This is my remnant, my memory of my mother,
That all is good, as is everyone around and about,
That we all can be good, can make the world a better place
Just by being in it, by loving and trusting and respecting one another,
By treating each other with the attention we all crave and deserve,
As one human to another, I reach out my hand in assistance,
And in giving receive,
this was the blessing and the prayer she gave to me
Each and every day sacrificing herself
to the world as cold as it can be,
Just another Giving Tree, standing still
while the whirlwind spun around and about
Her arms offering the worlds’ wisdom,
knowledge spun into sweetened gold
Her body, earth’s heart beating inside,
Until she could give no more,
and held up entirely by her will alone,
will never again be seen walking or smiling
or giggling about some misunderstood phrase
or garbled sentence,
which being said would frustrate most,
To her just another ‘wicked’ joke,
something enjoyed and shared,
In her last moments
Straining to reach out across the vast breadth of space,
through the transceiver of the plastic telephone held to her face,
willing to tell me all was well, that she loved me
around the world, galaxy, universe and everything,
and back again, hasping breath desparate to put me at ease,
I told her that she was free, that it was ok to let go,
A more beautiful soul I will never meet.

This is the ride, come join us
Come one, come all,
Come rise, come fall,
Come see the show,
Feel the pull, don’t fight
The flow, it’s all natural
Synthetic vibe from heart,
Another up, another down
One more in, two more out
Naked as the day we were
Born, once again riding the
Storm, not quite sure why
This is the norm, but
It is, so there, come one
Come all, join the jamboree,
the mardi gras, the fun
The party, not parting,
No pardon in sight, no insight
You’ll see, just from you
And me, the same hateful conclusion,
This is my plate, of love, not hate,
Sacrifice, passion unspent, life lived
Unvent, unwind and you’ll
Find yourself sharing, my plate,
Full to brimming with love,
Not hate, not wanting you’ll see
This is the way ‘to be’,
As Shakespeare said, from beyond
The grave, nothing ever so bold
Or so brave, but the same taste,
Shared life, no hunger, more strife,
For what it’s worth, this is love
This is life, no more hatred, nor
Anger unsaid, the rhythm pounding
Headache, sans head, this is life
This is us, just human.

Humming on the edge of
Perfection balanced, nerves
Singing the high-pitched squeal
Of delightful excess, keeping
Me awake, evenly pitched
Between heavenly rest and
Fitful restlessness, I see the beauty
Of living right out there on
The edge, forever ghost-leg muscles
Tensed, waiting for that pitch too far,
Listing ever so slightly, far from skew,
Thoughts keep me awake, of life,
Of her, of you, yet still my mind,
Far from calmness, wanders the breadth
And depth of finder’s way, today
Just another, drop in the bucket,
One more seesaw flash
Of inspiration lost, time burned
Away, like so much cheap coal
Burnt black with the deadness of
Foiled minutes and drowned dreams,
A new dawn of self arises,
Awakening the real rolly-poly me,
Another persona to fuel the movement,
Just another onion layer to see.

It’s not halfway down the stairs,
Nothing so toe-curlingly cute and quaint,
But a road travelled all too often.

it all begins with the norm,
Decisions made, thoughts played out,
Long and short balls caught and thrown
Back to where they flew out from.

Somewhere in the distant past,
From where my own arc light fell
And broke, down to scorched earth,
That when the mirage of sadness lifted,
Was seen to be not scorched but same.

This leads us back to where we sit,
Distant planes’ flight thunder
Mocking true rain clouds hanging
Pregnant in the near-blue sky.

Trees whispering tall unheard secrets,
Sussuration of wind blown leaves,
Teasing memories of nightmare-held
Frozen self not yet lost, but long forgotten.

So this is where we sit,
Me, myself and I, arguing
Constantly aware of the ludicrous phrase
To try, an excuse for pre-attempt failure
And yet all that we can wish for
On hope’s daydream gaze.

This is not the end, merely a new beginning,
Somewhere to start fresh today, this moment,
Lost again in rhetoric’s evil trapping
Word play binding stronger than cast iron,
No movement without percussion,
Another day gone, but not forgotten.