Author: lbstowe

Life is cheap; it’s living that costs.
As, time wears warmth down into frosts.

Stuff breaks, sputters, sours & dies.
Random, inconvenient soup flies.

The tread of life wears all things out.
What we attain we’ll lose, no doubt.

Things won & lost are not what counts.
It’s present use that meaning mounts.

Employed to pay progression’s toll…
A thing or person plays a role.

A purpose fulfilled can evolve.
Shifting to serve forward resolve.

Still, most that comes also must go.
Life’s rented…so, enjoy its flow.

My youthful blunders still haunt me today.
Follies & false starts whilst learning my way.

The ache & tease of new comprehension.
The senior varsity’s condescension.

Gripped in cringe at the memories of then.
Learning on the fly a new world of men.

Nevermind love, or marriage, or mating…
Can I master new cultures of dating?

Lifetimes I’ve spent to build understanding.
Our room for new is ever expanding.

Happy New Year…to me at least.
Birthdays bring new years’ timely beasts.

Dawn of the new; dusk of the old.
Repurposed holidays make bold.

A crack of light bears possible.
Three sixty-five: cognoscible.

Intention set ahead of now.
Styled by precognition knowhow.

Shaped by the past & poured into…
A future; waiting limp, askew.

Born of petty & born of cruel.
I’m forged in prideful constant duel.

With time & gnosis making wise…
I fill my sails with present lies.

This day’s used up & falling dark.
On new year’s number, I embark.

I was called faggot one too many times.
So, I’m rarely surprised at “Broseph Crimes.”

It’s gay & that’s gay; just conjugate “gay”.
Imagine I’m saying this Soohooper gay.

Gay face, gay voice & gay taste: trifecta.
Why would I hide this rainbow fiesta?

My closet was glass; but I didn’t know.
Each looky-loo passing by had a go.

I could never conceal; but I could run.
The speed of sprinting often felt like fun.

The past informs & I hide nothing now.
Shame can be burned off by pride, if allowed.

Just tuned in & were turned on a dime?
Cryptic, daily, diaries that rhyme.

Glimpse now, past & future accounting.
Most are just that; clever recountings.

Some riffs fall flat & flat falls make wise.
No days are duds; they are exercise.

Occasionally, I hit nail’s head.
Traumas exposed in full can fall dead.

Rare as blue moons & three dollar bills;
Readers relate en masse & I’m thrilled.

A red fired wood horse gallops o’er the heavens.
Light red candles bonded by drops of seven.

This year will deliver me movement & change.
Too, affection & love that will stretch my range.

If none happens; then, it just was not my year.
I’ll open all three eyes & grab what comes near.

Not a dogma but hints & suggestions made.
Our global astrologies the old gods bade.

Juju wishy-washy & hippy dippy.
Horoscope’s coincidence hits trippy.

It’s hard to miss the daily dosed tragic.
Keep weather eyes for balancing magick.

It is not a lot, but it powers hopes.
The bright speckled lights of our living tropes.

Misery mainly; with lighter margins…
With notes on peace & a thousand pardons.

Pendulums swing thru dark heavy centers.
Sides kiss zero G & flight’s surrendered.

With enough time spent, good & bad are bought.
Notice works of light; not what evil’s wrought. 

Exclusion feeds on malcontent.
Inclusion towards a will is bent.

Confidence wants self-delusion.
Funny, so does disillusion.

Loyalty makes belligerent.
Love prefers being outward sent.

Time is bought but it’s never owned.
Efficiency with practice honed.

Duty calls; but some calls are dropped.
Distractions blamed & nothing’s copped.

Pain forgot but joy’s remembered.
Highlights make the bad more tempered.

Rules of thumb inform existence.
Signs & maps make short the distance.

Now, look to your left; or look to your right.
Either of those fucks got skin in this fight?

Even if they do, is it their own skin?
Or, is it a relation they think sins?

Are they apathetic to others’ pain?
Or, is their concern just a surface feign?

Do they laugh at others to avoid feeling?
Do they make comments that send you reeling?

A quiz to help one understand fully…
Just one yes means they might be a bully.

Good artists borrow & great artists steal.
Nowt said about us is more true or real.

Like magpies of theory; we pick & nest.
We take several olds & make a new best.

We gather, we harvest & make art new.
Inspiration slams us out of the blue.

We pick hard things & easies; that catch eyes.
Art has the truest most beautiful lies.

We deep dive heroes for what makes them tick.
There, we find proofs that we have always nicked.