Not going to dirty up my life…

Refuse me -and

my words, you treat them like daggers

homeless thoughts with nowhere to perch

they need rest, a safe place to sleep. Tonight,

my mind in a whirl and only pills can stop the twirl

swallowed with a bottle of Sailor Jerry’s rum -Yum!

regrets in the morning always come!

Still no plan to conquer these thoughts

memories caught. I have pocketfuls

reach in, they grab my hand -won’t release, until

I take one out, massage, breathe in.

Not going to dirty up my life, but I always do

slyly creep into sleep and vanish once again.

i’ll be me
you be you
together we meet
halfway between

except
i’m not talking to you
seek shelter inside
should’ve known better.

You
course through suspicion
a river -electricity
the slow torture of soul.

(This is fiction. Any resemblance to truth quite accidental.)

I can’t let you go.
I refuse to give you up.

I am free. There is no one thing -particulars?

I don’t confess

I like this; I dont like that. -See

the bottom of the ocean travels way down -deep

and this love of ours won’t bless my sleep

because i live my life

the way i want

your done -taking me over.

I can’t let you go.
I refuse to give you up.

I. Am. Not.

Silently whispering

I have been hard pressed- trying to be my best. And in the process, lost all rest. 

Broken, storms erect a wall. Weak, utterly confused. Silent. The drums ever louder, marching to the beats, painful echoes I repeat. What is heard?

Look up! vultures. Masses circle, tease desires. Grotesque in cue. Addressed invitations to the vile.

Quiet! Please be still, my heart. Stop and play with me?

No, sings the chorus. Feeling satisfaction, cloaked with power.  Cuts deep. Power turns me on my head. Destroys what life remains, up ahead. Drains the blood.

Dead.

The world drives me insane. I attempt to love it back. Erect it, place it back in orbit. Black. Not one person hears. Silently whispering. We fade.

Monhegan

Remember, yesterday, I opened and read:

“I like the intimacy

with a patch of ground

the closeness and the drawing in,

the sibilance,

the swish the grass makes

with the scissored snap of stems,”

From her poem Cutting the grass with Scissors

well, i wrote in the margins of her book, much like my living, existing in the periphery, a few words…

digging

two worn, bent at the wrist

we share -a small token of fervent hope

though nothing stays for long

my dandelion wishes stray

easterly, past our thoughts.

Staying on the island, even for the shortness of time enjoyed, was an awakening to how harried life can become. Oh! How I pine for the evergreen of Monhegan life.

Monhegan Island May 2016

Ideally

Remembering childhood days

running home for dinner

playing legos with your brother,

Why’d it have to end?

What shadows crept behind the sun

washed out memories,

lurk, no amount of fight

breaks their will,

rushing to and fro,

cause your world to explode -no

running home for dinner or reading Ranger Rick -no

your running for your life.