River

The river flows dark and cold

memories dance

down this viscous highway

sparkling eyes of a young girl

dreaming of her lover

across on the other shore

a lone bell rings

echoing across the valley

reminding her of loss

the river flows deep and muddy

where bones lie quiet

and catfish roam

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Early Morning

There are a thousand stories to be told before they are lost in the wind. Each story contains a glimmer of the true self, the one hidden by the scars accrued over a lifetime. The bitterness that comes from a lost love, lost dreams, lost desire, the losses we wear to cover our hearts true nature. In the early hours, before the sun has risen and the world is quiet, if we take a moment to sit in silence we may hear that small voice calling us to strip away those layers, to lay naked once again before God.

Red

Red lips

Tasting

Biting

Consuming

Red Apple

Juices Flow

Blood Red Toenails

Peak out

From Sandals

Temptation

As I kiss her

Her bite draws blood

Hand holds the red rose

Thorns pierce white flesh

Blood flows

A river of pain

No one to understand

Crushed under

Meaningless lust

Buried under the purple-red bruises

Red eyes filled with tears

The red sun sets

A fiery end

Simple

It’s simple

erase,

the loss,

the pain,

that emptiness,

erase it all,

move on,

smile,

laugh,

hide those scars,

behind sleeves,

those bruises,

cover them,

hide it all,

don’t weep

don’t live grief

exposing

us living with pain,

loss,

emptiness,

scars and bruises,

behind

sleeves

in silent caverns

of memory

A Straight Guy on Pride Day

There I was,

a straight white guy

standing in the midst

of this diversity of people

who were happy,

happy, despite the hate

happy, to give hugs

happy, to hold hands

happy, to kiss and love,

who am I to say they’re wrong

or that they don’t belong,

what does it mean

to be straight anyway,

when really

no one truly is,

so maybe if we look

and see happiness

emerging from people

maybe we’ll find happiness

within ourselves

and the healing we need

Tea and Memories

I sitting here, 
drinking tea,
Earl Grey tea

steeped for two minutes
sugared, 
two to be exact
with a splash of milk
enough to change color
but not to make it cold.

Tea in the afternoon,
Dad drank tea
morning, noon and night
his was with sugar
Ma’s was with milk
in this cup I carry both,

it was given to me,
what I will pass along.
Sipping the last bit
a burst of sugar
hits the tongue

I think of his lunch pail,
a thermos filled with tea
enough for three cups
two breaks, 
one lunch
the only time off his feet
the machinery quiet

tea does that
breaks the routine
becoming a routine
my routine.