Author: lbstowe

Direct or indirect, my heart lives on my sleeve.
So, why must I speak up, bide time & take my leave?

Just in asking, aren’t I clear; where my import lies?
Why are my queries met with tutting & with sighs?

Busy is a fine excuse…overcome by speed.
Still…consistently surprised by the same soul’s need?

Maybe it’s a blindspot & nothing more than that.
Or, maybe weakened skill; meeting folks where they’re at.

After all, the signs are clear; begging you to care.
Soft & hard balls line your court; your turn…if you dare.

We hope we have cleared behind us; the pathway each day we made.
Yet, shadows cast both afore & aft; some part always in shade.

We know which way we are headed & we know from whence we’ve come.
Though, much drops from sight between the turns, life has no tidy sum.

Adding to the world each day, we hope to leave more than we take.
Still, death’s the dot on every story; it matters what we make.

Much will go to rot while peoples fight for imagined patches.
Time-proof lines just don’t exist & our maps are nowt but scratches.

Maybe we should throttle down on counting all of our movements.
Out-create what’s been destroyed & plan tomorrow’s improvements.

I never actually know how it’ll turn out.
I just get a feeling of what a thing’s all about.

I won’t say psychic or any of that tedium.
I’d sooner claim small than ever be a medium.

Empath is another title I’ve been urged to take.
Still, I think donning a  mantle is mystique’s first mistake.

Then there’s sensitive; it begs underestimation.
So many people treat weakness like a contagion.

After all, I’d prefer to fly under the radar.
Keeping to my own counsel has kept me safe…so far.

An earnest smile in the dark dispels it.
A helping hand slows the rush just a bit.

A listening ear can halve a trouble.
A grounded laugh safely bursts a bubble.

A watchful eye can lend some fresh courage.
Kind glinting eyes can cause a hearts stirrage.

A stout heart can make the fearful feel safe.
A familiar tone can both soothe & chafe.

A ready spirit can help conquer all.
If I can find you, I’ll certainly fall.

I make the words &, in my time, I make most true.
Just how many people can say the same of you? 

Some words do slip right past me, in my manic quest.
Still, most of my effort is spent to manifest.

Eyes cracked open by dawn & plans await doing.
Life gets in the way; but goals are worth pursuing.

One at a time, I sort my past & present vows.
Switching, fairly, back & forth; as daytime allows.

Rare thoughts of the future don’t stretch past tomorrow.
Make good where you can…or words become your sorrow.

I am all that I’m meant to be.
Here in the present, I am me.

I’m augmented by two or three…
The rocks in orbit I still see.

There are those in the social sea…
Erstwhile I’ve heard their furtive plea.

 Some have approached in earnest glee.
Yet, in close range, I warn; they flee.

I share my humble light; my key.
I keep all from my tragedy.

From worldly ties I’m always free.
My faithful beacon shines for thee.

Now naked forests put on their clothes.
The natural world wakes from its doze. 

Meanwhile, we begin to shed it all.
This our feather dance in spring & fall.

The ground  appoints green shoots & bright buds.
While humans, seemingly, lose their duds.

Odd, to me, we’re both changing in time.
Our opposite responses to clime.

But, we are all just visitors here.
Their winter nudity makes this clear.

Adept at hiding before I could run.
Brightness unwelcome in a firstborn son. 

Childhood withered in wars of attrition.
Too soon to chrysalis; growth’s ignition.

Early to go bide in my shell opaque.
Better, dim vision, than live wide awake. 

Overdeveloped & undernourished;
I broke free of immurement & flourished.

All life was brilliant, if not premature.
But with time, & wings, how I did endure!

The delicate dance of buck & doe; nature old as time.
Yet, consider the double doe; or the buck & buck in prime.

Though nature’s reins are rarely seen, she still holds them all the same.
Outside of plague, of age or hunter, their numbers are her claim.

“Fruitless” pairings born of love; rare efficiencies of value?
Falling into unique cadences…friends, or mates, what have you.

Being life’s exceptions, they set new tones for interaction.
Carers of each other, they’re an addition…not subtraction. 

So, celebrate the buck & doe, their purity of purpose.
Yet, treasure culture’s rarer gifts; or do the whole disservice.

Of all the forms of scarification our muscles might be the best.
They literally, & figuratively, put fiber to the test.

Ripped, torn & then healed over; remembering each wound along the way.
For some bear proof of discipline, great mounds of scar tissue on display.

Some are leaner, carved of iron wire, stronger than the chalk they house.
Deceptively sturdy with far more endurance than their frame allows.

Some are giant mastodons with hard & impenetrable facades.
Borders of beastly & beauty, oiled shiny, like Olympian gods.

Even those that can’t, or won’t, try to hew their physiques to some ideal.
Every body’s got muscles…regardless of effort or appeal.