Security

In a vault somewhere
Deep within a hidden cell
Secured by guards
Both night and day
Locked in a tiny box
Obscurely disguised
Wrapped in sound proof paper
Under lock and key
And internal security
Lye the words you want to say
But are so afraid to speak
Not knowing who will listen
Or judge
Or anger
Or abandon you

Keep it all hushed up
Your truth is of no consequence,
Or so you believe
Conjecturing with conviction
You will neither be understood
Nor trusted
Nor loved
The hush of your silence
Keeping you so safe
From being known
Or understood
Or really loved.

So do not breathe a word
For fear
It will take your breath away
And isolate your thoughts
For ever more
Convinced
To keep the monk’s oath of silence
Never expressing who you are
Or what you need
Taking it to the grave.

Treason

Sad, Sad
When we have to say good bye
In a snipers clutch
Those we thought that loved us
Family as it’s called
Hacksaws off your branch
And you are not sure exactly what happened
Everything you did and said out of love
Has been spun in so many ways
As if the parent had been unremarkable
In influencing their child’s emotional well-being in the world
And the child is stuck so deep in primitive evil
There ends up being no airspace
Large enough to breathe
Simply gasp in disbelief
That a time could come
When the old world saying
“You are dead to me”
Becomes so well understood
There is no retort
Only retreat
So far away from justifying
Your own good deeds.

When We Lose Our Friends To Death

When we lose our friends
To Death
The world becomes smaller
There is less opportunity
To connect with those
We really can relate to
We quiet a few notches
Closing off some of the doorways
That were brightly open
We reflect and recall
But it makes the pain greater
The ribs are stuck, clammy and breathless
As we contemplate
Our own eventual demise
But for now, if only we could track
Our dear friend
There is no GPS that is that accurate
So we truly wonder where they are off to
Wishing them the best
But missing the trusting interactions
That brought safety and comfort to our lives

The Kabbalah says

“Some say unless a wrong is avenged there can be no peace.
But what if there can be no peace unless the wrong is forgiven?”
For giv ing-
“to give ongoing”
The meaning is quite different
When broken down
Or rather clearly discerned
So how do we let go
Of anger and rage and disappointment, hopelessness and betrayal
By Giving-
Not a hard time, nor hatred or loathing nor gossip
By giving love
In thought and deed
To those who have hurt us so deeply
Perhaps they will grow
In their understanding
Of what they had not properly taken care of
Then, in turn,
They will be free to give.

Watching From The Side Lines

Watching from the side lines
In your own neighborhood
Watching from the side lines
So misunderstood

Doesn’t anyone get you
Like an old crackley film reel
Specks of time missing
Not sure how it all makes you feel

Watching from the side lines
Your house is not your home
Is the only place to be yourself
Watching from the sidelines

Ideas come and lovers go
Age tosses you to the weather
There grows a cemented concept
That everything must be forever

Watching from the side lines
Amazing moments
Are just a plexi glass away
Watching from the side lines

Change

Why would we change
To exchange
The known for the
Unknown
The comfortable old shoe
With the holes in the bottom
Is oh, so much softer
Than to walk around
As someone new.

What makes the difference, then
To want to explore
To be so much more
In the evolutionary journey
Called human existence
From a blank slate
To an encyclopedia of madness
Along the many twists and turns
In our thinking and appraisals
And introspective dashes

Change is kinda like gum
Stuck on the bottom of your shoe
And you pull and you twist
Trying to coax the gum away
But you already know
That you already have been stretched
And you can’t chew the cud forever
There are so many more steps
To learn to the dance

Life is a bouquet
Of joy and color
New beginnings
And wilting reminders
Of leaves that cracked brittle
Like the crash of a whip
While Change is laughing
From the rooftop
Having caught you
Trying to seal your fate
With naieveate
That bouquet will stay beautiful forever



Change is thrust upon one
Like a speeding train
When you were just care freely
Skipping down the tracks
More often, though
It is the end of an era
You are banned by and from
All that matters
You are told in no uncertain terms
Give it up, or you will be alone
So many addictions can present
An arguable case
Until abandonment fears step in
And we Must, step out.

