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A Sweet Songbird

  To you that heard my whispers  across the ocean Felt my turmoil in your bones,  I felt your conflict beneath my feet like a stone Like a crackle in the air were your cries to me Do accept this frail rope of connection Not long enough  to swing anywhere Not strong enough  to pull you out of anything Just to know someone is there.   I'll listen for you, when I take my evening stroll I'll listen for the song of a sweet little bird..  Wings worn and weary How long have you crooned without being heard?  We that are being set alight like an errant weed, recognize the sounds of agony When you are settling in for tea And aching for company Save me a chair Know that I am there.  And I like it sweet. 


Chaos need not crackle and combust Or rage and shout It can ebb and flow like a river Silent in its destruction It splinters oh so delicately, unfurls like a spool of thread  It flutters just so  As a feather tossed and blown by the breeze, that from afar appears to be dancing  A peaceful calm sea That beneath rips and bubbles and churns underneath  It's the tip of an iceberg It's in a fetching smile, heartbroken all the while It doesn't always glare and hiss It carefully caresses your hair Leaving you dizzy with a kiss Don't ever dain to think all quiet is peace.  Peace is not something you keep.  Scratch and yell and tear If you dare.  If you must shatter, take all the plates with you  Peace is not only philosophy and scripture  Peace isn't passive, peace isn't weak It's unyielding and stronger than anything  It can't exist, I think, without conflict You're not breaking the peace  (you can't break what wasn't there)  But defending it,  And

Labour Pains

  A growing seed, yet to be field  So endure the pain, and frequent bouts of rain  The time is near Your labour and toil will not be in vain. 

Workless (Shakespeare Edition)

"Did Shakespeare have a job?  ...are they still hiring?"  -someone desperate Experience  : I once worked a solid hour trying to resize the date on a particular piece, and then I scrapped the whole piece and started all over. Skills  : Oh, my skills? Well, you see, I could say I have a knack for knowing where the comma goes Along the street where I take my noon stroll Should my path intertwine with an old woman, manning a stall of fruit She sits smack upon the ground I reckon, in more ways than one To behold her is unpleasant To be her, all the more Her feet are soiled Her skin hardened by many days under the sun If she did at some whimsical moment, choose a life for herself I know, with strange certainty It wasn't this one And what of the young man, standing by the butcher block Shoulders beset with gloom Chopping and weighing meat?  Had he sat in school one significant day Sat up in his chair and exclaimed,  There! That's where I'll end up Callous,


"Did Shakespeare have a job? ... are they still hiring?" - someone desperate Experience : I once worked a solid hour trying to resize the date on a particular piece, and then I scrapped the whole piece and started all over. Skills : Oh, my skills? Well, you see, I could say I have a knack for knowing where the comma goes. Walking down the street, there's a woman  to my left, selling fruit She's smack on the ground I reason, in more ways than one  It hurts to look at her,  soiled feet, hardened by the sun.  This wasn't the life she chose, was it?  And what of the young man, on my right chopping and weighing meat?  Did he sat in school one day,  snapped his fingers and said  That's it , that's my dream Callous, I am not It occurs to me there are ends to meet And mouths to feed I'm just afraid, of my dreams dying  a slow and painful death The path of success feels like a subtle threat Of anguish, of regret And yet, time is running out

Apology Letter To My Hair

It didn't feel like love at first,  maybe an itch A restlessness in my salon chair I was nineteen  and my mother had just instructed the hairdresser to fix my hair.  There was something eerily familiar about this scene: The tools and scissors  Gloves A chemical smell And clinical hands  We sat in line like patients awaiting treatment And how I wanted to be healed, to look like the girls in the magazines.  For the boy I liked to think I was pretty.  And then, at last Silky soft and straight  It slipped through my fingers,  it flowed down my neck It did what I said But deep down I knew ,  I knew who I was.  Wild and untamed  And I couldn't be contained with a container of relaxer cream.  The real me, hiding in the edges,  waiting for safety  She'd creep out soon, by Tuesday next week It's admirable, really How she rebelled again and again It struck me then, she didn't want to be fixed I kept going to the doctor's office  when I wasn't sick.  Except ashamed, re

High Note

Lyrics: Verse 1 Hey, God  If I've any prayer to pray Any request to require of you this endless, aimless day God, I ask for nothing  but that you  Give my heart a song to sing Bridge Just to carry me through...  A gentle hymn A simple tune,  Of violin and soft flute.  Verse 2 Give my heart a song to sing It very well may be  that my worries continue to wage war with me.  And my enemies enrage me endlessly That anxiety attacks again And fears fight me fiercely  That my struggles are far from the end  Bridge 2 Still, on this I depend My face will not be bruised  so long as it looks upon you  My heart will dance So long as it sits in your hand.  Give my heart a song to sing    


As though I am likely to forget  not crawling on my hands and knees  to drag in a single breath, of fresh air  So much is pressing on me, weighing  down on my chest  What will I do with my life?  Which card shall I play next?  If anything, ask me to breathe LESS  Less .   

Beach Day

Strolling on the salty sea shore,  slippery smooth sand sinks and shifts As the tantalizing tide tickles our toes.  Lovely ladies laze on loungers,  legs laid low.  Beach bums bathe before sunrise.  Bright bikinis bustle in the breeze  as beach balls bounce by,  kicked by keen kids.  Fresh footprints form under firm flip flops.  Dock divers drop daringly in the deep wild waves whipped by wind.  Humid heat hangs over our heads,  holding our hats hostage.  Giddy giggly girls gush at gorgeous guys.  The guys gleefully gaze back.  Children chase the cunning crows that croon.  Pelicans perch upon palm trees.  All in all, an amazing afternoon... 

Imaginary Pen Pal - Pt. 4

14 June 1966   Dear S You never gave me a return address.  The world is vast and beautiful  As you guessed  But you are no less Dear S I've hung your letters up on my wall As proof that someone ever  cared for me at all. I want you to keep this one  tucked in your pocket.  I'm sorry it took this long  to find its way to you. See you soon, L
Sharon ,  Do you ever think of me When you bite into something sweet?  I remember, you know, how you loved  your treats.  I remember our tired forms making our way down the street, backpacks full and heavy. I remember your laugh, infrequent And light like a tinkle Oh how we giggled,  till our stomachs ached. Between the dusty shelves of the library, we held something too precious to break.  I wonder if you miss me at all When you walk down the same street Is there a void where my arm used to be?  But more frequently, I wonder if you hate me...  If in my efforts to tuck you into my chest,  I made you feel less.  If in my attempt to keep you in my world,  I reduced your worth.  Maybe I lead the way so long I didn't realize you hadn't followed.  Maybe I spoke too much in my effort to cheer you up.  If I'd stayed silent just a moment  I could have seen you, really seen you.  Not as a needy soul. But a whole being.  With an identity and personhood,  unattached to my hip.