5-7-5 Contemplation (III)

This trajectory
is awkward and out of joint;
feelings wash over me.


This feeling swells up
from my gut into the flesh
of my heart. Tears drop.


Pages stacked, one on
top of the other; a mere work.
A labor of love.


The window closes;
slow ascent. Then, opaque blockage.
Motion ceases; pause.


Sitting still, stuck with
wonder and confusion here.
I do not know…*sigh


Refresh, looks, searches…
Something new, something telling.
Effort returns void.


The ease at which the
words pour out in connected
thoughts…like I am home.


I cannot do this–
insurmountable demand.
Hear beat, warm feel; yields.


A soul knows a soul?
Unforgettable knowing…
A soul knows a soul.


Uneven terrain laid
out before my trepid steps.
Left foot, right foot; blind.


I’ve got this, I’ve got…
(I don’t know how to do this!)
…this, I’ve got this, I’ve got this.

5-7-5 Contemplation (II)

The damp remains here.
Memories swirl; images
retain what was there.


the air shifted, moved, split, and
transformed forever.


It was familiar,
a known yet unknown and known.
Time’s repetition.


Curves formed, eyes tracing–
soothing loveliness embraced…
soul remembering.


Unknowing cleavedness–
separate, emancipate–
deep impression left.


Smells, sounds, senses dance;
finger tips remember well
the now unknown known.


Seeking, searching…found;
Inside, outside, up and down found.
Sought, searched…can’t unfind.


Words like film play for
the eye of the mind–recall.
Can’t ever unsee them.


Thoughtless, pointless speech.
Words on my doorstep boxed neat.
Gift I’m forced to keep.


Careless utterance–
lacking any prethinking–
my kingdom leveled.

5-7-5 Contemplation

The eraser rubs,
and dark lines fade to nothing;
memory vanished.


Sound proof box holds tight;
Scream and shout but yet nothing.
Words fall to the ground.


Pieces on the board,
moved about quickly; costly.
A pawn moved aside.


Broom sweeps up the mess,
pieces and particles move;
nothing remains now.


The cord is pulled taut;
the bag is carried away.
No one knows to where.




Total attention.
One in a million: special.
Millions of one: common.


A mighty wave engulfs,
ensues, pursues, overtakes;
ebbing: abandons.


Terracotta pot
in hands sure and steady: safe;
in foolish: mere dust.


Tremors come first and
then the ground opens up and swallows.
Why did feet stand still?


Rocks misused and thrown–
smallest to biggest: brutal.
The collection grows.

There’s a Structure.

There’s a structure;

It exists it’s on its own.

It exists. Trust me.

It exists.

I wish you could see…

…The pain inside me.

…The structure…

The Structure is a number

A number is a symbol; which

Represents a substance;

And Substance provides for need.


I am me

What provision meets need?

A substance clear and thick?

Something against you can kick?

A challenge and a crisis?

(What rhymes with crisis?)

Won’t anyone take the time to see…

What’s slowly consuming me?

Substance as a weapon

Used to abuse and to shame;

Stealing your reputation and your name.

The very thing that smiles as you kneel

Naked in the disgrace you feel.

I’ll never forget that look,

You never fucking forsook.

Substance as nothing and absence.

That silence and that smirk,

That “I’m-not-seeing-this” look.

Brings the most violent blow

Rendering substance to flow.

I cringe at your name and your mention

Just the mere thought is mental detention.

Take this for what it’s worth

There’s a structure, it exists.

On its own, it definitely exists.

Trust me, it exists, I wish you’d understand;

You’re nothing but a pawn in its capable hand.

There’s a structure; it exists on its very own;

It exists. I know you see it; to you it’s known.


This beast knows no limits.

it can penetrate anything and

From anywhere. Debilitating.

Everything is fine and then none of it is.

Here I am

there I am

There I went

Here it is

Ravaging over my mind and my body

Doing what it wants with me; no regard…

Tossing and turning me about with control;

Mind burdened with plaguing toxic thoughts. Deadly

It becomes something beyond me.

Demanding, yearning, reaching,…striving.

Caught in the trap of itself, over and over…

Pulled in to its vortex, the black-hole consuming me.

Relentlessness is this scene, in this place all just is.

Then in the quiet there is this:

The differentiation of quiet.

