The red wheelbarrow

With apologies to W.C.W.

Sitting in a corner,

Long neglected

And rarely visited.

The metal wheel

Rusted red

The color of the cold hard clay

It rests upon.

Fire truck red slats

Now faded and peeling

In the summer’s sun.

Weeds grow tall around it

And embrace the barrow

Like the mother and child.

 

Once the gardener had hope

For this place,

And this wheelbarrow

Was her instrument of change.

Dreaming of moving

Her flower creations

To match her whimsy

Painting masterworks

With sprouting petals.

 

What happened to your dreams?

Your pretty plans?

They belong to another time

When hope sprang in this wild place

Like dew covered blossoms

Rejoicing in the morning’s sun.

Now she sits inside,

And drinks her wine,

Dreaming of another time.

 

Advertisements

Slipping 04/13/19

She slipped away

With the dying of the day

Facing east

Sun in the west

Darkness rising

From the ocean

Before her.

 

She felt peace and comfort.

Strange

Because all she ever wanted

Was excitement.

A tormented soul

No longer tormented

By demons of her own

Creation

And others who found

An empty shell

Where happiness

Once resided.

 

She was happy once

Way back before the

Needles,

And alcohol,

And depression.

 

So far away

And long ago.

Barely remembered

Until the slipping started.

Sitting under the

Japanese Maple

Listening to the birds

Feeling love

And safety

In that house

On Laurel Lane.

 

 

Exploding Heart 031519

I know that the human heart

houses no emotions

but why does it feel

like my chest is exploding

in slow motion

when you are near?

 

There is a coldness,

a separation,

as loneliness and distance

envelope and overcome me.

 

I am weak

powerless to move,

to turn away

until you look at me

and then I am flung to the depths

of my own despair

because there is nothing in your eyes.

 

There is no love or hate,

apathy or annoyance.

As if I don’t exist in your life

and I don’t exist in my own

conception of happiness.

 

So I stand alone,

chest exploded

dripping life

having not the energy to stand.

Body immobile

air like prison

hardly breathing

having not the energy to breathe.

 

As I fade,

fading slowly

fade away into the dark,

dark places of my soul.

Flower

A flower grew in a barren field.

She will probably break my heart tomorrow.

But today her scent is sweet

And her petals are desirous to touch.

 

Let It Go

There’s nothing to say.

What could you say?

So why say it?

Let it go.

 

A note from long ago.

Unanswered.

The writer waiting

For a response.

 

It’s all just words,

Just bluster.

Words, words, words

Written on the wind

Washed away with the rain.

Swirling down the drain.

Let it           go.

 

Breathe.

Let silence

Wash over you.

Through you.

Beyond you.

Let it

Go.

Keep me in your prayers

I recently hit a rough spot

In a life filled with rough spots.

In a weak moment,

I told an acquaintance.

She said, “I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

I’ll keep you in my prayers.

That is all she offered to me

In my sorrow and pain.

 

Now to some that is enough.

A social understanding

That we are all helpless

In a raging shit-storm.

So I will say this phrase

And we can part

And avoid any unpleasantness

And think there is hope.

 

To me, prayer was always

More for the one who prays

Than for the object of her prayers.

It makes that person focus on a problem

Until a solution appears

Which should eventually lead to an action.

 

“God, please give me that promotion.”

Eventually, you will realize that

Until you merit that promotion

By going the extra mile,

You don’t deserve that promotion.

And that will change you

Into someone who deserves the promotion.

 

But does God listen?

“Prayer hotline, this is God,

How can I help you?”

If God is God,

Shouldn’t he already know our sorrow?

Will he help us only if we ask?

And only if we ask in the right way?

Does that mean that God wants us to suffer?

Should a parent not feed her baby

If the baby doesn’t ask?

 

If God will listen to me, and not to you,

Does that mean that God favors

One person over another?

One group over another?

Does this mean the racists are right?

Of course not.

 

This is an ego trip,

If you think you have a direct

Hotline to an all powerful being.

Is God your errand boy

And you just give him a honey-do list?

 

If you must pray,

Ask for guidance

On how you could help,

And then help.

 

And the next time someone

Tells you their sorrow,

Ask, “How can I help?”

And then do what you can.

 

Prayer is not a substitute for action.

It is action.

 

“He prayeth best,

Who loveth best,

All things both great and small,

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all.”
-Cooleridge

Desperate Prayer

A grey cool day

In early winter.

A thick coating of clouds

Like a warm blanket

Cover the barren trees.

 

A man who has lost all hope

Turns to the sky

With outstretched arms

And fingers spread

To catch whatever falls.

Staring desperately

For a break of blue

Knowing that warmth exists

Beyond the cloak of clouds.

 

One day the curtains will slowly part

And he will see the truth

That laid hidden for so long

Then he will sleep

In eternal sleep

Under another blanket

Once more facing upward

To the father of all,

Who jealously guards his secrets.