Category Archives: Gratitude

Working

Poets are not a lazy
Gazy lot, I can attest
As I am hard at work
Putting pen to page,
In the metaphorical
Custom of a digital
Age. I write in deep
Reflection, thinking
Hard of what it all
Means, all-- I mean
To say-- is life itself
From beginning to an
End we do not want
To imagine or foresee,
Foretelling with the
Same foreboding you
Feel, an end I can see
Is inevitable even as
I enjoy my walk and
Indulge myself in my
Doings, coming and 
Goings, as carefree 
As if there were not
An end in sight.

Early morn

The dark and the light mix
Matched, perfectly balanced
Hanging in the balance, dark
Turning into light, illuminated
Grey, like a fluorescent paint,
Picking up the white of the 
Sky, holding it in its pigment,
Brilliant yet dull. It's early yet.
Just wait until the sun bursts 
Through the clouds, it'll add
A touch of lemony butter to
The palette, brightening the
Hues. Soon it will be daylight

You

This is where I miss you most
When the sky is so beautiful I
Have to share its perfect color
This is when I miss you more
Where we might have walked
Together, sharing the night
I want to whisper with every
Breath how much I need you 
To help me make the beauty
Real. This is when I miss you.
Never again will we walk like
That. Our bodies close, our 
Hands holding tight, not alone
The perfect sky something to
Share. This is when I miss you

Mailbox

It's not just because
I love getting letters
A mailbox, attached
To an errant wall, just
Outside your apartment,
Is a truly special thing
Private in the way the
U.S.P.S. can never be,
Communication from
Here to anywhere, to 
Me, is just ours. I can
Imagine the wriiten 
Pages, sealed and then
Addressed, dropped
In that singular box.
They would be love
Letters, they would be
Secret missives, they
Would be private, ours.

Am I A.I.?

Life imitates art, painting,
Dance, even the houses
That house us, words and
Stories, it's art that gives
Us the blueprint for our
Lives, guiding us across
The divides between our
Reality and our fealty. We
Know about honor and
Loyalty because someone
Wrote about them, told us
How to and what to think.
Life imitates art, follows it
Around like a puppy with
A toy in its mouth, innocent
Of any thought but full of
Instinct and juice. Life=art.

In a world gone mad

In a world gone mad, perhaps 
No madder, crazier than it has
Been building - puffing itself up
To, a world askew, I dream of
You sitting by my left shoulder,
When I awake disappointed to
Find you gone, this feels sane,
Missing you in a world turned
Mad by liars, confidence men,
Swindlers and cheats. You are
Safe not having to deal with a
Different kind of crazy, an evil,
Your memory gave me safety,
Dreaming of you, sitting by me
I would have been wearing black,
In the traditions of a traditional 
Mourning, a widow decked head
To toe in the colors of loss. Months
Would pass like that, and my grief
Would be symbolized by my attire.
Without widow's weeds, the black
Of mourning is all on the inside, my
Inner self. Oh, nobody mourns all 
The time. I know that. I did not, I
Don't know, deserve the guilt I feel
For not being sad at this moment.
At every moment that passes, all
The moments in which I miss you,
Burt, but I am not mourning you 
All the time, full-time that is, I am 
But I am not sad as every moment
Passes, and I have all those great
Memories you gifted, you left me,
You bequeathed me. In them, I  
Miss you, but I am not sad, not in 
My widow's weeds as I might in 
The tradition of mourning have
Expected to be, I am remembering
You. I am remembering us.

Affirming

I am okay. I sleep.
This uttered in the
Middle of the night
Does not reassure
But perhaps affirms.
I am awake but I will
Find my way back to
Snoozing soon. This
Uttered in the middle
Of the night doesn't
Reassure but affirms.
I am okay. I sleep.
I slept. I did. This
Uttered in the light 
Of dawn reassures
And confirms I am
Okay. I welcome the
Light, as the dark is
Fading, has faded. I
Am awake to the joy
Of a new day. I am 
Okay and I miss him.