their roles without choice
or consent the sun and clouds
just did what they do. Abandoned

into foster care without care
the wild rose raised above the
squalor of its birth. Surviving

streams of yellow poison,
steeled boots and toxic gasps of
accelerating buses. Persevering

to burst fragrant amid
stationary sandals and sighs
of adoration. Radiating

until it was snipped out to
rest eternally on a kitchen counter
four stories up. Disconnected

from the crazed walk
on a barren turf but
in a soul sort of way.

Snatching every thought of being
better than he was able to believe.
Snagging every complimental morsel
and still not nearly full.
Seizing every awkward movement
since that sixth grade gym class
when he tripped and girls had laughed.
Grasping every sorrow, hurt, while
leaving little room for love
in an overburdened heart.
Clutching every cry for help
as if it were just wasted breath
with sound that had no meaning.

But the Velcro finally gave away.

So then he became a Titanium Bolt
with double locking washers
and a stress enforcing head, always
testing for the failure load.

until one summer morning
no different than the next
the Bolt had vanished leaving only
the Slipperyness that existed on the threads.

The Slipperyness that allowed the Bolt to tighten.

The Slipperyness that could not – on its own
snatch or snag or seize or grasp or clutch all by itself.

The Slipperyness that only could release, dissolve, unbind, unchain
all that had been tightened by the Velcro and the Bolt.

The Slipperyness flowing through us all
but getting stuck upon our threads
and helping us tighten that Titanium Bolt.

oh, if only mine would vanish, too.

Whatever was red no
longer lingered on the bone.
Screams had subsided,
I poured another drink.

Oh Rocky – impatient, insatiable. In
an hours time we would
have offered more – and
without those ribs bathed

in Aunt Cathy’s secret sauce,
chinese was the only answer
- delivery in fifteen minutes -
But we were in no mood to share.

        Darkest whimpers                    Festering wound
                                      Birthed            
                                      in turmoil             
                        Decades                              
                        decaying                             
              Impacted                        
                                      Serrated  
                                                                                                      Extracted.

My sheer contempt overpowered,
locking them behind the keys.
And I descended upon the embedded
every night pounding them into compliance
but they were insolent and uncaring;
born of turmoil, hidden under decades,
always lurking to watch me squirm.

By the last nauseating night dismembered,
rearranged and beaten to one they submitted,
as a vicious predator to a lethal dose knowing
his party was over despite
the chanting in the jailyard.

And they lined themselves in a
way that confessed their anguish.
Powerful as once they were, their vitriol
no longer threatened me
and I awkwardly thanked them
with tears and heaving chest.

Sleep now arrives with greater depth.
Shallow pain still survives
subsiding as the paper yellows
but I am no fool,
there are more like them.

And they will come.

Relief?

I am tired of
pushing life in
the direction I
think it should

“THUD”

“All work and No play Makes jack”

i have Tried to
Push Life in
the Direction i
Thought it should

go but what
will come
if i
sit back
relax
accept
allow
enjoy

undo my Father’s Warning?

Success II

I spent years
pushing my life
in the direction
He thought it should go.

Now I allow inspiration to nudge
and ease each day into action and
so does He.

With smiles of sadness
expressed everyday,
why did I hold on
engrossed by the grey?

Dogmatic loyalty?
Fear etched face?
Pretending with pleasantry
My world – its’ place?

But what of Our world?
What is the difference?
Cultures concentrate
tight with insistence.

Dogmatic Loyalty?
Fear Etched Face?
Pretending with Pleasantry
Our world – its’ place?

Collectively conscious -
would we ever admit?
An extension of us
the world does orbit?

But better to know,
release and reject -
this insidious idea
of Life Abject…

Memories of mumbling,
confused and constrained,
persevered to permeate
a world once stained.