Going where only Amygdala knows



the girl then recalled

parents looming large

quietly sinister

corrosively in charge 


clown parade balloons

high on pride's LSD

punch drunk delusions

of Grandiosi-Tea


sarcasm IV drips

from mean emojis 

garish caricatures 

impossible to please


love was a blanket

held out then yanked away

knit to bind not warm

cat with mouse did play 


never any words

explain way back when

no exit out of 

her misery then 


then is also now

a spiraling she goes

blinded by betrayal

only Amygdala knows 


I'd love to share a

cheery thought or two

yet pie crust promises 

simply will not do 


airy and airless 

broken by a breeze

pointless platitude

said with careless ease 


bandaged over bleed

just to stem the flow

of mother nature tears

dressed only for show


feather pen laments

articulating pain 

drawing scars as flowers

in healing refrain


no other way out

must pick up my pen

no more to do but

verse and verse again 












Call off my black dog



wind chiming vespers 

angelic melody 

composed by the breeze

four part harmony


innocent or evil

sound of coffin bells

terrifying tinkling 

buried alive foretells


for my soul wonders

by much darkness known

is devil percussion

calling to its own?


when I found the switch

on technicolor TV

it shows what I missed

black and white naivete 


It made me question

all I ever thought 

all their fabricated 

nonsense that I bought


trust wears a double edge

with deadly overbite 

if given too freely 

to them with no right


mercy and respect

likewise cut two ways

didn't understand that

in my gaslit haze 


I've been driven mad

angry and insane

by demon tinnitus

hammering my brain


in my mind's mire

dwells snarling hell hound 

baying for my blood 

invisibly all around 


call off my black dog

I cried in choking yelp

to Boadicea 

from whence cometh help


the raison d'etre 

why I clack this rhyme 

hope avenging angel

makes it here on time


thus explains wind chimes

ringing Morse CQD 

alerting goddesses 

child drifting out to sea


sewer water muck

of rank memory

flotsam and jetsam 

rank polluted sea


not my mother lake 

named Michigan 

nor Elysian fields

I go to again


the lake is my friend

yet I've dates to keep 

miles to go before 

I lay me down to sleep 


and regardless if 

the lake's friend or foe 

I've much to do 'ere 

to dark night I go


I think perhaps that might be salvation in itself. Reading the celestial GPS and seeing my destiny or calling written in the stars. 

Amen. 
































Saffron in the Town of Brown



In a youthful oasis

we once played a game 

gave each other a color 

friends with forgotten name



Singapore Sunset Saffron

was a shade assigned to me

once upon a way back 

in sweet land of poverty 


tempest washed up and

foundered flotsam me 

just miles yet worlds from

my dear driftwood sea


nothing much to do but

loiter by the liquor store

nowhere nothing wasteland

too far from the lakeshore


ghosted empty windows

where hope died on trees

framed in asphalt cracks

live amnesiac memories 


I see it always fall

all dead leaf hues of brown

no spring green nor autumn red

the graveyard called our town


not a city nor village

just the isolated farm

too close for comfort 

too apart to keep warm


no employers employ

never any claim to fame

built to be abandoned

with already extinct name 


I tried to share my saffron

pink and purple twilight

Singapore sunset-ness

Outshone by rural blight


don't get me wrong, I

got bleaker shades too

peach bellini cocktails 

with chaser black and blue


the brown was not in them

who in decaying dwelt

just their misfortune

got a shitty hand dealt


I strove to assimilate 

with denizens of the daze

but I'm ever outlander

unfamiliar with their ways


bouncing in and out again

ping-ponged post to pillory

the transient can kicked 

down homeless soliloquy 


so inevitably 


my rolled stone rolled on

leaving no moss behind

to mar the brown landscape

with golden evergreen mind

















Trauma Bond Seance


trauma bond seance

summoning the dead

nightly roll call ritual

with all its black dread


you thought this dirge was

just for Halloween 

but it's real recall

of horror I've seen


I grant you it fits

the funereal theme

my zombie led life

quite the spooky meme


I don't choose to go

down their road to hell

it's me been summoned 

by their mourning bell


deatheaters' drink

doom beyond the pale

while we toast the joy

mine's a pint of ale


can I please go back

to moonlit fairy tea

with Raggedy Ann

Andy boy and me?


back to the garden

and the printers ink

I'm sick of drowning 

spiraling down the sink


back to the post light

Narnian reverie 

snowy dune woodland

steam train odyssey


let's get this over

let's walk by the lake

sitting shiva nights

no seance but a wake








Beer Tent Revival


sweet saintly church hymns 

hurting in my head

whisky sour melody

on hypocrisy fed


paradox puzzle

swimmer's ear pain

oxymoron blonde

logically insane


little shrimp spiral 

down his paisley tie

Fibonacci fugue 

I did prophesy 


when dicing with death

watch for sneak attack 

what you shit on me 

bites your anus, Jack


never thought I'd say

did you, daddy dear

what had to be said

you needed to hear


Such a good punter

buying lies they sold

Till I was bankrupt 

now my soul's grown cold


Sick of pew filling

preacher talks the talk

gospel double speak

while I walk the walk


you the Messiah

who can't even crawl

beer tent revival 

hucksters lead them all


cheap sham theatrics

the quack charlatan 

no revelation, just 

a Bible salesman 


peddling religion

from wagon you do

promising healing in

snake oil and voodoo 


spare me your twisted

punch drunk politics

blind evangelism

half-baked lunatics


get out of  my dessert

you don't belong here

this is for mothers 

and fathers held dear


If that's blasphemy

then I'll take that chance

do-si-do along 

time for me to dance

















now I'm spitting out

doom you drank on me

pass the Listerine

to flush Insani-Tea 













life's a conch shell



and color in the lines

 