Of Those That Love The Rager

Rage is a four letter word
Filled with fire and ice
Darts and daggers
Piercing words
Jettisoning through the hearts
Of those that love the rager
Despite the rage
Somehow convincing themselves
That what they know lies beneath
Perceived during those glimmers of kindness
Then abruptly bundled in self protection
In a world the rager learned was cold and unyielding.
Of those that love the rager
They still believe in Santa Claus
That the jolliness can be resurrected
Despite a cold, icy, flat tundra
As far as the eye can see.

In the Dot of the Day

In the Dot of the day
Just how many pixels
Do we see

A paint by number world
Somehow bringing it
All into a cohesive picture

The special photographs
Instantly ingrained
Stored away for recall
In old age

Our mind’s eye
Never minds
What we don’t choose to see

Half lived
Or a full world
Fills the iris with reflection

In the dot of the day
We connect the dots
Drawing in our own conclusions

Distinct Possibility

Black Sheep
White Sheep
Herd or
Herder
All Sheep
Can pull the wool
Over Your Eyes.

Treacherous Teen Parenting

The parents need for connection
The teens need for separation
Too soon to be friends
Too late to over parent
Or redo
What now has become
Glaringly obvious.
Old wounds and struggles
From our own parental entanglements
Emotionally returning us
To a place of egocentric dismay
Shrouded in indifference
As a way to survive this unloved feeling
The lack of gratitude
For all we have done
To make life easier
Show the clear path
And try to cushion life’s blows.
Sucker punched
But truly not shocked
By hormonal inconsistencies.
Parent and child both want out
But both innately know
Each biding their time
Trying to power steam the wrinkles and creases
That are not yet ready to be ironed out.

The State of Things

What is your state of mind
There is only degrees of one state
You create your own reality
Whether it be victim or slayer
Doer or stayer
Independent or prayer
Your state of mind
May not be kind
Until you find
You no longer need to slip behind
And realize
What a great find
To choose your state of mind
There is only one reality in this world-
That is yours
As you architect your destiny.

On With the Band

An orchestra
Is a fabulous way
For everyone
To literally be on the same page
Playing an integral part
Of the intention
To create the full sound of the song
In musical notes
Harmonizing
Just the way life was designed
A perpetual, collaborate summit
Of living life harmoniously
What a vision
George Harrison said it best
“Imagine all the people, living life in peace”
“You may say I am a dreamer, but I am not the only one
Come and join us and the world will live as one”.

When You Reach The Age Of Majority

When you reach the age of Majority
Suddenly there is a tickertape parade
Fireworks
And the keys to your own clock
The safety net is gone
Mistakes are on you
No janitorial service
No one to swaddle you
Or ward off the demons

When you reach the age of Majority
You may kick up your heels
So happy the gig is on you
Your balloon has been un-tethered
Every day feels like a party
Until the bills
And the quiet room
And the coming up with a plan

When you reach the age of Majority
In the great arena
All ready their opera glasses
For- you are the main event
With cheers from your loved ones,
Especially the elders
You pray to not be shark bait
As the first opposing soldier
In warrior fashion
Confidently charges towards you.

When you reach the age of Majority
Do you really have to rush
So impatiently moving on
Pistons firing with a rapid idle
Can you get control of your mind
Before your body gets away
So you may gracefully romp
By assimilating, with gradual exposure
To this foreign place- adulthood
Just a turn of the corner from adolescence

Self Control Time Bomb

Control over the self
Not the self
Out of control
Giving in eagerly
Any diversion
From work and tedium
Replaced by momentary impulses
Overruling sensibility
Only place to go from there
Is Anxiety
And she is the one in control
Of the out of control
With no fence to be contained in.
There is an exact amount of time
An accurate number of calories
And chemicals
And hours fettered away
Then they are gone
What is left
But an uncontrolled blob
Of what could have been shaped into
A person of clarity and direction
The tour guide must have been distracted
Unable to clarify the “must see” places
All because the cow did runaway with the moon

Depression/Deprivation

Depression walked right up the sidewalk
As you sat on the front steps of your mother’s house
Wishing that being a kid
Would have been more fun.

