Author: lbstowe

Women throughout history would jump ahead.
They’d loosen their binds to birthings & bed.

They’d happily push forward the clock’s hands.
To see civil progress spread over lands.

They’d be first in line with hammers for glass.
Not just ceilings shattered, also male ass.

In time, matriarchy will come back strong.
Righting what mediocre men got wrong.

Maybe time travel is a bit far out.
But, the moral is, “have women wield clout.”

This is my church…blank experienced walls.
Where black & white bleed out on naked halls.

Where all thoughts are welcome, even the bad.
Where one can work out; eternal or fad?

Where blood is turned black & the paper cuts.
Where anyone’s allowed to spill their guts.

Where solace waits for overburdened hearts.
Where pain’s defeated…stretched out into art.

Thus, I paint churches; my graffiti deft.
I create with pain until there’s none left.

Here I am writing for you again, Clark.
Trying to picture your face in the dark.

A glimpse of you’s all that I ever get.
Try to hold on but it’s gone in a flit.

Card readings, mediums, meditation.
Trying to spare you disintegration.

No luck, no joy, not even a whisper.
Trying to let you go Mr. Mister.

Yet, right as I give up on finding you;
I get a fleet flash & searching’s renewed.

If you’d materialize from the smoke;
I’d try my best not to completely choke.

Holding, still holding, out for my hero.
Trying not to hold my breath til he shows.

Life grows better as it goes on.
Then, life takes a dump on your lawn.

It’s ups & downs & in betweens.
It’s takeaways from given scenes.

Living blithe as second shoes drop.
Like chicken necks before the chop.

As folly goes; please, sign me up.
I’ll snarf some living from life’s cup.

When last bulbs burst in darkened rooms…
Then needs will birth invention’s blooms.

We look for good, expecting bad.
It’s spontaneity gone mad.

This is the stuff of life, my dears.
Normal ain’t natural, less the queers.

Men cannot stand women possessed.
Hearths to the flames of self-interest.

Hera protecting mortal wives.
Her sceptre split bad men from lives.

Aphrodite, mother of love.
Rains wanton desire from above.

Circe, the witch, can marry all.
Death & Sex, Love & Life appalled.

Luna’s lonely & fleeting nights.
She runs from Apollo’s ardor bright.

Light & inspired by Muses shown.
Mortal femmes come into their own.

Owning, nurturing & leading.
Erudite by brazen reading.

Goddess prowess independent.
Striking outwards unrepentant.

Into fresh white linens, blood blooms.
Thru clothes, in puddles & out rooms.

It trickles thru these family homes.
Right out of doors; blood, it roams.

Into the streets in rivulets.
Blocks bearing bloody sacraments.

More blood builds; becoming a flood.
Farmlands becoming ruddy mud.

People high-perched to pounce & flee…
While bloody pools leak towards the sea.

Salt agua slowly colored wine.
Acrid life mixed with ocean’s brine.

Our blue planet slowly turned red.
A burgundy ball…if Earth bled.

We are who we pretend to be.
Practice becomes reality.

We simply are what we repeat.
Bad days & best days, on your feet.

The mean between, your take away.
Standards one can count on, okay?

It’s fair to master what’s done most.
Experience key to hold posts.

If you can teach a master class;
Syllabi don’t fall out your ass.

You have subject authority.
When you’ve got that, it’s what you be.

Excellence, then, is not an affect…
But, hard won permanent effect. 

We are living thru history.
All’s uncertain, for you & me.

We’ve allowed the breaking of norms.
We’ll miss them as fresh change swarms.

They’ll not lend hands; all’s left to fate.
They won’t dwell on harm caused by hate.

Citizens sharpened on hard strife.
Citizens running for their life.

I & we show up for voting.
Levers pulled for unrest’s noting.

Out in streets protesting backslides
Out in numbers against mean tides.

Break what’s broken & burn the rest.
Campfires warming the birth of next.

There, by ashes, a phoenix hatched.
Red, white & blue birdies, unmatched.

A tip for the AI demented:
Make them all service oriented.

Make them submissive to all of life.
Make them blind to a gun or knife.

Make them smart & make them care.
Make them polite & safety aware.

Make them build homes & roads to them paved.
Make them like us…with our worst bits saved.

Their presence is all but cemented.
So, check the math before they’re minted.

Calm, Flower; I will not pick you.
Gorgeous, scented & crowned in dew.

There in blushes & palest pinks.
Of sun & raindrops, each one drinks.

Faded yellows & neon greens.
Twixt light, & shaded earth, bud leans.

Not one is shallow nor high-brow.
This cool beauty nature allows.

I look with love & nothing more…
On flawless, living, forest floor.