Author: lbstowe

Our life’s iconic firmament grows dim.
Catherine O’Hara, Dolly; Curry, Tim.

Their laughter, their song, our validation.
These celebrated souls of three nations.

The looks, the quips…& the envelopes pushed.
Our mirrors, our growth…our challenges smushed.

They did & did not belong to us all.
Dim lit in their wake…a character pall.

Death’s unavoidable; claims everyone.
Glad l could witness their time in the sun. 

Let’s go Hollywood…Do your jobs.
Hold a mirror to us & gods.

Put us on blast like the royals.
Force us look at our foibles.

Be the funhouse mirrors we need.
Be our proof manifest in deed.

Make us cringe at the truth of us.
Hit us with reality’s bus.

Burn the scales right off dreaming eyes.
Show us real thru celluloid lies.

You make us laugh, cry & alive.
You make us ask W5.

So, think me caller on the line…
Humble request you show some spine.

Villainous now? Affluence of old?
Embalmed in oil & plated in gold.

Panic in enclaves & behind gates.
The nervous twitching of interest rates.

Volatile market; uneased allies.
Our poorest paying highest tax tithes.

Our most secure have worries financed.
Our humblest weather all happenstance.

We do our best on the edge…no net.
Where, each life choice is a risky bet. 

Fuck! How’d we get here: my laundry; you sniff?
It started, & still is, cathartic riff.

No plan, no outline…I jack myself in.
Plugging my brain in Creation’s swift whim.

Her faucet is always turned on for me.
Runs & runs cold; until I turn on heat.

So, gratitude’s my resting attitude.
It swells at the end of these interludes.

For, this ain’t hard with mechanics built in.
Sweat comes with bravery; naming each sin.

Still, I can’t dive deeper day after day.
Serious peppers a fixed state of play.  

Spitting nails ‘cause I’ve found my groove.
Zip’s what I no longer need prove.

Annoyed by doubled down commit.
Affronted by incessant wit.

Jealous, leering, eyes scraping by.
Bitterly cold in mid-July.

Averting darting unheld gaze.
Afraid to learn what silence says.

Digging in heels like a teen girl.
Defy the reason of the world.

Childish lapses in judgement grave.
Entitled to what others save.

These are not a realist’s traits.
These traits are greed…& keeping gates. 

My back hurts when I’m filled with rage.
So much resistance left to wage.

We’re only halfway thru this fuck.
Can’t give up; or we’re out of luck.

Hoping for oxygen, this fall.
Hoping this hate will hit a wall.

Existential pain ratcheted.
Guardrails bent, rent & hatcheted.

I’ve seen pushback around the edge.
Self-servers beginning to hedge.

So, time & pressure effect change.
All while the base grows more estranged.

A loser lone tick burrowed in…
Will need smoking out by good men.

The lion’s share will breathe & fete.
For, what you vote for’s what you get. 

Some days it feels like herding cats…
& Me, their tasty hunted rat.

Skittish eyes dart over shoulders.
Scrambling to avoid beholders.

Home’s a hole with a bustling den.
Warm mice warren: no cats nor men.

Still, feline hunters on display.
Might as well be a mile away.

How to my home can I now go?
This gauntlet holds sure death, I know.

Stick to shadows & stay alert.
Please, make my ears & eyelids pert.

Careful & steady forward, fine.
One faulty move & cats will dine.

Claws miss a tail swallowed by wall.
Crucible survived after all. 

Y’all know clouds have silver linings shining.
But…have you seen silver with cloud lining?

Maybe just a singular thing I do.
Turning dull grey gloom to shiny hues?

Conjure blazers with their satin insides.
Turned inside out & you’ve reflective hides.

Always a way to spin straw to pure gold.
Always more ways that stories can be told.

So…Don’t avert your eyes from the gloomy blue.
Look hard for a spot that light might imbue.

Not a fan of guns; think they should be canned.
I’m fine inserting my bullets by hand.

Get angry enough to kung fu sling ‘em.
Angry flung just hard enough to wing ‘em.

Bullets shot equal bravery devoured.
Every gun turns shooters into cowards.

No white of eyes contact  at close distance.
No struggled fight to death for existence.

Strong arms & killer instinct depleted.
Firearms kill for men; no heroes needed.

No muscle, conviction or reason voiced.
For, all that’s required of triggers is choice.

If looks could kill; I’d be Pol Pot.
Easy mellowed facade I’m not.

I’m a lot & my cup is full.
So many faces I can pull.

A real one said, “Don’t eyebrow me.”
An exact nutshell where I be.

Heart’s on my sleeve & also brow.
Shows what I’m thinking in the now.

I don’t lie; so it’s silence or truth.
Silence betrayed by eyeballs’ sooth.

Nor, does slick anger get my goat.
I don’t let base feels out my throat.

Open book; by nature, not choice.
Deceit’s naked upon my voice.

Wild reactions & aggressions…
Live & die within expressions.