listeners away
to the road less travelled
paved by tongues
home to bitter-sweet taste
and songs of accepted fate

An Ode to Those Who've Met Before

way over yonder
and on street corners
close to our homes
you'll find penned reasons
to hold me in contempt;
even harm me.

so in our sour times
friendship is counted twice
when held through
screams of scorn
and bellowed bigotry,
our silence speaks.

it proves its worth
against the tales and poetry
how could it not,
with roots in love,
there's proof enough;
it was destined to succeed

oddities and rarities that were shared ordinarily
with a golden soul
beneath golden suns
and our typical grey
that plagues a little less,
with solitary thought lent to another

this unfamiliar territory
chanced upon by a traveller
with a heart that warmed
through a spring that never came
and a summer that shone
and burned time past

laughter that would
light flames under January's snowflakes
and company that would
remain after parting,
whither sorrow to ash
and turn me to gratitude

for fortunes upturned
in the mystery of patterns
spelled by God
that lay in paths tread
by those who've met before;
called friends by some.

This Bitter(sweet) Earth II

this place
this compounded earth
home to fallen souls
the earthy ground
where tears of joy
dilute rivers of blood
but the flowers still bloom
and roots still rise.
see Maya Angelou.

this place,
ultimately,
beautiful, and abhorrent
swaying in the balance
of both these faces of ours
this compounded earth
living under
seemingly infinite
assailant-footsteps
is also home
beneath dancing feet
and innocence unbound

this place
where lovers fear
and the fearful run
the feared may run
some fleeting borders
lost to time perhaps;
myopic we can be
indeed

are we trying to
forget,
our feelings of love
at the simplicity of seeing
our vicious selves?
forgetting our mother's hands
and her lips
upon our foreheads;
she is not the queen
of this place, true.
but neither are those
who smoke our sight
and blind us so,
to all but plight.

Eternal Sunshine

do you remember me
did that smile I left
on your face
stay long enough
was any word poetry
was any lent hand
weighted with purpose
or was facade all you saw

was your laugh forgotten
amongst the thoroughfare
where its sound lost its source
in the millions you met
were they, more memorable than I
did they stay
in your heart

was anything written
anything more
than passing clouds
that sat perfectly
for a moment alone
to then leave you be

did my touch
ever reach past
the surface we share with all
and cling to a soul's portion
who's reaching cries
went unheard 'til I came
did I ever mean that much

was anything ever
more than it was,
did meanings multiply
as I departed
and left you not alone
as our past gave way to eternal sunshine or,
is that too much to ask?

This March's Snow (In Memory of Yen)

whether in prayer or pause
we still think of him
as march snow falls
and april approaches
with open doors

time may heal wounds
but seals our hearts
to bygone days
with none apart

each year the thread
taken from memories unstopping
with the needle of our songs
and the will of our longing

to meet once more
after skies have fallen,
with all ashore
to be safe in heaven,
where we long no more

Society on Men

don't you dare shed a tear;
lest they know
you were born of a Mother
or speak love in public
keep such words in silence
or at least confinement.

think thrice,
before serving,
manners can be misconstrued, man
open your arms to liberty,
and lower us all
with your language
we left chivalry with the cavalry
and stories of old,
and poured liquor over the carcasses
of gallant men
whose names are lost
swimming upstream to us.

the victors of new stories told to you
worry not if they told the truth
ubiquitous deceit is the order of the day
men set the order of play
a scene not fit for you child.
take your words elsewhere
aesthetic action matters here
so part from poems
leave your scripts at the door
of all that's normal
and let me show you
who real men are

All of It

this is all of it,
every tear that ever fell
every run of breath
that came with the harrowing
of solitude
or shared melancholy
when embraces
multiplied in meaning
and we wept in the arms
of whoever would be so kind;
fearless sorrow
dripping with salt water
inner left exposed
to anyone
no shame
no shame
love knows no shame;
tonight anyway.

could we be constant
in our out-pour
let them all fall this night
just to touch who they fall for.
fingers tremble with emptiness
the heart unwise
unknown paths of pain
make weak hearts;
and they still beat.
lost,
but find temporal homes
close to kindred souls

this is every aspiration
that we amassed
only for hope's vapour
to collect like a grey afternoon
rain fell
steps glistened in the water
the image absent
between our eyelids
our aching bones lifeless
searching for room
to start again
or a new dream
to pin our passions to

to not know
your own reflection,
be yourself they say
which self to be
is self unitary?
or to know you
more than you ever could
and leave you drained
of so much of yourself

this is every loss
every heart left
to the cold ground
severed in two parts
longing for whatever
may bring wholesome heartbeats
or run back time's coils
and erase yesterdays
to colour tomorrow
in something more void of misery

the distraught inexplicable
plaguing so many
demanding insanity in some
the downtrodden trodden on
the poverty of love
the fingernails that etched horror
into walls that saw too much

may we be harboured whole
from the madness of that pain;
all of it.