You drop your jax on the door steps
An “old school” game
Later, a cigarette
Then burning ashes replace it

There doesn’t seem to be a fix
For a pessimistic view
The sprinkles of hope
Quickly turn to broken glass chips
Wedged between the toes

You come upon a shiny object
Once again you take the bate
Took your breath away
But soon you are simply deflated

There doesn’t seem to be any touch
Or tender moments
That can rid you of the tears
Personal failure you can count on
Once again

You toy with rushing to old age
Graying the youthful temptations
Reaching for the grave with one hand
While looking around for a helping hand
In this cactus desert

You have known love
But it has slipped away
Down the drain of regretful waste
To a far off place

Self Absorbed

A walk in the park
On a winter’s day
Still and grey
Illustrious dreams
Covered with red, wool gloves
Distracting from
What is truly at hand.
People they pass
With a glance or
Inquisitive gaze, or no matter
It matters not
For you are not there
But cloaked in a scarf
Speechless and
Protected from the
Elements of the day.
Full of realizations
And the rock, hard quiet
Of being the solitary figure
To feed your happiness
With half baked ideas
Stuffed in the spooley pockets
Of your long, smoke colored,
Tightly weaved coat
Picking at
Eroding pieces of the map to life
Until the stars crowd in
Taking the limelight
From the uninspiring sadness
Magically erasing those
Unnerving moments
When your thoughts marched
In a loud parade
Symbols clanging,
Tuba bullying its way through the
Sound barrier
Raucous and pandemonium
Stilling the hushed gasps
Of your pillows
Shock absorbing promise for tomorrow.

Yea, Right

Equally yoked
In intellect
Or passion
Chemistry/genetics
Humor
Energy
Parenting
House-holding
Shared dreams.
What can it possibly be
How can it be possible
To be all
Like an archer
With a skillful eye
Wondering
What will make the
Center of the target?

It Is Your Life

From inception
In the womb
To launching
Into adulthood
And onward
It is your life

Do as you choose
Wonder, as you may
Take it serious
Or treat it like a disposable
It is yours
To name and to date
As shaking up history
Or barely making a motion

Surrounded by an atmosphere
Encapsulating you in the midst
Between blue skies
And grey clouds
And plaid and marshmallow storms
At the mercy of the deep, blue sea
Affronted by the idea of
A designated purpose

Aimlessly dancing
The blood stained feet
Of the ballerina
In a panicked flurry to be recalled
Grovels and climbs
Reaching for the safety
Of Mount Olympus.
Or retreating to another dream
It is Your Life.

Secret Lives

Secret Lives
Linger in the shadows
Of an otherwise sunny day
Staining the truth
With uncertainty
From the inside out.

Only partially living in the now
Concealing the lie(s)
With sugar coated smiles
And carefully catalogued containers
Of what was said
And what is heavily guarded and undisclosed.

Justifications and rationale
Rule the substantiation
Of false trust
In the name of protection for all
Like a cadaver sheet
Shielding any real emotional intimacy.

Summer white linen
Turns to blood
Inside the prison
Of “what have you done”
Preoccupying the lonely chambers
Of the heart.
Where all the separated-self-lives are gathered
For the Big reveal.

I’ve Got My Peace

I’ve Got My Piece
Of middle class America
Off the beaten path
Day by Day
Working over time
At the office
With no additional pay
A slave to the labor force
Endless piles of debris
Taking the trash out
Emptying the dishwasher
Paying the bills
Facing the spouse
And pretending
to responsibly raising the children
and what is for dinner
and how many calories is lunch
Alone in the dark with the starlit sky
Planning retirement way too late
Watching from a deck chair
What the neighbor in balcony 2, next door
Might be up to from his fenced in yard.
Drained of devotion
Alone in the upside-down silence
Of the unspoken dream

When You Have A Problem

When you have a problem
There is always a solution
Keep a spare pack
In your back pocket
So as not to methodically slip
Into That impoverished path
Of despair

Can’t Fix A Broken Fence

Does he have to be wrong
To make the divorce alright.
Blame is such a funny word
Voiding one of any responsibility
Going on and on
With justification of self righteousness
And the parade moves down the street
To another town
Glitzed in the same old
Bright colored parachutes
And there is no reason to turn back
Give it one more glance of recognition
Before eventually, dying of denial.

