"In your dreams" one shot wednesday #27

Suspicion is misbegotten
It lies in the soul of many a fool
Margins of extreme paranoia
A friendly aspect to ease your mind

It lies in the soul of many a fool
Vivid dreams of angry men
A friendly aspect to ease your mind
It’s your aim to console, open your eyes

Vivid dreams of angry men
With wicked people dressed in black
It’s your aim to console, open your eyes
As we watch from behind cellar doors

With wicked people dressed in black
Creating hysteria and disdain
As we watch from behind cellar doors
These things do not exist

Creating hysteria and disdain
Margins of extreme paranoia
These things do not exist
Suspicion is misbegotten

A letter from me we write poems #35-(not) poetry

I got your letter this afternoon.
I’m calling it The Unrecorded Symphony.
Today the most beautiful wish of my life has been granted.
Now I’m in Leipzig, but it’s not too bad,
nothing here’s as nice as the weather.
My Dideldum – may all the angels be with you!
One of these mornings, you’re gonna rise up singin’
It’s very beautiful here. It’s good enough for now.
The trees are not as far along as in Vienna;
Thank God your by the sea.
The lilacs already have tiny buds.
The little flower is from my garden.
I hope that tomorrow I’ll be gone.
For this equation: white is your soul, white is your body.
One of these mornings, you’re gonna rise up singin’
I’m shoving off! I’ll take my time driving.
But “just don’t get soft baby.”
Write me at Verona, poste restante.
You’ll spread your wings and you’ll take to the sky
That’s all my darling.


Process notes:
Speak Low – The letters of Kurt Weill and Lotte Lenya.
The first two lines of “Summertime” by George Gershwin.

a river of stones #3

The coldness in my fingertips is like
a chill sent to my heart, icicles.

a river of stones #2

christmas lights blink slowly,
as an ambulance’s siren shrieks
furiously …

another year gone poetry tow truck #1 first words

Drop essences of virtuous attempts at the foot of 

the volcano. As the smoke swirls in the blueness of the

last hardest impression of eternity. A new

year has begun with hopes of dreams to be gorged

into a filtered resistance. You built a brick house in

the past life, tough and unbreakable. While you left me

silent with no words for an escape, I have wandered in

limbo seeking refuge from the storm of hatred. The pleasantries

of kindness made me think otherwise, should I make

the first movement and let things fall where they may in the

past year of learning and enlightenment?

embarking into madness writer's island #1-embark

I like to hide between layers of cloth
keeping distance from the outside.
I asked if sulking in the fissures
would release the salvation waited for
or if the mixture is too much to withstand.

Threadbare injustice is the essential escape
from the destiny of forgotten memoirs,
frozen allocates within breached
resistance of your Armageddon.

Persistence is the opposition from where
we lie in parallel lines joined at the most
explicit measures.

I see fish climbing up the stairway,
delusions of amphibians that bark like
cats wearing glitter on their fingertips.

I wondered if life had been kind or
severe, when we found the Roman
soldiers hiding in the medicine chest,
their swords brandished 24 hours a day.
I wait for the story of Judas
and how you walked upon the moon.

a river of stones #1

A poinsettia seems to wilt –
exhausted, searching for the
sun in an overcast sky