CITY ISLAND LINES
Rainy days
Have a way of saying, ‘Stay’ Stay indoors, stay out of the way Let the weather do its work Cosy into a quiet nook Find comfort in a favorite book Rainy days Wrap us ‘round cups of tea As we watch wind whip through trees Locked inside Our day is night We long for just some light Rainy days Quench our desire To sit around a fire And after soaking soil and soul, Rainy days then sail away Inviting us back out to play 14 May 2019
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He was a cagey old codger, nipping and sipping from his flask.
Not enough to knock him off kilter, but just enough to keep an even keel. I’d pass him on the avenue of an afternoon and ask after his aunt. She was a wiry wily woman with her own well worn watering holes. ‘Ah, she’s right as rain,’ he’d sing, ‘First rate. Feelin’ fine and fiery!’ One day, as we intersected, I inquired as always. ‘Well, we had to wave her off,’ he winked. ‘Seems the bottle got the better of her. Now she’s boozing above.’ ‘Raisin' hell in heaven,’ he hiccupped and flicked his flask. Months later, I acknowledged his own absence as absolute, And I wondered when (but not why or where) he’d gone. Overcoming my insecurities
my biases Overcoming our differences our divisions Overcoming the distance the time Putting aside my pride my agenda Putting aside our reproach our discord Putting aside the darkeness the past Embracing my heart my home Embracing our union our unity Embracing the light the future Love will come over us And we will overcome 2 April 2019 I try to be
Still To feel serene To lose myself Find balance In the moment Equilibrium The moment passes Balance found Is lost Don’t feel too serene Still I try to be 26 Feb 2019 Together
Two hearts beat Two lips greet Two hips meet Two as one Then Two in one One living for two Two waiting for one Finally one becomes two And Two plus two equals three On her own at last.
He had slammed the door so hard that a hinge came loose. Like he had slammed her mother’s photo to the ground. Like he had slammed his hand against her face. On her own, again. She shuddered in the wake of his violent departure. She shivered in her bloodied T-shirt. She shrank in anticipation of his return. On her own, as usual. She swept up the broken frame and threw away the jagged fragments. She gingerly pressed a pack of frozen peas to her throbbing cheekbone. She sadly sipped the viscous dregs of his deserted beer. On her own, unexpectedly, She abandoned the last vestiges of faith in his love. She resolved to finally rescue herself. She mined the depleted ore of her own courage. On her own, purposefully, She plucked a creased and greasy flyer from under the mattress. She rescued her mother’s abused photo from the bin. She harvested a meager cash crop from his jacket pockets. On her own, patiently, She found a screwdriver in a kitchen drawer. She secured the displaced hinge and stroked the old wooden door. She quietly shut it behind her. She was unsure of what she was doing. She was unsure of where she was going. But she was sure that she would be better off On her own. 20 Feb 2018 **Published in The Avenue, Issue VII: Freedom, January 2022** election, selection, direction, distraction
faction, fiction (fake news?) opposing views, opposing truths disaffected youths, unconsidered roots boots on the ground, surrounded by the sound wound down, wound up uphill climb, downward spiral in our time, out of time 31 Oct 2017 What is Art?
Is it a part of us? Or does it stand apart? Is it artificial? Or without artifice? Is it a reflection, a reaction, a revolution? Art is a start In the right direction Toward self-expression and appreciation On blank pages and empty stages We sculpt our stories. Each life carefully (or carelessly) crafted. Each voice a note in the symphony, Each day a pixel in the picture, The canvas is humanity. Art is from the heart. Art is a part of us And we of it. 8 Aug 2017 |
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