It Is Hard To:

It is Hard to Hear
Harsh words
Without any loving cushion.
Sad eyes
With nothing to look forward to.
Backstabbing confusion
When all you wanted
Was a partner.
It is harder to see
The end
Of what you thought
Would be forever.
The truth rises
Out of the ashes
And tomorrow vanishes.
Alone with someone
Is the worst
Kind of alone.
Realizing you chose
Poorly
Impulsive to the whims of youth.
Now, it is so hard to pay
Back yourself
Step out off the chewing gum heels
Stretching and snapping denial.
It is Hard to be human
Perhaps, just a creature of this earth
Alone in a jungle
Of colliding souls,
Aimless and awkward
Aging ungracefully.
The wheels
Are fighting with the brakes,
Antagonized and taunted
By what you thought you told yourself.

Raised To Be Food

Just imagine how your brain would be
Knowing you are just raised to be food,
Imagine how your heart would beat
Already dead with spirit defeat.

What kind of an environment
What kind of energy
Emerges and converges
With the life style
Of born to be food.

Fleshy, flesh
Quivers with adrenaline
Filling the glands
Any moment now
Any moment anytime
The kidneys are on overdrive

Born to be food
No room for understanding
An object of the ultimate possessiveness
Drowning in the tick tock in the inner ear
Knowing and dummying down
To visceral numbness

The day has already
Come and gone
Each day the same
Tightening of the muscles
Hoping it is not true
But there remains
Just too much evidence.

Poetry

Poetry
Sings like a song
Filled with sounds
And rhythms
Of pitch and base

Surprise annunciations
Pauses and starts
Emphasizing some words
Hardly hushing others

Poetry is for ears to hear
Images to imagine
The taste of truth
And the reflection of the times
At least the times of the poet.

It is romantic and sweet
Emotional and impassioning
Time consuming
With absorbed attentiveness
Demanded of others

The words are short, brief
Long in image
Big of color
Gloomy of Rembrandt

Poetry is a gift
One may receive happily
Or warily
Knowing it is morally based
With strong intentions toward the receiver

A cry for understanding
A different point of view
Sometimes twisted behind shadows
Or the fore drop for the morning sun..

Now and Yesterday

My goal in life
Is to speak in
Less words
But say so much more

Dream in panoramic color
Knowing all the meanings
Interpreted in our subconscious tease
As the primer for our future

When we die
What is our goal
To reach those pearly gates
With an illuminating fanfare from above

Do we expect to have it all
Here, there and everywhere
Without a contribution
That society would welcome

Is being in love
A gifted purchase
Aligned with responsibility
Or natural desire

Do you have a goal
Is there even a goal
A focus from launch to finish
Preordained and set to task

From the fantasy in the heart
Deep below the frilly ribbons
Is the jazz
The bass blues of the soul

Seventeen and I Don’t Care

Seventeen and what to do
You got to let them go,
Some easy to assimilate
Others slow to ease.
It is hard when you are so young
And know everything
But have no place to go.
It is so frightening for parents to endure
The arrogant voice tones
The mirrors of us at our worst,
We have created someone
We don’t understand
It really seems there is a language barrier
But isn’t it just the rite of passage.
We can control so tight
With rules and regulations
Checkmarks and xxs
It may not mean a thing
Except juicy gestures
remind them to runaway.
We all had to go through it
From pimples to perfume
The agony of stretching hormones
Breaking promises and confused by one’s self.
Tormented into oblivion
By what yet does not make sense.
Finally,
Trying to get out of their way
Running, running without turning around
Off to the all too gleeful escape
Into the twenties.
So parents
can we control
Ourselves
In this crazy time of transition
And hope our past
Has made us a shining, guiding post.

