Author: lbstowe

Fearing new things; irrational.
Waves cresting worry, thrashing all.

A change in the weather’s coming.
Distant pendulous clouds humming.

Black heavens flash with marbled gold…
Lurching this way; eldritch & cold.

Storm wakes ahead & fronts in back.
Eye’s here; in a pincer attack.

A moment’s peace & perspective…
One second sane & reflective.

The din, again, has found some gas.
Sudden symphony: screams & glass.

Destructive forces moving fast.
Silence!…the worst is passed; at last.

Don’t fear sunshine we know will end…
Or, coming storms & after’s mend.

I can always fill up a blank page.
So far, I do it for zero wage.

It serves me well to filter it all.
I sieve ugly thru pretty’s scrawl.

I cannot write on paper with rules.
Lines overburdened with gems & jewels.

Clear is welcoming & waits for me.
Stark, dry & desolate…ink thirsty.

All I need’s a moment to collect.
Still & focused on thoughts to confect.

There in the void there’s a running stream…
Of words & phrases I’ve never dreamed.

Peace intruded upon by time.
Tasks to do marring the sublime.

The quiet soul in silent flesh…
Erupts with time stamped action fresh.

Coltish, jerky, routed motion.
Purpose threatens brain explosion.

Temps will rise til doing is done.
Must do all, every single one.

Just when peace has been earned again…
Blank, new horizons to fill in.

It’s said nothing lasts forever.
But, planning ahead is clever.

When at the grindstone, head kept down…
Lookout for peace to come around.

For quiet moments cannot stay.
So, savor til they fade away.

We fighters rarely sleep ok.
We know not of surrender’s sway.

We know the breaks & we know strife.
We well know the way of the knife.

We are your great & mighty foes.
We’re not the types to take as goes.

We know not of the softer side.
We die by battle & by pride.

We can’t conceive to reconcile
We don’t know honeyed words; just bile.

The soft retreat of bed’s embrace…
Can’t comfort like leather & mace.

Insanely quiet solid rest…
Is not where fighters prove their best.

Release required for REM.
We fighters release pure mayhem. 

She’s the ultimate boardroom bitch.
She is an undercover witch.

Conducting green like symphonies.
She has no peers or enemies.

For vegetables & animals…
A priest to those & minerals.

Her home a haven from the rough.
Her hearth is warm & melts the tough.

Lonely life lived without a match.
The safest place, her battened hatch.

Grateful for her welcoming heart.
For everything she made me part.

So now, I stockpile memory…
In hopes, she never fades from me. 

Her life born low, she built so high.
It’s hard to fathom its goodbye.

If she’s honored, she’s never gone.
But who’ll lead us, when she moves on?

Meditation’s prayer that don’t hassle gods.
Can this concept, to you,  really seem so odd?

A little less pressure on beings unseen.
Just you & your queries towards answers careen.

A safe space of quiet that’s not judging souls.
A stretch of your focus ridding plans of holes.

Give yourself visions of imagination.
Give unto your eyelids transfiguration.

Go macro, go micro & inside out views.
Meditation grants gnosis freer than pews.

So sit in sweet silence & commune with thoughts.
Observe & solution source aft & forethoughts.

I find a new groove each new year.
Because, I walk away from here.

A season left to say my piece.
All creative work must then cease.

Free dayed entropy loose & large.
Free to let the battery charge.

Harvesting knowledge back of brain.
Break thru eurekas see stress wain.

Conscious & unconscious growth earned.
Schooled by both falls & fires that burned.

The din of holidays & mirth…
Install substance & enrich worth.

Happy hangover by next year.
I’ll return playful, bright & queer.

Just over two score days left now.
Then, my seasonal thousandth bow.

So many progressive things we’ve botched.
Women with real agency hate watched.

Fuckbois win cash & drama earns fame.
Useless people gain clout for their name.

Ratcheting angst or dropping IQ…
Societal fall is within view.

No self discovery, no fault owned.
Mirrors used only to see how toned.

Women touting the wealth they married.
Reality TV’s real scary.

Heroes to some…& it’s a quandary.
That, fame is bought with dirty laundry.

Crouched like a gargoyle sluicing out verse.
Eviscerating life; birth to hearse.

Pushing & pulling at things unclear.
Putting under sunlight things found queer.

Frankly owning your shit everywhere.
Standing to be counted; ill or fair.

Logs kept of events & opining.
All these receipts kept for fact finding.


A harsh take, a punchline & the truth…
Mark tellings with a winking smile sooth.

It seems some lives are nowt but misery.
Even, for those festooned in luxury.

They spend, decorate & upgrade living.
Yet, the mind’s old haunts still strife are giving.

Buried by agency or none at all…
Neither’s precluded from sad’s siren call.

Hot melted gold slung on any free walls…
Can’t change the vibe of brains’ labyrinth halls.

Seems only one effort can even budge…
The needled point of your happiness judge.

Regular maintenance balance provides.
Work on the self & its rattling insides.