All These Dots

The hardest thing to do
is to simplify what’s true
with all these dots, which
connect me to you.

An outline of a vision
on the eve, of this division
ink spots - galaxies,
a space away, and
a picture looms.

I turned a leaf,
a side unseen
then began to draw
these lines between.

All these dots,
with curves…
a puzzle in the end.

This sketch of what
could have been,
yet never seen
a cluster
of the stars between.

The hardest thing to do
is to simplify what’s true.

Regardless,
each dot connects me
to you.

Paint My Face

Image by Fee Easton

My poem entry for One Shoot Sunday, at One Stop Poetry

Unkempt, unwanted, un-me

Disheveled, perhaps is what “you” see

A train, fast-tracked - a life

with suits, that zoom on by

All this…, is behind me.

Three times, I tried

then three times more, and more

and more.

I brush my hair, and then my teeth

paint my face - you know, just in case

last but not least, a smoke or three

Hey! - Don’t judge me….

into a slip, a dress, my shoes…, - a mirror

No longer at my best…

Three times, I tried

then three times more, and more

and more….

Calloused feet with dirty toes

no shoes, no dress…, a slip, is all that’s left

oh, and me; a smudge in life, that’s all they see.

No longer do I care,

Shampoo…. yes,

with split ends and hassle free

Fuck you!

Who are you to judge me?

Three times, I tried, then….

…I can’t do it anymore.

Now I just paint my face,

you know - just in case.

A Wall

What is a wall,
what is a brick
Substance thick
I cannot breathe -
my vision blurred
I yell and yell,
no longer am I heard.

Slathered,
in-between the layers
dividing those who stare
the living veins of mortis
a rigor without a care.

Stoned and stained,
Higher, higher, higher,
when will it stop!
left splattered with distain
superior… above the pain -
It will not.

We assume,
that everyone knows -
what we know
a division at the top
built upon a foot
a leg[acy] of stone.

A wall, a wall a wall
no longer can I stretch
I cannot see beyond the tall.

Then I climbed
to look and see
beyond the media
beyond the me
and there it was…

Normalcy!

Just over the edge
a wall, of humanity.

Curtains which never fall

Image: "The Show Must Go On" by Jacob Lucas
Poem entry for One Shoot Sunday 06 March 2011, at One Stop Poetry

I cannot work without a script
I have no richness of stage, nor play
I have a director without a grip
I have no seats to project
I have only a tattered demise.

You can throw and cast and Impel
You have a surface and a shadow
You are surrounded by character
You have a stage beneath your feet.
You have your tallow shell - to project.

You are beyond your wits
You have nothing, not even a script.

I have an actor, who cannot dream
I see a vision, of what can be scene.

You have rust and fallen brick
You have rafters, bare as a vaudeville shtict

I see an actor commanding centre stage
You see nothing, as you have no vision
I see canvas everywhere, and the palette within the mind
You see nothing, nothing at all
I see a stage of life, full of dreams
You see nothing, but a stage, which has left

I see a door, open to possibilities
I see mortar between the bricks - and...,

I see curtains, which never fall.