Day: October 16, 2023

Raw emotional nightmare.

I wake up naked,

nothing protects me from the nightmare emotions

I’ve been dreaming of a dead man who is awarding prizes for poetry

I might be a winner but I don’t like it.

I thought he was dead I cried

But no they said that isn’t true although it’s now 57 years since he swallowed the aspirins

Where has he been, what has made him a judge a poetry but he never heard any?

Everybody’s looking he doesn’t seem embarrassed by his absence or his presence.

How can you be here like this I asked him but he smiled and did not speak,

He’s been following my blog from purgatory.

I tell him I don’t need you now, and when I did need you you failed me.

I am a different person now every cell in my body is different from what it was when you were alive.

So you’ve been reading poetry have you?

Is there a newspaper or a magazine that people up there could read or is it pure speculation.

I might have got an answer but I woke up.

When I’m dress my clothes seem to make a protective barrier around my heart so that the nightmare is less violence in its effect.

I’ve got my husband’s wool vest to give me aid. I hope he won’t come back as

Professor of mathematics because it was not do anything for me now yes he was envious.

A pitythat you can’t enjoy your own wifes talents.

We shouldn’t need to put others down to make ourselves feel better.

Unfortunately we do

Wings

Diagonal streams now stripe the windowpane
And in them, tiny insects drown and die.
Unexpected ,sudden rain has come.
Those escape who have the wings to fly.

No angels were seen peering at my room
No doubt they have their Sunday wings to press.
No camera ,even with psychotic zoom,
Can catch an angel while she is undressed.

Now the rain has dried and all is sweet
I tend to houseplants standing by the door.
By good luck these houseplants never bleep.
Only in the real world do they flower.

Bleeps and pings are not a natural sound.
But to the artificial we will bound.

Leaves upon a tree

We are little leaves upon the tree
We never did control our tiny worlds
The tree of life; its power, its mystery

With metaphor, it’s easier to see
Life is tender, see each leaf unfurl.
We are tiny leaves upon the tree

Singing in the sun we seem to be
Full of joy until the storm winds swirl
The tree of life; what power, what mystery

Extinguished candles smoke at Tenebrae
We are blown to death however bold
We are hapless leaves upon the tree

Thus we sacrifice to God uncertainly
Yet as the wars continue, we grow cold
The tree of life; what power, what mystery

Who has dropped us from the hands that hold?
Who has stolen certainty untold?
We are little leaves upon the tree
The tree of life; what power, what mystery