 




Bubble Gum Pink Soap


the bubble gum soap

to scrub printer's ink 

in the press washroom

with the granite sink


soap of neon pink

cleanses grime away 

who will whiten my 

black and blues today?


soul's donkey gray

darker shade of pain

written big and bold

in indelible stain


This Eeyore-ing rain

scoring grooves in faces

weeping down like salt

tales told in the traces


whittling deep and wide

subterranean lows

can't go much deeper

it's low as it goes


elevator mic drop

plummets through the floor

steam locomotive

gate crashes the door


amid the debris

the push pushes past 

chokey smoke roiling 

chaos halts at last 


Notice I said halt

not stop, end nor ceased

slow-motion station

lulls the ceaseless beast


I wish for pink stuff

to wash him away 

but this juggernaut 

is with me to stay. 


But that pink soap didn't work very well either, so I turn to my poems from whence comes some peace. 




Lisping in way-back rhyme


Dune of many steps

runs down to the lake

out to horizon 

underneath the wake


chromatic scale hues

twinkle in the sand

fairy microcosm

I held in my hand


to find my true north

I look to my lake

spirituality

awoken, wide awake


Mandela spinning

slideshow carousel

at Formica table 

known and loved so well


Here's an old photo

but it's new to me

a fat gawky kid

at home by the sea


silly weird  haircut

where long tresses fell

sacrificed to a

god jealous as hell


look at the picture

pretend it's not me

examine closer

now what do I see 


just a little girl

unposed candid peek

not photogenic 

nor a circus freak 


hard to unsee self

without eye of mind

past mental images

so cruel and unkind


I saw different 

I saw inside out

Still can't envision

what I was about


wonder what she saw

squint-eyed in the sun 

blinded by the night

that made the tears run


In elemental swim

building forts in sand

chatters to herself

in this long-ago land


two missing front teeth 

jack-o-lantern smile

chubby cheek chipmunk,

lisp with me awhile?


natter with grandkids

but her I can't reach

funny little sand crab

playing on my beach


I could leave a note

scrawled along the lake

I should warn my girl

of pain and heartbreak 


I'll leave her happy

stick writing in sand

grains of tomorrow

falling through her hand


my hand. 







This is TOWR Radio with an update on the hostage situation


(beep,beep,beep, this is Capt. Charon of the Camelot river rescue, coming to you from TOWR radio with live updates in the hostage situation. We are receiving the lady's messages but some interference in the signal seems to be causing her not to receive ours. We will keep you posted on the status of her release. Meanwhile this is the transcript of messages so far...)


caught in a FOG trap

fear, obligation, guilt

endlessly weaving  

nightmare patchwork quilt


scared by dream scars

so much I must do

with grains running out

I haven't any clue


make bricks without straw

gold from straw to spin

progress sabotaged 

must begin again


dogged by their chaos 

demands left and right

tasks without an end

sleepless Shalott night


got my foot stuck fast

in quicksanded blight

sucking me under 

no more will to fight


carry it alone

no one seems to see

pulled down by my

old man and the sea


tried new SOS 

and the old CQD

no life raft sent to

come and rescue me


guess it's just me with

my own life to save

rescue swim out of

choking riptide wave 


but t'was ever thus

in and out of years

cries for help falling

on mute and deaf ears


so you quit crying

give up and give in

why even bother

they will always win 


so damned used to

making do and mend

used up and worn out 

to the bloody end



do not dare to stop 

when they have died out 

voices in my head 

always rave and shout 


beasts long devoured 

by conquering worm 

still ever hungry 

devour me in turn


dementors deposed

yet my "loving" kin

still bang on my brain

till I let them in. 


new voices say I 

could turn them away

nothing stopping me

no longer kept at bay


and yet...


cage bars rusted through

still bind and hold me

self-restrained prison

locked by memory 





couldn't see tower's

ephemerality

from inside out it

looks like walls to me


turns out it's just me 

can unbolt the door

let friend ferryman 

help me to the shore 


always the gentleman

allows me the lead

loving kindness goes

beyond word to deed



softly, milady

will you take my arm?

ever holding held 

keeping safe from harm

 Hallelujah!

(Thanks for tuning in to TOWR Radio! Safe journeys on the STYX airwaves. )







First Responder to the Dead





Charon is my rock

though I can't say why

Hero ferryman

lifeboat in tie-dye


that's how I see him

helmet on his head

a first responder 

to those who are dead


living have saviors

patron saints galore 

but the drown-girl needs 

a friend at the shore


lifeboat's not the word

for this charnel ark 

passengers deceased 

he ain't afraid of the dark


ain't afraid of nothing 

prince nor principality

just keeps on vaping

lime serenity 


his job's not rescue 

it's too late for that

he's the soul finder 

in a searchlight hat


seen him depicted as

skeleton crew of one

poling his barge to

Elysian night sun


I like him in rags

coat of many hues

mama made for him?

with holes in both shoes


so many ferried 

safely cross the flow

looking forward to

wherever it is I go


many black and white

know to heaven they ride

color me humbly grey

moonlit starry-eyed  


they say garments washed

come out white as snow

in the blood of lamb

when upward we go

 

could it be we all

view what we wanna see

visions of ourselves 

as we'd like to be?


maybe I'm mystic 

in glass darkly see

what I know for sure

mine's a mystery 


I find strange comfort 

in insecurity 

it's cock-assurance that 

destabilizes me. 


does it really matter

how I start or end

just so I land in 

the boat of my friend


I find peace in rags

of Captain Charon

unfamiliar safety 

the girl and her boatman


cuz death's just a stop

on a long steam train

glory-bound platform

in Michigan dune rain                                                                                                 


and this is one stop

(the lady of Shalott is still signaling BTW. So keep tuning in to TOWR radio for updates. He rescued me, so there's hope for her.)




