everything…


fittycent

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/04/07/writing-challenge-fifty/

the sound of one hand clapping?


Ask the question…
get the answer
it is true

do the math n…
add it up n’
feel it move

on the mountain…
in the valley
of the shrew

there’s a moment…
in the garden
at the zoo

smell the textures…
taste aromas
that you knew

hearing colors…
making noises
every hue

take your socks off…
taste a drop of
morning dew

time is wastin’…
for the many
and the few

you can’t stop it…
in the church or
in the pew

snowy blanket…
out your window
fresh and new

dusk is falling…
to the darkness
cold and blue

warm your fingers…
build a fire and
drink it too

take it inside,,,
feel the power
light a room

you bear witness…
to the knowledge
gift it too

breathe the lightning…
light the city
that you choose

U B IT

N IT B U

N U B… schmoove

teach the children…
every moment
never rue

n there is money…
n there is happy’
n they are two

there is love for…
all the children
at the zoo

when you feel it…
share the wisdom
you once knew

you were it and…
it was us and we were 2

I am paper…
you are scissors
we are glue

they are them and…
they are us and
they all grew

in a pot of…
everybody
it’s a stew

tasting sweet and…
tasting perfect
tasty brew

tasting now and…
tasting then and
someday soon

taste like chicken…
it’s a worldly… barbecue

when you live it…

you don’t eat it

it eats you

all the memory… all the knowledge → bursting through…        

you were it and…
it was us and
it is new

on the doorstep…
no more waiting
come on                           → through…                      

-30-

 

Life after his death, my friend



life after their gone my friend

Written a few years ago for a friend whose boyfriend was suddenly killed in a bike week motorcycle accident. I too was struggling through a recent sudden loss, making the moment even that more poignant… I thought I had lost the poem, but found (some of) it in a file drawer the other day. Here’s the edited version.


Vida después de su muerte mi amigo

to Alba

Sitting here by Kimberly’s grave
thoughts turn to you and Tony
their lives too short for both of them
isn’t our grief the testimony?

Who lives or not whose choice it be
or just the dice who say?
does God play poker, is he the Joker
is it black and white, or grey?

And who are we that thinks of them
does our mirror speak the truth?
are we all just names etched in granite?
isn’t up hill down hill too?

Or are we just narrow vibrations on a playing field,
proving that we “exist for real”, or just “sense” we do?
manifesting our love not by, “they’re dead and gone”
but “they live in our hearts, and will see us through?”

Do we create our unique version of real
realizing ourselves… by all our think, our say, and do?
If we’re just the sum of who we think we are
I think there’s part of Kimberly alive in me…

and… always some Tony… in you.

-30-

edited 8/19