Author: lbstowe

Have you been exceptional today? Have you done a special thing?
Did you go the extra mile? Did you help a loved one’s heart to sing?

Did you radiate well-being? Did you practice any self-care?
Were you better today than yesterday? Was your self-judgement fair?

Did you try to help where needed? Did you give some of what you hold?
Did you waste your time with blame? Did you encourage or did you scold?

How will you improve yourself? How will you face the days that follow?
How will you nourish your soul? How do you fill that bitter hollow?

I find myself humbled each day when I ask the same of myself.
But…I read my kinder heart & leave dusty critics on the shelf.

My love language is language…with honest earnest intent.
Feedback, for me, is crucial to knowing where I am meant.

I know myself pretty well; where I am I can decide.
But, solid ground is not much fun with no one by your side.

I plant my flags beside my tracks to follow, if you can.
Do you have flags, can you keep up & slow down as my man?

Language is a faceted thing like diamonds in the rough.
Yes, the gem is there to take; but digging for it is tough.

Echoed clues in cavernous verse mislead you where to go.
So, close your eyes & hear true words from stories we both know.

For poems are subactual & superfluous things.
Calling hearts, souls & minds to act…but only ones that sing.

Can you identify the source of your rage?
Do you & your feelings read from the same page?

Do you know yourself in an intimate way?
Can you call you out when your actions go stray?

Are you your own asset in processing life?
Do you hone yourself as you’d sharpen a knife?

Do you avoid mirrors or appraise what’s seen?
When bound for disaster do you turn or lean?

Do you review the path behind you for clues?
Do you course correct or just blissfully cruise?

Your answers herein may have been a surprise.
Discovery’s tool for the ignorant wise.

Perfection’s not real as you already know.
Yet, proving that it ain’t is what makes us grow.

Resentment is an end we haven’t yet accepted.
Regret is a chance gone by we too late detected.

Rejection is felt when we fail what we’ve attempted.
Shame will come calling when our ego has been dented.

Emptiness waits at the tip of every loose ending.
Then, grief creeps on in when a finish line is pending.

Yet, hope cheers us on towards resolving these feelings.
Til, we learn from what’s past to inform future dealings.

When we process honestly our past inventory…
Forewarned is forearmed so we can improve our story.

Challenging all of gender’s forms…
Mothers & fathers try new norms.

Mom is out there makin’ bacon.
Homemaking, dad’s undertaken.

Kids are loved with equal measure.
Every milestone marked to treasure.

Each sacrifice & compromise…
Modeling future enterprise.

For they’re not learning gender roles.
They’ve learned teamwork & tackling goals.

Each step I take, beneath me, the ground is crunching.
The winter king begins his great deconstructing.

All branches but the holly & fir have molted.
Outside warmth, from the sun, his season has bolted.

Bound in fabrics & furs, we trudge on thru our days.
Dodging shadows in favor of cloud weakened rays.

We accept it will get colder & darker still.
Cold will sink down to the bone & challenge our will.

Holidays hold us aloft thru humps of gray gloom.
Thus, steeled for the home stretch to the new year’s spring bloom.

One minute I’m here & the next I’m gone.
We play our brief parts; then the curtain’s drawn.

We don’t get a say in the roles life casts.
It’s how you deliver; impression lasts.

Make your own music & sing your own song.
Ad lib your life quick for it won’t last long.

Bury me quick & make it like magic.
No autopsy or eulogy tragic.

Part me out; bury the rest in the earth.
Cleave to my words; they held all of my worth.

Welcome to the age of complete coordination.
Welded to the data & nearest charging station.

Over-entangled with our timing & logistics.
Sadly unconcerned with our consumption statistics.

Some are still worried about the Amazon fires.
Yet, all the refugees know Amazon still hires.

Our kids need bigger pores to sweat out all the plastic.
The health of our planet is only so elastic.

Avert an apocalypse by keeping your shelves full.
At least we are all sure it will happen on schedule.

He died for our sins…& it’s not who you think.
He lived his entire life out there on the brink.

Existing at the edge of society.
Each interaction rife with anxiety.

He lived in his work where he always felt safe.
Yet at his work, elitists, would coldly chafe.

He was ever fighting for some shade of sane.
Still, he worked thru mania, both wax & wane.

He enshrined the normal with unmatched ardor.
Asylums? Hardships? Just made him look harder.

He had ginger hair & pale blue, spritely, eyes.
He left after painting his black & blue skies.

From an inhumane life; humanity forged.
On his art, to this day, has a wide world gorged.

Too little, too late for poor Vincent’s disease.
A century plus hence, mad brilliance still pleas.

Yeah, keep it moving Sisyphus & hang on just a tic Prometheus!
You’ll not run out of rocks or livers & your morals are superfluous.

Right & wrong are already there to know, if you’d slow your roll & listen.
If you weren’t taught to spot the two, then make self-governing your mission.

Open up wide your brain-pan for a couple specialists to root around.
They can plumb the depths of your despair & refill it with health, pound for pound.

We have come so far, us humans, & hope we can stick around for a while.
So, let’s not let the godly burn it down; by tossing us onto the pile.

We’ve split the atom & shot deep space…now every god’s a useless cuss.
We no longer need fantastical explanations to enlighten us.