Ever After Song
A female child to us has come
A year has passed since birth
She spreads the joy of infancy
Two crows a sign of mirth
The glare of life glints off her eyes
The colors of rainy spring skies
Her strawberry curl & double clefts
The destiny in her smiles
So new she could be anyone
Her brain as smooth as her backside
No calcified ideals or beliefs
Just flickering synaptic upslide
Life holds such space in infancy
Her whole universe will fit
Please arm her well with loving heart
AND sharply crafted wit
Oh, her spellbound infancy
This pearl of parents’ bone
There’s nothing written down just yet
No destinies carved in stone
The cleanest page is infancy the blankest canvas known
Keep these joyous seeds of infancy to plant in peace where e’r you go
Past this my hope is you find your own way
& Leave each path you walk well sewn
If Love is known to be Patient…if Love is known to be kind…
Then why can’t it be nice & be ready & waiting…
Instead of driving us all out of our minds?
If Love is known not to be envious, boastful or proud…
Then why is the Love all around us so loud?
If Love is known not to dishonor others…
If Love is known not to be self seeking or easily angered…
Then why is there child porn, trafficking or dowries…
Why are women so often endangered?
If Love is known not to keep record of wrongs…
Then why pre-nups, divorce papers & Love songs?
If Love is known not to delight in evil…
Then why does subjugation still go on?
If Love is known to rejoice in the truth…
Then why did the Bible’s authors bury the lead on Ruth?
If Love is known to always protect & trust…
If it always hopes & preserves…
Then explain to me abuse, lies & apathy…
Why adoration can turn to frayed nerves.
If it is known & foretold & written on two thousand year old papyrus that Love never fails…
Then why heartbreak & break-ups & love unrequited & marriages gone clear off the rails?
(Dedicated to my mentors & friends Les Hill & John Hickey)
Lament Fallen Heroes to Jilt Death’s Haul
Whatever the reason that fate is citing…
Whatever its wisdom; it carries no heft.
Whatever is meant to be learned from his dying now falls upon the deaf.
Why do these damned stars still twinkle?
Why does the man in the moon wear that smile?
Why does the grass grow slow and steady as we grieve him all the while?
Cover the mirrors with coal draping.
Cover your eyes now else lose them to grief.
Cover your ears so as not to hear that the end of his suffering’s a relief.
Leave us to our mourning black.
Leave your heavy hearts at the door.
Leave us to fast & stay well out of sight…just in case he visits once more.
How dare the world keep spinning!
How dare they walk without aim in the street!
How dare Life go on as though nothing has changed when our hero now lies at our feet!
Feel his loss & all its weight.
Feel the thickness of tangible air.
Feel a crack strike through the Earth. Feel the empty cavern he’s left there.
Jam the blade through all our hearts!
Jam pack our mortal wounds with salt!
Jam every jewel & beautiful thing in the deepest darkest vault!
Do it now while we stand planted in shock.
Do it now before we notice your presence here.
Do it quickly for when we wake from shock our wails will shred & sear.
Have all the things he left behind.
Have all of his worldly possessions.
Have everything but what he said & shared for you’ll never hear more valued lessons.
For no one is able to hear it now while our hearts are caught in vacuums.
For he is gone & his absence has blackened our sight with an enduring night that looms.
He’ll forgive us our indulgence in tears for a time but he bids us be gone from his grave.
He’ll say “throw this grief over your shoulders & stand…walk on, live Life, be brave”.
Our fallen hero expects our laughter & wouldn’t approve that we tend to wallow.
Our mentor’s vacancy, though, is too tough a pill for tear choked throats to swallow.