That's what I get for going where my heart led


a song my grandad loved 

the fixer not the printer man

"let the lower lights be burning" 

spins round my mind again 


God's got the Fresnel lens

we tend lights on shore

so sinking sailors

will struggle no more


grandson Milo resonates

true son of his Opi

lighthouse loving boy

gets my opaque story


minding the small lights

to save the seamen

but what about women

struggle sinking again?


who saves the mermaids

accused of causing sin

called man-eaters yet 

it's us dying within


I'm the one sinking

yet they're quick to blame

with wagging fingers 

writing out my shame


hooked and the hook 

bewitched witches 

monstrous regiment 

embattled bitches


same old situation

we're ball-cock and chain

it's me draining yet you

don't hear me complain


wait on curse's fall

evil this way comes

blindly twiddling

ever pricking thumbs 


and so the sand drains 

counting down the hour

sightless sending SOS

from Shalott tower


For love of a man 

out upon a ride 

brought about doom 

split glass side to side 


was he gentlemen 

or fork-tongue thief

was he really worth 

the madness and grief? 


I don't know yet

access still denied

to Charon's taxi

across river wide  


"help" text sent long past

but 911 went dead

that's what I get for 

going where my heart led


no wonder she took the hard way out



(The poem's over but the story's not done yet, so stay tuned to this dial at TOWR radio, folks.) 



Crying in dots and dashes


inarticulate today

I write not by choice

skipping record stuck

searching for its voice


is it me heard or 

just me giving way 

to them in my ear

demanding their say?


If I talked back 

whatever to say

to shame in my head

to make them go away


have I ever had 

words that were mine?

did I just rehearse

their fed party line?


It's not them, I know

their babbling refrain

this backward spun song

is incoherent but sane


half-heard half forgot

like foggy dew tune

buried in shadow 

of lightning rune 


is that what calls from

priest hole in my brain

muted phantasm 

groaning out her pain?


my inner lady

in keep of Shalott

stranded at station

in town of Camelot


will they finally hear

keening caught mine deep 

like stranglehold choke

when you're sound asleep


guttural and gutted 

what a godawful sound

blue tick hound howl of

milady gagged and bound


babies speak in tears

no words but a cry 

I can't even weep 

it's useless to try 


I open my mouth

only croaks come out 

fish out of water

dying flops about 


so I think my call 

sent by telepathy 

tapping out Morse code

in towered CQD


no trust in rescue

from message bottled tight

I'll shine my SOS

from Shalott tonight


in dots and dashes 

across dragon moat

willing Charon to 

fetch zipline and boat


tune in to TOWR radio to hear whether he arrived in time 


or if she took the hard way home. 














Mercurochrome Burn


Mercurochrome burn

frying out my brain

heart and soul scorched

bleeding down the drain


agony never felt

when it was just me

harm to my beloved 

searing misery 


blinded by the blight

can't see a damn thing

only hear clang  of

funeral bells ring


Wanna bust out but

writhing just twists more

there is no exit

just a tomb sealed door


So I'll sit tight while 

you think you run loose

give you enough rope

you'll make your noose


I know you, demon

Saw you creeping there

cowardly  bully 

come out if you dare


lying traitor thief

biting at my mind

one day you'll be 

bit in your behind


think you're so cute 

but we're on to you

you show your evil

in everything you do


you loaded a bullet

you took careful aim

what you don't know is

that it bore your name


Your time is coming

you'll sign your own end

better watch your gun

has one for you, friend. 


not by my hand comes

not for me to do

no need to plot revenge 

you drank doom on you


Done but not over. 


And remember, "If you dig a grave for someone, dig yours too." 







Riffing for England


Part Two of Tea with Lime and Treacle (breaking the fourth wall, the author enters the verse)


Prue wide-eyed asleep

Clive sleeping off his mouse

child left to scuff shoes

in woodland playhouse


bored of her play

she smiling turned to me

offered remnants of

their funny little tea


mulberry decoction 

with notes of sweet lime

in cracked china cups

surprisingly sublime


with the meal over

without Clive and Prue

my shy little girl 

didn't know what to do


Shall we have a game?

hopefully, said she 

what shall we play in

my mind's reverie 


battledore and shuttlecock

can we play all night? 

(In American, bitte?)

Oh, badminton, yes 

I suppose that's alright. 


(we now continue this poem as a play between two voices, Author and Child)

C: Why is it bad mitten? 

A: I don't know. Wait, no it's bad-MINTON)

C: Was Mittens bad? Why?

A: No. I don't know. 

C: Or was she wearing mittens while bad?

A: Minton. 

C: Is that different?

A: Yes. In the US. Here, God only knows. 

C: Wouldn't that be hard? 

A: Would what be hard?

C: To play battledore in mittens. 

A: I would imagine so. Wait, mittens don't come into it. When is Prue going to wake up? I need a drink.)

C: My daddy says that a lot when we play. 

A: I believe it. What does you mummy say?

C: Where's my mother's-little-helper. What do you spose that means? She has Millie the upstairs parlor maid, Mrs. Cooke the housekeeper and Mrs. Holmes the Cook. And  Mr. Door the Butler.  And her lady's maid Needles. 

A: HAHAHAHAHA are those their real names? What's the footman called? Please tell me it's Foote. And the Groom is Groome?

C: No, Boot. And Driver. Say, are we going to play or just talk about servants? And you still haven't said who is mummy's helper. Or what your name is. Or why you're writing about me. 

