Author: lbstowe

I see the world through a Painter’s eyes and process it with a Poet's Heart....it's quite a harsh place for the soul. It scratches and wears your true self down, at times, but the Beauty is Addictive. I feel for everyone I encounter. Everyone I encounter is a teacher if I'll let them be. I Empathize with everyone I talk to & I Think about Everything-LEVi

Garden Gray

Behind these latticed walls I hide.

Behind the tangled green.

In fragrant wafts my time I bide…

And hope I am not seen.

I poke, I prod, I shuffle about.

Engrossed in thought & growing things.

Weeds real & imagined I deftly rout.

All the while suppressed my wish for wings.

For what do I know of black & white?

They’re only parts of gray.

I only know the black of night…

And the blinding light of day.

Beyond the green is stone & steel.

But I must grow…create.

While the world outside forgets what’s real…

I tend green twixt Love & Hate.

Rain Falls Up

It beats the ground, lays every thing down…but rain falls up to me.

It rushes, it floods; it flows sideways & slanted…yet rain falls up to me.

It soaks, it coats, it clings, it drags…though rain falls up for me.

It washes away, wipes clean, soaks deep…still…rain falls up for me.

As you watch it come down I feel it go up…the shoots & veins of flower & tree.

Though every drop must hit the ground…the rain always falls up to me.

Turn of Love

I see the turn of love. I clock the mechanism.

I have known that bond…the closing of a schism.

I recall my heart racing & wild magnet hips.

The taste of cigarettes & beer on their lips.

It’s almost alien now considering the click.

The complications achieving their tick.

The amorous machinery turning its tumbles.

As a lock’s key lands home-despite all the fumbles.

But keys are lost & gears grind to their halts.

Neither object of Love needs bear all the faults.

No skeleton dances in mismatched lock.

Might as well blame the tick for the tock.

Love marches in Time interfering with hearts.

Everyone subjected to playing their parts.

Some wonder how & some wonder why.

Some wondering “who?”; while Love passes by.

An intricate dance of luck & technique.

Not without misery, darkness & mystique.

I don’t wait for Love or follow in Time’s wake.

I merely study their workings for my sanity’s sake.

Never Less

Nevertheless, there is still Love.

Nevertheless, the Sky still hangs above.

Nevertheless, the World is still spinning.

Nevertheless, Death is calcareously grinning.

Nevertheless, Life goes on for those still living.

Nevertheless, Pain is a gift that keeps on giving.

Nevertheless, I walk the path I chose in Life.

Nevertheless, there’s still plenty of Strife.

Nevertheless, I accept my lot.

Nevertheless, I slide into my slot.

Nevertheless, this is how it goes.

Nevertheless, when it will stop nobody knows.

Never the less I rise to the challenge.

I’m Never the Less out here on the fringe.

Dint

I am forced to look in not out.

I am forced to live with no one about.

I am forced to write my truth at times.

I am forced to live in in-climate climes.

I am forced to question what I hear.

I’m forced to save truths in my ear.

I’m forced to use my blood as ink.

I’m forced to watch as the world I know sinks.

I’m forced to hold several weights in my heart.

I’m forced to hold pains there all pieces & parts.

I’m forced to carry the sins of youth.

I’m forced to play though it’s all uncouth.

I’m forced to care & count & flee.

I’m forced to deal because the dealer is me.

Refrain

It’s broken, it’s broken, it’s broken wide open. The shape of my heart is gone

It’s beaten, it’s beaten, it’s beaten beyond recognition…hurt, broken & trod on.

Though it is bent, rent & bashed it tries to beat anyway. Still attending the body it belongs to.

The body stumbles over & picks up the pieces & puts them in place though beaten black & blue.

At home again inside my chest the painful healing starts.

The healing of hearts is a matter effort & time…less a science & more an art.

The heart hurts with each beat like lightning ricocheting in the bottle of the body.

Eventually the pain fades but never fully goes away…the heart works but the work is shoddy.

My blood remains thick & inky pumping slowly & painfully through each vein.

So I open one in front of you & read you a broken heart’s refrain.

Fight

Bouncing dust and rumbling water…something lumbers this way.

Know way of knowing in the dark gloaming what monster comes this day.

Will there be scratching claws and serrated talons; will flesh be rent?

Or will it be a creature of the mind behind the eyes the spark of flint?

Just tell me what monster will be here today; will I be paralyzed by fears?

I can’t defend what I do not know yet you’d leave me drowning in tears.

I fight what comes, come what may, since it’s variable from dusk to dawn.

I try to be better & cope. At least I can say, day to day, life is never a yawn.

I speak to you now, today’s monster, I do not care to fight.

For two score years I’ve beaten each one of you & plan ahead for whichever each night.

You will not make me live or die paralyzed by my fears.

Forget antagonizing me daily I’ve defeated you daily for years.

You’re in my life & I accept that…but you’re beaten & hung on my shelf.

Knowing your monsters is half of the fight; the rest is defiance itself.

Wreck

I’m a wreckage of good intentions.

I’m the wine glass you just dropped.

I’m a dwindling pension.

I’m a balloon just popped.

I’m all the potential broken in half.

I am bright paint spilt on the rug.

I’m a stifled laugh.

I’m a guarded hug.

I’m that thing just out of reach.

I’m the way you cannot teach.

I’m the reason for anxious tension.

I am the wreckage of good intentions.

Gloss

Turn on the lights…turn on the color.

Let’s see everything there is to discover.

Strip away illusion…strip away wishes.

See it for the war, the damage of militias.

See it for the fire, for the smoke & embers.

See the world as it is, not how one remembers.

Open up the truth for all to witness.

See our leaders for their unfitness.

Once you’ve cried you’re last tear of mourning.

Scream in protest & attack without warning.

Attack the precepts, the quo & institutions.

Demand change & growth demand restitutions.

Fight battles bitter & grim. Learn from loss.

Or be a collaborator…happy to live in the gloss.

Processing

Isolation breeds boredom & getting lost in thought. The poets’ pen, not ink.

We sit in boredom & see things in macro just thinking thinking Think!

Then thought is broken by the voice of the heart & that’s when things get murky.

The collision & friction of the mind & heart produces an alphabet soup that’s quirky.

None of it forms words or makes any sense… blood rises & we get busy.

Arranging & rearranging letter by letter the heady task makes our heads & hearts fizzy.

As photons of inspiration crash into our brains considering the best words to write next.

We rack our brains for rhymes & our hearts to divine the great connects.

Couplets or stanzas start to form & all falls into place.

Next thing you know there’s a cloud on your page carrying the weight of a mace.

The hands can’t keep up with the frenzy & then it’s over as quickly as it started.

With every piece, thought & heart separate & we despair they’ll forever be parted.