Real Love

Once in a great while
Your “someone” comes along
Your energies
Are singing the same song
The frequency that frequent
The “Ahh” recalls
When you felt that moment of happiness.
There is a hyper-focus to it all
Time truly does stand still
When you find that person
So familiar
From so long ago.
And if you let it happen
Perhaps you can undo
Mistakes of the past
Knowing all has lead you
To this very moment
Of the most sincere gratitude
All the fragments adhere together
And crystallize
As you are finally not alone
And completely connected.

Hitchhikers

There are two types of people
Well, maybe three
Those that hitchhike
The ones who always drive
And the ride sharers.

The hitchhikers
Hold out their thumb
Letting others know
Just how vulnerable they are
Wittingly getting into a stranger’s car
Roulette wheel to determine
Where they get to next
Wanting someone to carry them
Set them on course
Or allow them to be the perpetual passenger.

The ones that always drive
Independent loners
In charge of where they are going
Not ever looking for any free rides
Expecting life is hard
Working with that fact
Rather than turning it into lamenting paralysis.

The ride sharers
First and foremost want company
They will receive and reciprocate
But never go solo
There is comfort in numbers
And challenged
By fears of impaired judgment
Without consensus.

Unexpected Greetings To The Pool

The plants
Are aghast
Gaping and hunched
In disbelief
At the mega, giant hole
Cut deep into the earth
Just inches away.

It had never occurred to them
In their brief and sheltered life
In the “Burbs”
That their world of Earth
Could be removed at any moment,
Could the Sun burn their leaves
Or the Wind blow them away?

Just beyond their tract house yard
Outside the rod iron fence
Their backs had been turned to
They finally noticed the nursery
Buzzing with trees
The palms and oaks living together,
Unsure of their relationship
But, none the less
Cooperating and inanely trusting
The larger microcosm
Staged by man

So it goes
The plants in the little garden
Saw the metal being placed in the huge cavern
Bent by man to frame and support
The impending blue container of water
Who were they to question
As they returned to their duties,
As is their nature.

On The Road Again

Going along
Taking the drive of life
Not questioning direction
So sure it is under control.
One day and far away
The realization
Hot as a branding iron
That it has been the wrong turn in the road
The long way home
And barely enough time
To keep traveling.

What’s A Parent To Do?

I know you have been a good parent
Have always tried your best
Sometimes giving too much
Other occasions- nothing left to give.
Reviewing all the values you hold so dear
Demonstrating the wisdom
In your every day actions,
Or sometimes, just your words.
And even, the ugly, uncontrolled words.
Wanting your child to have all the joys you did
While shielding them from all the sadness that was yours.
Intermittently teaching them what not to do
By our over-embarrassing examples.
The inconceivable concept
Of conceiving our perfect image
When all we do is experimental
What we are told is that it is “innate, intuitive”
But, that just adds to the complex
Of not being a “natural”
Trying to understand and not understanding
The developmental challenges
Of each unique being
That may remind us of ourselves-
Foibles and fine moments
But are not us.
Fine china exposed to the rough and tumble
Parental adoring, selfless love
And loathing agony of fretful lack of connection
Parenting has its moments of glory and assurance
Of a piece of us living on
Weaved between the perilous uncertainties.

Post War Anticipation

A revolution
Conspiracy style
Surmounting the physicality
Elevator up
Through the cognitions
Breathing a breath of defiance
Resisting the reactivation
Until the primitive brain recedes
The white flag floating in the breeze
Reminding one of the helplessness
Within the cell block of Anxiety.

A Fingertip Away

It’s been thirty years
More or less
Away from what was
But never distant.
Can’t help but wonder
What would have been
Could it have been.
Only time has past
And all which we have succumbed to
Dreamily in our thoughts
Of oh, how luscious
If we could only return
To the youth of our love
Equipped with the lifetime knowledge
We have since possessed.
You call to say “hello”
Are you a lover or a friend
Dragging through these epic times
All the while waiting to return.

Hormone Harmonics

Adolescent frantic
Teen age panic
Bursting with drama
As if that was what life is all about.
Feeling it all
Wanting it all
Invincibly peeling it all
Unraveling the imagined
Freedoms of adulthood.

What Is My Diagnosis?