(*still wiping eyes. So she caught on to that, did she?) 

A: No I'm sorry. My name is Marilisa. And to whom do I have the honor of addressing myself?

C: (rolling her tongue around the strange sounding name) M-ayyree-leesuh. Shouldn't you be Lady or Dame or Mrs. some-one-or-other?

A: I Should be a dame, for sure. But what I am is a Mrs. Mrs. Sachteleben. But I guess I'm just used to introducing myself by my first name. Especially with children. It's easier.) 

C: What's a first name? 

A: Sorry, Christian name, or given, I think you call it. But we still haven't been  properly introduced. How shall I call you?

C: (drawing herself up to her full 36 inches) I am Lady Marie (Mahree) Elise Catherine Frances Eugenie Charlotte Georgina Mont-joy. 

A: Well hello to all of you, my ladies! *many giggles* and what does milady prefer to be called?

C: Poppy! 

A: Perfect. Why may I ask?

C: I just like it. 

A: Fair enough. I tried to get people to call me Ginger like Gilligan's Island, when they couldn't pronounce my name. It didn't stick for a lot of reasons. But Poppy it is. Pleased to meet you!

C: What's Gillie-gun  Island? Is that like a Scottish gamekeeper? And what did you say your surname is, like Zachtuhlayben?

A: My god girl, spot on pronunciation! My own extended family gets it wrong. I see a career as professional interpreter for you! As for Gilligan we got a lot a splaining to do! You do have TV, right?

C: Tea Vea? Like tea I had with Prue? 

(I had forgotten she didn't know that I knew about her and Prue. Because I had written them into existence. And I didn't even know when I had set them. Judging by the mother's little helper references, it was sometime around when the Stones were a thing. But that's presupposing because that song was based on an older cultural drug phenomenon. And I'd not really looked at her dress, as in costume. 

So I did now and kiss-me-quick-and-go-my-hunny it was like 19-naughties or teens at a guess. Maybe older. How did I miss that? Do a mental rewind-reset and fast. 

A: Yes, Poppy, Tea Vea is bevvie you can drink. It's also form of transportation, kind of like a dirigible or a aeroplane. Or even a locomotive which takes a train back to the station it came from.

C: *beginning to look at my attire* You don't come from now time do you? You come from a time that has been or has yet to come. 

A: It would seem so --and Sharp girl! I knew there was a reason I should like you. 

(thought bubble here, should I say where I'm from or ask her where she's from? Would that warp the time-shift continuum thingy?)


C: So you do know me? How? (ow, ow, echo, echo, echo)

(what is with the weird reverb going on here?)  

A: I don't know if do. But I'm glad I do! Now how about some Battledore and Shuttlecock, Poppy? And yes, we can play all night. 

C: Yippee! 

(to be continued)









Tea with lime and treacle


Once upon a ticky-tack

a pocket full of gin

here we come wassailing

won't you let us in?


fickle crickle swamp song

where moose and kittens play

twirling round jewelry box

the ballerina at bay


no time for counting 

nor making words come out right

let verses go sailing

in Honah-Lee tonight 


no more sense making 

I'm sick of clarity

pomp and pomposity

Want some mulberry tea?


You shall be mother 

I poured out last time

Let us raise pinkies 

skip lemon and try lime


oh yes please, and treacle

said my dolly Prue

I love how you think

my good friend and true



(Prue can never get enough treacle. Or rhubarb sauce on scones.) 


went rummaging we two

in nursery larder found

half-eaten Hob-Nobs

when Nanny wasn't around


along with the mud pies

we'd put in to bake

a vase of stolen flowers

too bad there was no cake


Clive the cat brought a 

dish to pass of mouse deceased

not to hurt his feelings 

we added it to the feast


(on an old plate which 

we neither of us touched. 

And which was for the best as 

Clive was feeling a bit growly-possessive 

so we left him to it)


Anthrax be damned. 

sick the author feels 

at this unorthodox tea

don't mention jellied eels


Tea with lime and treacle

the grown-ups scoffed at us

what a daft thing to play

just preposterous 


Probably best not to

bring up Clive's repast 

bring it up is what 

they'll do and do it fast


they were right of course

a mad hatter recipe 

was quite horrendous 

Our Monstrosi-Tea


but we et (sans mouse)

Just to prove them wrong

when did grownups cease

to hear their child song? 


Now Prue feels poorly

so she was laid to rest (sleep!)

in pine needle counterpane

prayed her soul to keep


now I'm all alone

don't know what to do 

I should jolly well 

like to play with you. 


(to be continued)

Cetirizine daydreams


Cetirizine daydream
Here we go again 
Round the tilt-a-whirl
Of KAOS back when 

Blue Benzedrine 
Pink amphetamine 
Amped up nightmares
fun ones end in -ine

Day-glo insanity 
something I can drink? 
Vengeance best served cold? 
When pushed to the brink? 

Wrinkled like a shirt 
Set on tumble dry 
Rainbow blurred by
A speck in my eye

Uniformi-tea
Force-fed nasal drip
Don't step out of line
Swallow or gag on it 

What's the use of choice? 
If there's only one to choose 
Only thing to ask 
Is which lance to use 

This is a bleak one
got no resolving chord
no happy ending
wish I could afford 

We've ground to a halt
a rest with no end 
a change as good as
no turn but a bend

Some go down to ships
some ride the storm out
I verse my angst in 
pillow muffled shout


--thanks for reading. Do drop in, anytime you need my grayer shade of pale












Leave the moonlight on for me


well look who's back

Omi and Opi

flew in from dreamland

settled in our tree


nested by the bird seed

grampa always hid 

he knew the good spots

so of course they did!


downy woodpeckers

you may call these things

they're my elder sparks

grand spirits with wings


Once upon a memory

I'd dream of we three

walking by our big lake

my granddad and me


to their eternal rest 

they were finally sent

but came back to visit

from wherever they went


All tears dried we hear

but if heaven's so swell

then tell me why them

leaving hurts like hell? 


