Poems Flowing…

4 Jul

The Fourth of July

As fire blazes

work in progresses across

a silk screen sky

-still as silence in the spaces between explosions-

Starless bangles hang

too high to hail

with the sober navy suit, saluting

silhouettes of smoke, seasons of spark, 

appear and disappear like

magic and how I like to believe 

inside of my heart of hearts

that it does exist.

 

Bits of My Truth

1)–I am nothing if not humble, says Hubris.

2)–I accept other’s philosophies as their truths, but if they only knew the grace and majesty of my God…, says ones truth as it strokes and basks in its vanity mirror, close-minded and unaware its reflection is backwards. 

3) Blink: ellipse reality, and foresee what is real. No wonder the blind bard is prophetic…

Letter To My Unborn Child: Why Grandpa and Grandma Live in Independence Households

You are wrong! says Man. No, You are wrong! retorts Man’s wife. Perplexed  by the defect of both defaulting to right and wallowing in the wrong the ill lit path is paved with question marks and it is not so straightforward from here, where to go.  Man resents Man’s wife because Man’s wife adores Daughter. Man resents Daughter because Man adores Man’s wife. Man carries a cold burden of defense, and when Man sees Daughter his heavy glare casts a shadow upon her. Through the lens of his harsh light, how obvious it seems that she is a spitting image of her mother. Irony gives form to a bermuda triangle of resentment, and adoration and umbilical chord commitment. Oh how resentment ices adoration; how lovely and lethal it is to adore resentment; how commitment is a concept treated like a concrete shackle enslaving each to their own emotional turmoil, and someday, somehow, I am enraged and relieved that there must be a jailbreak.

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