What Is My Diagnosis
Who am I
If not merely a symptom cluster
Describing malfunctioning thinking and behavior
Unbefitting of the “norm”.
Does it leave me
Otherwise colorless,
Diluted, devalued and distant
From those I love
And those I want so desperately to love me.
Are my characteristics that fractured
That my soul misunderstands my purpose.
Can I get in touch
And touch
Or, does the diagnosis
Preclude me from
The gentleness of humanity.

Always Ready

I have to take Monday
To recover from my fun day
The weekend so savvy and wild
Winding down in style
Abating the bridge between cumbersome
And oh so awesome
Wielding a tale
Of mercy and glee
Success or fail
The weekend was me
Able to move
In the open grass and air
Re-find my groove
Since the week I did bare
Hardly a breath in the endless work week
Until my Friday night sneak peak
Oh Bless the weekends
For they preserve me so fair
Out of the stale, business clogged air.
On I wander into the night
My head hits the pillow
With dream-time delight
Check off another day of billow
“Till the weekend is right.

Alive

Living Just Outside My Comfort Zone
Between the given and the unknown
On the tight rope edge
Knowing just a wedge
Of what is known
Debating to be shown

Just Outside of my comfort zone
All is known
Sewn, embedded
Where I am headed
Deep beyond my wildest dreams
Colorful rhythms and reams

Nude to the world
Actually, invisibly pearled
There is only anticipation
To reach elation
And predictable
To be stuck in irritable

Live in the light
Where there can be no fight
Driving down the highway
Of the skyway
Illuminated, with what waits
Beyond the next turn of fate.

Teen Transition

Such challenging years
Not yet operating on all gears
Change is all there is
And of course, uncertainty
The pressure is on...
To choose: a path
Prepare for the work
Of adulthood.

But it seems like it will never be here
And yet it is,
Mocking the childhood giggles
With a stern, task master
Tightening the reins on reality.

All the efforts
Or all the goofing off
Are now called to the table
To cumulatively assess
Where do we go from here?

We may wallow
In never, never land
Shutting our eyes
Until our parents kick us out
Or we are assisted with an “easy” break

Or just maybe,
It is a countdown
To the magic “18”
When we are suddenly free to do
What we think we really want to

Rebel or angel
The plunge is near
Off that perilous cliff
Tossing us to madness or viability.

Enough With Seething Remorse

Grudge collector,
Sludge collector
Smudges
When one fudges
Thereafter, it always drudges.

Forgiveness
Frees the adrenal glands fury
More storage space
For memories we hold dear.

Provides us with a cushion
To soften old age
Without the smear.
Harkening to pleasantry, not fear
Milking out the rage
of the new venom-less snake
Into a crystal, clear lake.

Ode to Xanex and her friends

Does anyone really think
It is supposed to be fun all the time
No variance of mood
Just a persistent state
Of blurry numbness
Anti-anxietied
By a little magic pill
That takes away the ouch
Until we don’t know anymore
How much pain we are really in.

Black & White

The party has begun
The rules are quite clear
One has to be right
For the other to be wrong

Push on in life
With the boundaries close at hand
Hyper-focused on the good and bad
The guilty and the innocent

Black and White
Safely distinguished
In a hazy world
Of complicated grey

So Out of Sync With Love

Most couples play
To win or lose
To vie for top, dog position
Challenging each other’s nerves
Inundating, infiltrating with adrenaline over flow

Is it in the name of fear
Of emptying out
That combustible cavern
Where behind the chaos
Is mere, silent, awkwardness
Of having nothing to say

And if the afternoon sunlight
Painted shades of unusual form
Would it stay unnoticed
The silhouettes of two lonely people
Who glued on to uniform despondency

Having love-makingless sex
In the lull of the darkness
Still wrapped in security blankets
Body casts
Of roles and rhythms
From misinterpreted rules of togetherness

The offspring- see
Through bulging eyes, incredulously
The veil of truth that will never be
As long as they follow consecutively

Loveless and hapless
Gang planked to efforescent bitterness
When parting the curtains
Has never been revealed
Perhaps the idea of letting in the sunlight
Is not an adaptable consideration