Maybe they knew I 

couldn't cope alone

didn't want to leave me

again on my own


so they came each night

then they had to leave

these nocturnal visits 

always made me grieve


it must be hard when

earthlings hold you tight

but I was stuck too 

in a death grip plight


then one night they said

I must let them go

perhaps it hurt them

to see me hurt so 


so I did so they did

cease to visit me

must have been ready

for I didn't even see


they live in recall

verses woven in foam

yet it seems they found

a new place to call home


I hang a feeder

in the backyard tree

like they always did

where birds love to be


when the seed runs out

they scold and nag me

they keep on dining 

when I walk to the tree


we startle each other

it's quite an affray 

we laugh and beg pardon

he never flies away


perched supervising

feeder filling time 

I fully comprehend

his mute pantomime


and in the evening

when birds go to bed

I still see friendly 

shade shadows in my head


elder sparks hover

in twilight requiem

I daren't blink or move

lest I might miss them


these feathered fairies 

whatever they may be

neither fact nor fiction

still drop in on me 


now we've gone gentler 

in dark night of soul

in fairy fragments 

I find full-moon whole


a back dune meander

Elysian daydreams 

driftwood and fireflies

Tlingit moonbeams


now play hide and seek

for grandpa is silly 

when the moon is new 

no light we can see 


like he always did 

bidding me goodnight

began to shut the door

thereby dousing the light


it was just pretend 

just so I would howl

always left it open

my dear wise old owl


sacred was the ritual 

bed bugs and sleep tight

moonshine wish kisses

hugs with all our might


my elders sparks still 

twinkle for us to see

never shut the door and

leave the moonlight on for me




Panic Attack Ack-Ack


deep vein thrombosis

throbs through my whole

shell shock reverberates

shockwaves in my soul


musty sweet sickness 

I know this of old 

Tupperware bowl of

moldy oatmeal stone cold


gut lurching forward in

backward high-speed train 

elevator major lift  

minor fall migraine


crash land on reentry

rank, dank memory

rag rug pulled away

rage storm drowning me


panic attack ack-ack

mind's machine gun nest

can't find my gas mask

for air raid warden test


this ain't no test nor

car backfire sound

my heart knows the drill

of sucker punch pound 


world without an end

they are mad again

me in the crosshairs

cue the great amen


comes the fusilade

flak- ack-ack attack

scapegoat in the middle

no one has my back


angry fingers drum

a morse code of shame

in military tattoo

stenciled on my brain


blindside blindman's bluff

family ambush game

everyone playing

pass the buck and blame


in clown monkey band 

chimp on calliope

harpy harpsicord 

what a travesty


dying but never done

death by 1000 jeers

hurts in ageless pain

I've cried out of tears


that's my legacy 

left in the will 

pocketful of empty

such a sour pill 


it's some consolation

can't miss what I had not

and I just don't care

which oddly says a lot 


Yes we've no patience

for nonsense today

just stupid head games

I don't want to play


Then Ack-ack subsides

like lake into shore

all quiet on this front

I could open the door...


(we now present the volta)


what to my wondering 

eyes should appear 

a cloud of witnesses 

who holding held me dear


waiting in the wings

for their entrance bell

the new ones to love

past ones loved so well


Ave, elder sparks 

I see your dim-bright

shadow fairies hover

hidden in plain sight


Time to free my Tao 

and scrub clean the pain

in Babylon river

and Lake Michigan rain


















Narnian Reverie: Or Moishe Requires his Tea


Mrs. Bombastic

A tisket, a tasket 

trailing mist ribbons

from her Easter basket


midsummer moonshine

mittens lost and found

then lost again by

kittens fiddling around


glowworm orb observes

green cheese moon man land

sing hey diddle diddle

to feline fiddler band


silently frolicking

Bastet hearth deities

Bombay amber eyes

Mord and Moishe kitties


Lunar Musicians

their mute jazz band wails

reflect harvest moon in

patent black coat and tails


larking in grayscale

hinterland twilight

no time for sleep in

mystic magic night 


to color in vision

the painter brings her brush

I brought my pen to

poem ebullient hush


in honeycomb'd verses

weaving fabled spells

of sand covered kingdoms

inside wishing wells


once upon a rhyming

celestial story time

Tlingit elder waltz in

wild mountain thyme


Puss tippling catnip

Me, my jug of wine

a loaf and he beside 

were paradise mine


till rain sneaks in on

Mist-blue kitty toes

Ohio's bank ore'flow

where pussywillow grows


wither shall we find

sweet sheltering repose?

pretty words blurred by 

Windy Wendigos 


my ballet shoes soiled

they will surely scold 

wine turned to water

Moishe's feet are cold 


Just we two must fend

Mord wisely went to bed

dreaming of cat treats

dancing in his head


but soft what light shines

In yon window faithfully

his front yard post light

calling Moishe and me?


nope, just me revolving

round memory carousel

kitchen table slideshow

where heaven hurts like hell


in recall I forget

wine tumbled on the floor

crying, holding tighter 

just makes me lose more


Fact.  


the elders have moved

ever farther away

I only see and hear 

in grandkids at play. 


I don't even dream about them anymore. 


yet our beloved birds

hover o're me now 

tiny elder sparks

my presence they allow


This bears more pondering. 

I'll write on this more. 

I'll think on this more. 

I'll drink on this more. 


