His hands
His hands are tender
Reaching into the warm breath,
It is life he grasps.
His hands are muddied
He holds a trophy he won,
He floats; bolstered, proud.
His hands are replaced
By another man, he breaks.
His mother holds him.
His hands are shaking
Giving his grandmothers ring,
To a girl tender.
His hands are weathered
Held by grandkids with dads name.
It is love he grasps.
Cycle Collected
1. Space
Burning cold glitters,
Need and function coalesce--
Stardust into flesh.
2. Air
Formless and heavy,
Effort to lift and push out,
Lungs have to practice.
3. Fire
Thought streaking across
Clouds of concept in bright heat--
Ragged, storming self.
4. Water
Mind and body move,
Skirt obstacles, rush onward,
Swim in liquid time.
5. Earth
Cupped humanity,
In history's dusty hands,
Dying until death.
The Passing Of Time
Brought into this world
With no say in the matter
many years ago
A child scrapes his knees
Treats the wound in a puddle
Friends laugh, so do I
No more jobs in town
Faithless are the once faithful
The lifeblood drained
I’m falling in love
Thirty hours of pain, and my
Wife births my whole world
An old man, am I
In the mirror, he looks tired
A flash, and it’s gone
It is Not a Circle
new life form swelling,
an abdomen filling with
something near poison.
light is violent to
such sheltered eyes and pale skin
wishing for blindness.
this is why we cry,
at first breath of air, callous
thickens in our throat.
it covers every
tender inch of us until
there is nothing felt.
mercy may take the
shape of a death before life's
allowed to begin.
Just hold that happy thought, Peter
Just hold that happy thought, Peter,
As you walk through life's rougher terrain.
For happiness, they say, is there
Within the pain.
And though you struggle every day,
With worries, fears, and endless stress,
Just close your eyes and think of play
And let your heart do the rest.
For laughter echoes like a chime,
And joy surrounds you like a hug.
It's all just a matter of time,
Before your troubles are unplugged.
But hold that thought, young Peter dear,
For fate has other plans, it seems.
And though you grasp for happiness near,
It slips away like silvery streams.
For tragedy strikes with a heavy blow,
And heartache grips you like a vice.
And all your laughter starts to slow,
Until there's nothing left but sighs.
The world, once bright and shining bright,
Is now a bleak and dreary place.
And every day feels like a fight,
As you struggle to keep pace.
Just hold that happy thought, Peter,
And let the memories sustain.
For though the present may be bitter,
The past still holds sweet refrain.
And though your heart may ache with pain,
And tears may flow like falling rain,
Just hold that happy thought in vain,
And know that joy will come again.
Allen
He's been sleeping in my bed for the last 8 years.
When my husband is away, I let him come over.
I let him into my bed. I wrap my legs around him to forget I'm alone at night.
I lean into him. He holds me upright.
His caress is soft and he smells like clean linen... and me- much better than my husband does.
He gets tired every now and again. His caress grows unnatural, lumpy, rude.
I kick him out and I sleep alone.
And if he's gone long enough, I start to think I might be able to live without him.
But then my husband comes home
and I get the sweet relief of leaning into someone again...
So I bring him back into my bed.
Or maybe I just replace him entirely.
For someone bigger, better, softer.
I hold him and he holds me.
Allen. My darling. My body pillow.