Author: lbstowe

My life feels like a champagne bubble headed for the top.
If not clung quiet to the side, it certainly will pop.

Every age before the current’s always been more brutal.
So, those who resent progress know all complaints are futile.

Yet moments come along that feel like ye olde chopping block.
A sense the boat you row is frail & cannot take the rock.

And though you never really know what brave acts have in store.
Some failure is a given when you shoot your shot for more.

If you’re  falling on your face, it’s still a forward motion.
So, grab your first aid kit & leap toward a hopeful notion.

Mine is a dark & funny old brain.
I liken it to a sunshined rain.

Neural asphalt steams from pelting cool.
Pressured heat’s relief from sunny rule.

They told me the devil was a man…
Beating his wife with a frying pan.

I’ve no truck with those types of fables;
Hiding ugly with cutesy labels.

Sunny rains are rare & fragile things.
Like the fancies my mind daily flings.

Now, pushing thru the fogs of routine.
A chance of moving beyond…& keen.

Can I step forward & leave one foot?
Does progress really need my input?

Dash the questions & doubtful worries.
No overthinking; progress hurries.

My brain is afire with newfound hope.
Busily mapping this newfound scope.

Experience tempers elation.
Killjoys managing expectation.

Yet, balance struck, I venture on…
Wide worlds waiting, by me, to be won.

Every kindness found here at the mission.
Help for citizens in grayer position.

Avoiding an unfair draconian law?
Living in the cracks of society’s wall?

Here is safety & your best shot at a chance.
We here know how to do bureaucracy’s dance.

Here for those in need of discreet incisions.
See learned doctors..not pulpit magicians.

We may soon rely on kindness & strangers.
Evil’s afoot with ignorance & dangers.

Anyone here jealous of their dog?
Their privileged life high on the hog.

They’ve sixteen hours of sleep each day;
Punctuated by their meals & play.

We walk them, we pet them & scoop their poo.
Many, for family, would not this do.

Touch continues well after sleep falls.
Still, we let some of them keep their balls.

The best spend a life as studs for hire.
Being a good boy must never tire.

Wind & its elements transport us in life.
All of us, really, on the edge of a knife.

Some are without rudder & some without wheel.
Some slave to their sails & the wind’s death or zeal.

Some manage to harness their swells…& some don’t.
Some quickly accept they must surf & some won’t.

Some people fight too hard, tire & drown.
Others make no effort; the firsts to go down.

Yet in blustery air, where those who know smell hope…
We use what we have, we survive & we cope.

Dawn…on a beach in Greece.
Dawn…on a life in peace.

Blue sweet salt of heaven.
Perfect, numbered seven.

Islands mimic repose.
The wind our only woes.

People lizard the days.
Blooming at night, our ways.

Whitest sea foam & walls.
For Ocean’s love…each falls.

Tell me what you love & not just what you hate.
Boundaries are good; but don’t forget a gate.

If your loved ones only know, of your dislikes;
All we can do, is respect your wall of spikes.

See, if you built a sluice, to let some love in;
We would have a way to show it…now & then.

Even putting flags upon defending walls…
The coat of arms they bear, would inform good calls.

We’ve so much love for you, just across your moat.
We’re always listening for you to emote.

She had a dog named Girl.
Her mutt a breeding whirl.

Something just from her dad.
A gift to each was had.

The gas pump dog, a name.
The child, a love to tame.

He knew the dog would stay;
Where he soon went away.

Girl was one of a kind…
Single, in heart & mind.

Committed to not be committed; I turn myself inside out.
Decreasing all my creasings; so there’s no dirty laundry to doubt.

In mustering all of my mustard; for clearing I’m clearly keen.
I’m the only maid for the mess I’ve made…all the carnage I’ve seen.

I work while I wait for a decrease in weight, slow & steady now.
Shocks of pain whilst cleaning a pane, to be outside my mess I vow.

Pelted by rain & under false reign; I clear a path thru the waste.
Now, this orphaned son can soak in the sun;  no more sorrow encased.

Headed for the gate with the jauntiest gait, freedom earned tastes best.
Being great will undoubtedly grate; but I’m here…so, where’s the rest?