Meanwhile, cue Narnian Reverie. Because Moishe's toes are freezing and he requires his tea. 

 

A sardine toast feast

Tumnus laid for we

riding out the storm

the faun, the cat and me


sip from fairy tea cups

of dogwood petal pink

with fern frond saucers 

gin and printer's ink 


(there it is...)


Just a god and his girl

our silly ancient ways

strolling down Eden

and in and out of days


with love to Skinny Ape who introduced me to the faun. 


 

Rescue Swim Sonnet


fallow lie the fields

of grim Athenry 

yes, we have no milk 

the cow has run dry 


those perishing below

from her window sees

but does she even hear

their heart-twisting pleas?


Lady of Shalott 

wrings out tears like rain

cries for herself not 

children with no grain 


what use is crying 

with no song to say 

the doom is upon her

she's clean sailed away


lonely is our lady 

of towered misery

drowning in blossoms

in boat off the quay 


Such a golden waste 

bright sparkler divine

Makes me consider 

the spark that is mine


methinks as I dwell

in my quirky rhyme 

about brevity of 

the tango with time


to the death dicers 

who flirt with the grave

a word of caution 

before the final wave  


spare a thought for those

leaving leaves behind 

when contemplating 

a darker shade of mind


as for me, I'll wear

my 24-karat glow

done with silence now

time to tell and show 


no more colors hid

under basket confine

time to blow the top off 

this little light of mine


I quit dancing to

the puppet masters tune

flip the script face up

rewrite my own rune 


I've a debt to let 

my bright and dark shine

keening out me to 

my young still in line. 


cut loose choke holders

get my priorities straight

cut free loaders adrift

release their dead weight


this is both swan song

and coming-out ball

parting with death dance

as life to life calls

 

I'm harkening to

those truly in need 

by cutting out takers 

I give givers the lead


life ring thrown back

to drowning gone before

rescue swim sonnet 

pulling toward shore


my pay it forward

filling shoes they outgrew

what good they gave

the only kindness I knew


in parched earth vale

better to light a spark

than waste golden dreams

by cursing the dark


Pax Vobiscum. 

Lady of Shalott Blues in B-flat


Grade eff off key day

make the beast go away

can't shake mood today

only eerie meters play


got the doom on me

bagpiping the tune 

Lady of Shalott blues

in B-flat river gloom 


blue moon of Camelot

Keep on shining gloam

from Ohio's mud banks

Charon ferries me home


blue veined hands grasp

Sun's spotted yellow chill

permafrosted core

holds the ice queen still



empty orb hollowed 

dull daylights retract

bleakest black and blue 

prism fragments refract


needle nosed lances 

on tiny aimed shard

finds a clear target

hits tender heart hard


sun without no shine

burns like saccharine

jeering and jesting 

of a fake friend's grin


forced rumination

gnaws in stranglehold

peas porridge stewed in

the pot nine days old 


banjo nerves jangle

in arthritic knot

Discordant twangle

my C minor Camelot 


I finally spoke her name


did the unthinkable

on this day of days

parted company with

traditional ways


it's not what I did

it's what I didn't do

insignificant 

it may seem to you 


for once didn't go

I stayed home in bed

first time in decades I

heard my pain instead


her voice silenced since

forever long time

always playing my

"I'm fine" pantomime


and I power on

mutely holding all

load-bearing lady 

always takes the fall


this sounds selfish, or

maybe just I hear

old haranguing voices

clanging in my ear


stop showing off, you

just want sympathy

you're too sensitive 

in your pity party 


pain was inconvenient

needs were always blamed

tired was verboten

sick was ignored or shamed


And so I shut down

I sucked up my pain

like a vacuum or 

a spiraling drain 


of course it spiraled

screwed itself down tight 

frozen in my core 

clamped like jaw bite 


hand over a mouth

to silence a scream 

but she was too loud 

especially in dream 


"She" is a fairy 

pain she helps me see

she's much more friend than

they ever were to me


she starts and ends day 

and punctuates night

though I keep her at bay

still she shines her light


no matter how tight 

I put on her lid 

my bottled genie 

refuses to stay hid 


she interrupts my sleep 

sounds back alarm bell 

if I don't heed she makes

other parts hurt as well


I should thank her for

waking me in pain

so I stop heeding 

shaming in my brain


it's them I should ignore

voices in my my head

they get louder too

when I go to bed


not that I'm expected

to hurt silent be

by the folks I love

who also love me

 

they aren't the problem

the shame lives in me

in harm from people 

I once called  family 


so today I did

something differently 

gagged the voices to  

hear the wise fairy 


how did it feel to 

finally speak her name

I don't know yet 

some is still the same


it'll take time and work

to gag shame for good 

we'll do it together

in our safe fairy wood 




Where words cannot go


spaces, voids and places 

with no way to name

boundless sensation

no picture to frame


dwell in my deepness

marrow of my soul 

rooted in heartwood

parts in umbilical whole


Some radiate heaven

paradise past tell

some mutely suffer 

agony like hell


ache like astronaut 

clinging by eyelash thread

to a mother ship

where the crew is dead


joy like fairy lights

that in my yard glow

beaming out a hope

where no word can go


vacuum sealed sound

concentric circles fall

collapsing on themselves

mute conical wall


formless thoughts and faces

flit in nightmares dreamed

but when I catch them

they're not what they seemed


Yet they're there and real

deep in secret well 

intangible tangent

no seer can foretell


heard but unspoken

penned in invisible ink

beyond my line of sight

I miss them when I blink 


like wee red spiders

or tiny dust mites 

you only know he's been

by his painful bites


But for all the bad

that falls on deaf ears

much voiceless delight

my spirit still hears


with bone deep reverb

sound without volume

too low for sonar 

in full body hymn


down below bottom 

more felt than heard

past hell's 7 layer salad

this loudly silent word


a void that sat vacant

is filled to the brim

flooding with light 

corners that were dim


pulsing each heartbeat

the psyche's EKG

sung in living color

by astral choir in me



Amen. 









