With you

I close my eyes
As fever burns
Coursing through
I see you there
Not so far away
Yet I cannot be
Where I need to be
I cannot be
There with you.
The hands that heal
Will hold your force
As it moves through the hands
With light and life
To see you well
To feel you move
Free of the burden
Blood like a river
Moving past
The rocks that block.
I close my eyes and I am there
By your side
A daughters wish
To the light above
To see you through
To be by your side
Once more
But for now I wait
I send energy out
To see you smile
Once more
Another day
I will come
As my body betrays
At a time most needed
You are there
And I am here
And the saddest times
Are those spent apart today
Of absence
Of longing
Of ability to be
With you.

My mother is in for carotoid artery surgery this morning and I have a severe cold bug and cannot be there for her for fear of getting her sick. As I cough and sneeze, she is being healed by a surgeons hands. I send my energy out to stand in my stead, sad yet secure that she will be well once more. Asking for healing prayers this morning. Thank you my friends.

Hand made love

A child born

creation by hands of two

after the I do’s

held together with fragile threads

stitched through the winds of change and time.

Years pass in the blink of an eye

quickly like a hummingbirds wing

the moments flit by almost invisible

and recalled in sweet and sorrowful memories.

Half a century almost gone

and voices on lines quiver in a fear

of days to come

but they approach with or without our permission

and we stand helpless to stop the nature

of the progression of life.

Thoughts of strength sent across the universe,

a breath in and out filled with

trepidation and positiveness,

though both do not compliment each other

in an all or nothing thought,

the belief to know that good will come

manifested in thoughts

yet still wavering a bit.

A hundred flowers of beauty I see

stitched with the delicate thread

wound in and out like the lives we lead

as we struggle to know and believe

in outcomes that suspend

our lives a bit longer,

that seek to show

our love a bit stronger,

and a tear of joy shed

when they say it is all good

you may go home now.

Off the ledge (NaPoWriMo day 21)

Hey, bout that thing in Soho,
Don’t you know
Heard the news
1-22-08
Sorry girl he ain’t doing too great,
The jokers dead
Went over a mountain
Done broke back now he’s over the ledge
Girl, he’s gone dead.
done slept messing with
oxycodone, hydrocodone, diazepam,
temazepam, alprazolam and doxylamine.
Laundry list of accidental death
On 421 Broome Street.
Heath is dead
Not anxious anymore,
Matilda will be waltzing
Solo at her wedding,
No knights tale to tell,
I cried in the Patriot,
Crying now.
check mate, out.
You knew he was an avid player right,
Chess and the ladies too,
But sleepless, drugged,
What the fuck do I do now man?
The jokers dead,
Over the ledge
Of this psychotic dark knight life.

my New York Poem based on Heath Ledger
This month was his birthday. (4-4-1979)
Death ( 1-22-2008)
Today’s prompt is to write a “New York School” poem using the recipe found here. The New York School is the name by which a group of poets that all lived in New York in the 1950s and 1960s. The most well-known members are Frank O’Hara, John Ashbery, and Kenneth Koch. Their poems are actually very different from one another, but many “New York School” poems display a sort of conversational tone, references to friends and to places in and around New York, humor, inclusion of pop culture, and a sense of the importance of art (visual, poetic, and otherwise). Here’s a fairly representative example.

In following the recipe, you can include as many (or as few) of the listed elements as you wish. Happy writing!
image