A tiny, pale blue dot,
is all there is,
it is not such a lot
but it is everything
We share this speck
of dust in a void,
and what we are,
what we were,
and what we become,
is all because
Words are nature with no sound,
for how can we appreciate the warbler’s song
when we do not listen to the lyrics?
One wears a halo, glowing like the future:
White robes, golden smile — heavenly composure.
This one’s got vows and rules that I must follow:
Ways of ensuring that I have a tomorrow.
It’s the not thinking
About a rape by a victim,
And the not thinking
Of a stranger’s greasy hands
All over your front hall.
And should a child make it
To the densely packed production line,
There are no lifetime guarantees
No best before, or after birthday dates
Supply outcries demand.
But demand increases should you move
Within the factory floor,
Be placed onto the packaged line
Or stamped and wrapped:
“For Family Wealth”
You say that I’m conceited.
Just because you don’t water your own flowers,
doesn’t mean you get to stomp on mine.
My garden is healthy and strong.
I won’t let you crush what it took me years to grow.
Instead of hurting mine, tend to your own.
Maybe your garden can grow too.
You say that I’m a dreamer,
That my head is too far up in the
clouds to watch where I’m walking.
What’s done is done
All we can do is learn to accept it and
move forward graciously
Time waits for no man
And no man achieves by waiting
we cry the same tears
and wash the same pains
but we are not one
and yet here we remain.
Roots finding no soil
A mind lingers in turmoil
An endless journey
Unable to flee
My precious ally has found a new face
Not touched by grief, lack of sleep
And broken dreams.
You seemed never to fit in
You’ve searched your soul
looking for a reason within
but there was nothing you could do
because the problem was never you
You were simply not on the same page
could not connect with children of your own age
I stare at the noise, drawn to the void,
Conversations that I’ll craftily avoid;
I’ll walk off the earth, dying since my birth,
Keep running till my bones hit the dirt.
Under the shower, let the hotness devour,
And the water sink into my eyes like a rotten flower;
I’ve got the deadest face, I’m just a waste of space,
I’ll let my heart run free as my soul loses grace.
Real love begins with a kiss
Real love begins with a text
But that’s not all,
It’s reaching out
And falling into
All of that money would come to you free,
providing of course that you owned the tree.
The tree would be yours if you planted the seed
and nurtured and cared for its every need.
You’d be rewarded with bushels of cash,
and cash in this world is surely not trash.
The problems it solves are more than a few,
and money can buy many extras for you.
You’d shop for a car with a bushel of “ones.”
For a house you could spend “ones” by the tons.
Like a king in his castle you’d have command
of all you surveyed all over the land.
While you imagine (what would be the harm?)
instead of one tree, have a money tree farm?
Since each piece of money is denominated,
grow what you want of what’s circulated.
Then harvest your “ones” from a Washington plant,
“tens” from a Hamilton and “fifties” from a Grant.
A Franklin would grow “hundreds” for you.
What more could you want your trees to do?
But money from trees, whatever the gender,
nowhere in this world, could be legal tender.
In the struggle for power or the scramble for pelf,
for success in this world, rely on yourself.
sight where obscurity lays
parallel to luminous visually blinding curiosity
perceiving light’s blinking eye to warm a shaken path
of dark and damp coldness until tipping toes can
walk firmly on unyielding solid ground…
monochromatic rainbows in shades of you;
pale tones of expectations with no expectations
interrupted by kaleidoscopic flushings
at that chanced, precise moment
when shades of you casts hues of you
as the sun reflects its orange moon…
Why is it so hard to live with each other
We are all one, you’re my sister, my brother
When did we become so expendable and cheap
Why is life too hard to cherish and keep