Oh Captain, my captain dear...


monarch in residence

presiding from a tree

marooned on the beach

my driftwood deity


pirate king's throne on

schist striated sands

black to tan ombre

in mica and quartz bands


crowned with flowers

woven by his queen

in woodland frolics

midsummer's daydream 


bandana flag waves

like ruby red sail

from back pocket of

blue jeaned admiral 


Adonis adorned 

master of the sea

exhales cigarette

Puff in Honalee


Ponders the great lake

horizons deep and wide

muses how far it is

to the other side


Captain, my captain

permission to board?

this one man vessel 

of the barefoot milord


I'll man the mainsail

you the rudder steer

there's cheese to share and

an icebox of beer


I think on such as these

as the years hit 44

riding each tomorrow

to reach the far shore


But it's not the start

nor the ending bells

but in-between times 

is where living dwells


we've many landings

memories yet to make 

before our final bow

and curtain call take


So rev this tramp steamer

and take 'er out to sea

I'll ride with you, luv

to infinity. 





(reflections upon a random snapshot taken by me of my boy, circa, 1983-ish)




When the Wind's in the Wendigo



the wind's in the wendigo

at my achy breaky lake

vision found and lost

in a sick headache 


upside wrong way up

right side upside down 

here we go again

round the Mary-go-round 


feel a spiral coming 

migraine black and blue

brain cacophony 

no idea what to do


Make the bad man stop

try to stem the tide

with a goldfish net

with holes way too wide


all my hard work ruined

painting washed away

shushed imagination

where antelope did play


Chilkoot befuddled

muddy rainbow puddled

Tlingit blanket frayed

Seed beads all muddled


The wind's in the wendigo

my lovely fine pine time 

Dissolved by acid rain 

One more nightmare, mine


The end of the beginning...

Milo's (and Ariana's) tree fort



(I changed the name of this poem because we met the mom whose daughter built this fort, many moon ago. Thank you for sharing it, Ariana. This one's for you too). 


my grandson Milo and I

found a tree fort made of pine

near a school playground 

we thought it mighty fine


carefully he inspected 

another's house design

in ice-cream drip shorts

explored evergreen shrine 


Tipi-d tripod branches 

leaning companionably 

as friends on each other

just like Milo and me


we admired the needles

arranged upon the trees

prepping for the winter

to weather wind and freeze


He found moss growing

softly wild in the wood

upholstered a log chair

as great-great grampa would


Then he kindly invited

Omi to take a seat 

all pillowed in moss green

so I could rest my feet


we imagined a bedroom

"quite small" judged he

perhaps it was a closet

where the broom would be


The smell of the woods

lives in a fir cone

from forest by the beach

which he is taking home


a gestalt wonder feast

painted thistle and lime

marram trails to wander 

in a dune old as time


I shall dream tonight

of our cozy timber home

I know he treasures too

our shared lakeland roam. 


with love from Omi to Milo. 7.21.2026


Wear the Bay City Roller trousers and the damn tam-o-shanter too!



As the moons spiral by

and wrinkles in time, add

elder Omi repents some

missed chances I had


mummified by fear

wrapped tight in gotta bes

hampered by conventions

and will they judge me's?


their demands included

lots of work from me

yet excluded from perks

nor any reciprocity 


two sets of double standard

hats I didn't choose to wear

expectations handed down 

Burdens I never agreed to bear


Shrink-wrapped universe 

bespoke sizes too small

foreshortened horizon 

artificial fences too tall 


Too many vested interests

in the style cramped scapegoat

in muddy wedding dress

and tattered overcoat


I recant land-locked dreams

staying safe on the floor

shoulda punched the box out

and kicked down the door


too scared to smash ceilings 

for fear of falling glass

can't never did nothing 

by sitting on her ass


so locked doors remain

woodland trails untraipsed

too many effs given

so many not tasted grapes


Here's my advice to you

unsolicited though it be

you don't have to cower

learn a lesson from me


eat plums from the icebox

seize the ring of brass

fly your freak flag loud

don't let the parade pass


wear Bay City Roller trousers 

in Stewart tartan Blue

if dad says you look a fool

wear the tam-o-shanter too! 


in this game called being

you only get one shot

so take aim and make it

give it all you've got


play your cards to win

even if ya got a shitty hand

make your entrance with flair

strike up the kitchen band


The tilt-a-whirl will end

it's not that long a ride

you do the choosing of 

the direction of your stride


when the band's played out

when it's time to bid adieu

I hope you went with neon

and danced to your own kazoo


when Charron arrives

in ferry of tie-dyed hue

I wish blessed journeys

and Elysian fields for you


May you be met by

eternal arms open wide

may we all gather on 

Loch Lomand's bonny side







May all your by and bys be sweet


those were the days, in

Russian Dorogoj dlinnoju

around Formica table

mem'ry muted gray- blue


a doll-sized dwelling 

cramped trailer home

tiny shtetel paradise

micro, but all our own 


blowing kisses at the wind

making love and holy vow

promises to the future

benediction on the now


enough was a bounty

no room to store much

got by well on basics

lots of laughter and such


sad times there were, plus

mad with some bad

but boisterous joy was

mostly what we had


like the Lady of Shallot

the doom came only

when gloom was allowed 

to squat there rent-free


in a time when excess

was something to strive for

we enjoyed much muchness

behind our torn screen door


our abundance was us

such riches to behold

what larks, Pip, had we

a king's ransom untold 


I won't end on cant

Nor judgey sermon preach

but I will say joy

is well within reach


it lives in little things

nestles with the smalls

it's about priceless moments 

not what hangs on walls


May you find as we

deep gestalt bliss 

May you revel in

pure and kindly reminisce


May by and by's be sweet

May you take as you find

may the road greet you 

blest be the ties that bind










 

