Author: lbstowe

Winter is dark, cold & it turns my mind.
Worry’s a short trip thru the snow; I find.

Frozen vistas host brisk dangers that linger.
Slip & fall, concussions, break fall, break finger.

The skin of our bodies in pain from the cold.
So wrapped up we toddle like a three year old.

Ice covers all with a gem shine assurance.
Jack Frost’s a jackass kicked back by insurance.

Shiny surfaces cede no grip or footing.
“Winter Wonderland” just doesn’t seem fitting.

Can we “realize” truths we already knew;
Like, roses come in black & violet’s not blue?

Better put, reminded of a fact ignored.
The truth’s moral whit, over my noggin, soared.

Though how do we put faith in outcomes unseen?
We leap blindly from fall, thru winter, to spring.

What comes to pass colors our expectations.
Histories form future fateful relations.

We read books & people but rarely ourselves.
Sort out your story before life’s clock strikes twelve.

Light as a breath exhaled in the cold…
The pale blue aura that wreaths my soul.

Blue only in its reflected sky;
But light of essence in each soft sigh.

It wafts high above its living source:
Manifested Visible Life Force.

Not there for eyes that can’t see ether.
Fake hippy magic to mouth breathers.

Still, all’s laid bare for the naked eye.
Calm yourself, breathe & give it a try.

Yet another incursion for oil & money.
There are zero contexts where that would be funny.

We boast our shiny cities of freedom & truth.
We’ve heard this all our lives; a lie long in the tooth.

Tyrant dictators need surgical extraction.
Spreading democracy’s a threadbare distraction.

Many times I’ve heard that we’re freeing a people.
Hiding all the looting, each time, grows more feeble.

Colonialism by any other name…
Is still rape & pillaging of Norse Viking fame.

So, save the spin of your intentional evils.
We know what’s being done behind wings of eagles.

You damage the same way that they did.
So, of you, I have had to get rid.

I really tried; but you just did not.
You are now on your very last shot.

Oh, not with me; I have washed my hands.
Those still at your side aren’t really fans.

Those obligated need an excuse…
To disconnect your leaden caboose.

I suppose you could mend what you’ve rent.
But bull-headed pride can’t make that dent.

Are you my enemy, my villain, my arch?
My foil diabolical, my ides of march?

Are you the fateful fulcrum that shifts my world?
Are you a wolf inside of a sheepskin curled?

Are you the line in sand I must not cross?
Are you glib & selfish, not giving a toss?

Are you steeped in hatred & looking to share?
Have you written off living ‘cause life’s unfair?

I try but I can’t wrap my head around you.
You’ve wasted my time for the last time, you shrew.

So much invested; energy & time.
Ignored my gut; which, predicted this crime.

Looking back on decades & money spent…
Dismissing instinct & its honest hint.

The shallowest thinker I ever met…
Eschews depth & creates character debt.

Owing all involved to smooth over rough.
Yet, the bill’s still due & collecting’s tough.

Awful persons oft want lies all around.
Not inclined to facts that level the ground.

They want love & praise that does not apply.
Too, fibs of flattery…rather than try.

I have zero tools to defend their choice: 
Deceit’s preferred over truth given voice.

A watch, like us, only cares for face; ignorant of the cog.
Radiant, it waits for time to recognize it thru the fog.

Complications pick apart the serenity of the face.
They grind away, to each nose a stone, unwittingly apace.

Neither knows about the key the owner has wound, winds & will.
Both apathetic past their toil; unaware they need his drill.

The hands that tick away the days are whiskers of Father Time.
Each hair felled from Chronos’s jowl by the second’s edgy climb.

Nights & days will play their game leapfrogging regardless of clocks.
A watch just grants a sense of control that calms the mortal flocks.

Rip me out, fold me small & put me in your pocket.
Tuck me safely close; in your wallet or a locket.

Pass it on to someone new you think could use my words.
Pollinate the budding blooms as do the bees & birds.

Use me as a bookmark; let me ride your great escape.
Stitch me upon your kerchief; so, on your heart I’ll drape.

Memorize your favorite phrase, for kinship where you walk.
When you get to where you’re heading, thread it thru your talk.

What I’ve said that spoke to you is what you’re meant to take.
All the words I’ve writ are seeds to scatter in your wake. 

The evergreen currency of hope…
Essential when attempting to cope.

It’s the last tender to which we turn;
The smashed piggy-bank or cookie urn.

Its expenditure will never wane.
It purchases sunlight during rain.

It divines a path toward all our goals.
It’s the makeshift ladder in dark holes.

It’s the light that guides us thru the night.
It’s the bright idea that makes it right.

Hope’s the driftwood clung to when drowning.
It is weightless & upends frowning.