Clockwork Heart & Clockwork Brains
People made entirely of digital remains
Nothing but what we’ve posted making up our minds
Nothing Guding our Steampunk Hearts but things we’ve “Liked” & “Shared” online
Piñata Heart’s Full of Goodness
The piñatas are looming & everyone’s got a bat
But not quite sure which symbol they’re most mad at
For each piñata is a symbol of something you hate
Be they politicians or be they relatives, or lovers or a mate
They may be pet peeves like manners or grammar
The point of a piñata is to get good from the wreckage of a bat or hammer
I think my piñata would be the visceral heart
Exactly the good stuff you need when it’s beaten & pounded & shredded apart
It always gets sewn back together with magical thread & patches of leather
I’ve no idea what spirits & angels put inside as with broken heart I lie there
I come ‘round in a day or ten & the mood will’ve changed & goods left lie ‘round me
All will’ve taken just the good they need; while my heart restored & relearned to beat
But there’s always two things that after having your heart rent & mended leaves behind
A harder heart to rend next time & the one exact goodie I need to move forward in time
Sometimes it’s Courage & often Defiance that the piñata heart gives me & anyone near
My piñata heart propels me through each dramatically tragedy filled year
So I have a bat & you have a hammer let’s take of the blindfolds & come together
The Piñata Heart always spills good no matter how much it suffers & feels forever.
Whatever your piñata know that all you’ll get out of it is good
So no need for vengeance, heroics or playing Robin Hood
The piñata provides even if it starts out as violence, anger & action meeting
Everyone should have the visceral heart as their piñata; because it’s nature is beating
As they say…it can take a licking & keep on ticking.
The place you’ll always find good is in your heart, so go on, keep kicking.
My old life doesn’t recognize me it knows of me no more.
I’ve tread water for years in the center of the river ‘tween Stix’s narrow shores.
Between the shore of the old life & the shores along the new.
I’ve been stuck in decision in the middle waters…such a black shade of blue.
My hesitance traversing along to the banks of my new life; across from where I was just alive…
I can’t take anything or anyone but those who understand a life dying, while, only the self survives.
Try as I may to let go & swim naked with naught but character, soul & skin.
Th Stix’s water’s thick as quicksand & I’m at risk of drowning if I don’t just fucking swim.
Hades has been patient with me while I learn to embrace the new life awaiting me…
See, He has no claim on me for the world of my life only died but the soul is still ‘en vie’.
Yet, He notes my weighty grief for what is dead & gone-& if I drown, I’ll be claimed gladly.
So, I must decide while my head’s above “water” & I’ve established, just barely, I live.
Now, I must paddle to shore, clothe my skin in its sand & see what a “New Life” can give.
I’ve got my character, skin, my soul & good friends; if “New Life” can just lend me a voice.
If happiness is earned & what I’ve to say is truly heard, I can deal with my mortal choice.
I can choose to move on from a dead world…
As long as I find my voice & as long as my voice will be heard.
Please take me, oh please take me far away from this place.
Save me from this catacomb & its indeterminable pace.
Carry me while you can to somewhere open somewhere wide.
Someplace where windows aren’t just things I see from the inside.
Release me from this distant place, this lavish gilded cage.
Help me find escape outside & not just on this page.
Pry me from my chair for it has rusted where it sits.
Bring magic oil for my poor joints to lose their coltish fits.
Someone stand beside me…be my walking, talking cane.
Teach me how to walk again & share some of my pain.
Shield me from this constant storm. Let me hold you in the sun.
Let me lean against your sturdy frame. Hold me up so I can run.
Help me pass this shallow breath that ticks the box which says I live.
Take me where I’ll huff & heave to catch the air you give.
Show me what it is to laugh for I’ve forgotten how.
Tell me I can do it all. Tell me I can leave right now.
But this is all a fantasy for you do not exist.
You’re a relished figment standing firm in reality’s crushing midst.
I cannot do a single thing that I’ve listed here thus far.
My life ceased to tick & lies broken with its workings all ajar.
This is who I am now & oh how I wish it were true.
That I could unlock this wretched door & walk right through with you.
This fantasy & reality are pressed full flush & in between’s just mesh.
Each will leak into the other but you will never be made flesh.
Virgil wrote the Aeneid, an epic poem. I’m writing an Opera of Poetry…the first of its kind & I still don’t stand a chance dueling with Virgil…someone who wrote an EPIC POEM however…a duel is a duel…
and I happen to adore this inspirational twist on a classic…ready, aim…
“Fortune Favors the Bold”…
“Fortune Favors the Balls”…
L.B. Stowe-Me a couple years back.
Our struggle to become what we are but cant yet see.
The missing site of our own souls brings instability.
We fight in the senseless & blinded conditions of our inner selves.
As one, our eyes open from sleep; it’s daily Life’s struggle into which we must delve.
Hearts & Minds vote opposition sometimes.
We make ourselves tangible, whole souls by our swing votes.