July

Fireworks lit the sky
Laced with little lies,
I’m too dry-eyed to cry
Contemplating good-byes.

Are you still mad at me?

~N.

It is hanging on, uprooted and replanted for a third time. I am like this vine, with the appearance of being half dead deceptive. Life still flows through the dried out twigs, follow the path to green leaves and blooms.

The plant went to my sister’s in Salem, Ohio, when I moved into a high rise apartment building without any outdoor space of my own in Youngstown. She later moved to Michigan, left the plant with her son. Then my mother dug it up and brought it up after I bought a house on the south side. The vet helped her plant it near the concrete angel that, I assume, marks the grave of an unknown pet. And it is, despite appearance, hanging on… still alive.

I’ve yet to plant Mr. Marsberry, his ashes still in a can.

The clock ticks. Thanks for reading.

Stray Words #2

He parted seas and mounted dry, tapped into a dream. Wild horses grazed in green meadows, fed by a gentle stream. She rises, sighs consent with closed eyes as the eagle carries her away.

Blue-green, yellow tinged flames dance with the familiar clouds. Pink swirls into red.

Wednesday Poem

Fate hangs by threads
caught in a catch-22.
A misunderstanding between
financial powers that be
are eliminating my dreams.
But, who am I? Just a client.

Fruity booty wild fruit,
cowboy the Wild Irish Rose.
I’m too broke a bee for Jack
My stress is jacked, forget that
Babe, you lost me a while ago.

I have a bulldog fighting
a knight on a white stead,
communication clarification
and finally, a maybe resolution.

I’m singing the doxology
thinking of beading the Rosary.
But, oh my, sweet my, goodbye.

Was that the end?
Praying for extension.

Come on old man,
Can we make amends?
I miss my friend.

I always, always
frickin f****** cared
Blame the voice translator
For the frickin stars.

Be who you are…
And I am me, always me.
Still the same old me,
Fallible as can be.
I miss you, RJD.

Sweet Mother of Rose,
Thursday morning brings
complications to everything.
So I talk to walls and dead cats.
Come on babe, relax…
before you give yourself a stroke.

N.2016