Who is me? No, seriously


When you look on past times
what is it that you see?
when I go back to back then
all I see is empty

No seriously. there is no thing
I recall with continuity
in my foggy effogged up
Forgotten memory

littered busted driftwood
Like Lake Michigan shore 
sacrificed on campfire show
woodland gods seen no more

campfire other kids enjoy
Me ever seeing, never seen
never heard till she screams 
and is hoarse from crying

scolded for saying
Feeling, needing, being
daring to exist after
her memory was wiped

of good clean memories
leaving only bad left to me
memory of the child erased
Tossed with the Christmas tree

For a kid who's been round the block
I contain so much within
I've been in so many places 
and so many places live in me

no evidence I was there
I never seem to stick
no address to call mine
no DNA baked in brick

The OG AI spirit digital
No bricks and mortar me
footprint-less, hands-free life
Incognito window to see

hacked, identity theft victim
Drive wiped but for the virus
poison lives in just me
And in what I have done to us

no picture on the wall 
Once but now all gone 
Landfill fodder now 
It's all gone and done

cataloging others' selves
Reaching out longing arms
Reaching arms touch empty
And then you just give up

never making contact with 
those that reach out to me
The perpetual disconnect
Guess it's what I'm supposed to be 

beamed up then forgotten
soul failed reintegration
behind two-way mirror trapped
So much for the great generation

a cyborg, an entity not permitted
humanity where the dream 
world is more real than 
reality. 


Lady of Cellophone


there's hunger and hunger

one will be filled soon

the other gnaws forever 

in a broken blue moon


I thirst for a love

that never shall be

the love of parents was

always denied to me


Hid with no one seeking

Lost and forever unfound

to transparent self-image

I'm quintessentially bound


That's how I see me 

hidden in plain sight 

don't know why or how

kept blinded by dark light


Mrs. Cellophane by name

and I can see right thru 

clearly no point to me

Can you see thru me too? 


All my innards on view

faults and failings on display

Vulnerabilities exposed 

to the sun's burning ray 


Where are the parents 

with the hat and sunscreen

to protect the little child 

making sure she's safe and seen?







 


This one is free-falling...




Once it starts it's over

this addictive syntax

can't help myself still 

rhyming, achoo, plus tax


And  I go down to ships

and ride again to hounds

just a lot of gibberish 

but I like the way it sounds


Homeric and Om-eric

my epic Omi tragicomedy 

I sink and think as I drink 

such a big lot of memory



how to explain so little 

that exists of past-tense me

it only tangentially lives

in my fractal multiplicity


In past verses I saw 

with semblance of clarity

but this one's going to places

With no framework to see


got no Alaska recall 

guiding my journey

grope frantically for hand rails

that aren't available to me


This one is free-falling 

no Michigan fine pine rhyme

no clue where it's heading 

will I finally crash this time?


I can't see the bottom nor 

the edges of trajectory

I'm shooting blind from the hip

to mix drinks metaphorically 


There has always been a vision

an encompassing to my rhyme 

Even if it changed direction 

it eventually got there with time


What scares the hell out of me

that I can't forecall the tune

I'm my own ghost writer   

I hope it will finish soon


Or do I? Another fine Mar product

the sexy kazoo key change...


If I'm honest I don't mind

this spirit writing in the lead

this poem is writing itself 

it's my job to shut up and heed


I  wonder when I read in the morn

after the wine has worn off 

will I see what I see now

or will I just headache and scoff


this free-flowing wine verse

is easier to write than the rest

the others are clumsy and exhausting

this one just flies off my chest


But for all the Walden existence

for all my Thoreau clarity 

in my ever transcendentalism 

I still seek some unity


Thank God for the family

the ones that I call mine

help me brother to bring this

into a state of sublime. 


I am weary with the speaking

talking with out saying a word

sonneting my hurt in poems 

I just finally want to be heard



Bargain basement dynasty




Porcelana Princess 

reclines on rug remnant 

in dime store bauble barge 

so much for refinement 


boatman poles the tune

of byzantine dreams

up dirty old man river 

not so romantic, it seems


Vaping Waffle Crisp

he takes in the scene

in Vivienne Westwood suit 

offers hit to the queen


Times are pretty bad when

slaves dress better than She

Pharoah's budget cuts 

leave only an old jalopy 


former litter bearers

in loud check sports coats

wheel and deal barges at

"Honest Ahmed's Used Boats"


blank are the kohl eyes

of the Nile's favored one

wearing purple Converse

hair dyed Luxor Sun


In Froot-Loop necklace

Chippy newsprint gown 

her cat dons the ermine 

heavy the head within crown


panting in bargain barge

in blazing river heat

under lapis lazuli sky

flaps her sales receipt


where's the damn slave

to fan me on the Nile

she now runs a cab stand

of taxi crocodile 


perhaps, you, garcon

boatman, man the fan

couldn't possible says he

I might ruin me tan


what's a girl to do

well that sucks, ho hum

leans back on rug scrap

cracks her bubble gum 


how boring to be a god

and worse nouveaux riche

this cash strapped deity 

is one hot irritable bitch


I'd fan my own fan

if only I knew the way

they don't teach these things

to the Daughter of the Day


I'm useless it appears

with nothing else to do

and all day long to do it

can I trade places with you?













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