All is in this indefinable infinite space

In this place there is and there is not.

Insecurity knows no siblings; knows no friends.

The sentence of doom falls heavy on this fragile

Being of flesh and bone lacking the will to fight.

Too exhausted to fight against this reality of mine,

Which is this beast, the reality of insecurity.

It haunts me and cloaks me, like some medical

reprotective procedure, a reverse circumcision…

Insecurity; youareitsanditisyours.






The Big Engine Who Thought She Could Not

There was once a big engine that could, so she thought.

Until, one day, she decided she definitely could not.

Her eyes traveled along the track up the great, big hill.

The daunting task engulfed her; steam puffs went still.

She grit her teeth and tried to gather from inside,

But the biggest problem was that her fire had died.

All alone on her track and without support to be found,

Her momentum slowed, then her wheels made no sound.

They stopped rolling forward; they went completely dead on the track.

All the work and the fight had worn her thin; she felt her morale slack.

An incredible exhaustion seized upon her tired frame fast

Until she started rolling backward, her forward-part last.

Anxious panic set in. What should I do? Where should even I start?

The bend was nearing, so she gripped the track with all her heart.

She caught herself in time before hitting the deadly, sharp turn;

But, man, did that friction between wheel and rail begin to burn.

She held still and began to regain her steely, metal composure,

When something caught her eye down below the steep shoulder.

Up the steep climb a small engine came huffing,

Wheels slowly turning and steam clouds puffing.

The small engine stopped to take a quick needed breather,

And the bigger engine turned so she could clearly see her.

Then their eyes met and locked together in knowing;

The smaller was following where the bigger was going.

“You shouldn’t proceed…” the big one said. “This path is quite frightful.”

The smaller smiled and replied, “But I hear the view is quite delightful.”

“Plus,” the small train started then stopped and then continued to speak,

“I never knew an engine built like us could even consider going to the peak;

Then I watched you start climbing higher and higher!”

Silence fell; the big engine felt something stir inside her.

The little one to the big spoke again, words fast embolding;

The big one leaned in toward the little she was beholding.

“And it’s not just me who has been inspired by your acts…”

Just then more chugging was heard below on the tracks.

More engines were weaving and wending up the treacherous mountainside.

She watched these little trains climb, inspired by how they worked and tried.

“I’ve been at this all wrong….” The thought began to grow in her mind.

“I’ve been looking for help from the side and ahead and not from behind.”

Her gaze returned to the tracks she was desperately clinging upon,

“Maybe…” she thought to herself. “Maybe for them I can climb on?

Even if it’s only an inch or two farther that I can offer,

It’ll be one less inch or two they will have to fight for.

She closed her eyes and gathered up her remaining bits of strength.

“For them…” She grit her teeth, bore down, and powered a length.

“For her…” and she went forward…covering more distance!

What had begun to stir was a full-fledged fire in an instance!

And on the train chugged and huffed,

Engine strong and steam clouds puffed.

There once was a big engine that gave into thinking that she could not;

Until one day a smaller engine reminded her she could, so she fought.

Tell Me

Tell me this isn’t all there is.

(I fear that it is.)

Tell me there’s something beyond this.

(I fear there isn’t.)


Tell me to take heart.

(For I feel it grow weary.)

Tell me there’s a reason to go on.

(My energy wanes.)


Tell me my life is precious.

(I need to remember why.)

Tell me my life hasn’t been worthless.

(I can’t silence that voice anymore.)


Tell me with sweet silence.

(The cacophony in my head.)

Tell me with lavish love.

(My hearts floods with fear.)


Tell me Jesus loves me.

(My doubt stomps about.)

Tell me Christ longs to hold me.

(I long for that sweet embrace.)


Tell me there will be answers.

(The questions rage.)

Tell me it’s not all for naught.

(This darkness looms.)


Tell me…

(I bow my head.)

Just tell me…

(Words fail me but tears don’t.)

Please, just tell me…







This Him in Her Arms

It is dark in the room,

She closes her eyes.

Not to block out light;

There is none.

It is dark in the room.


She closes her eyes

And lets herself be pulled away

By the rhythmic rocking

Of the rocking chair.

She closes her eyes.


…and lets herself be pulled away.

The sensation of her feet pressing

Against and releasing from the ground

…press and release…

And lets herself be pulled away.


The sensation of her feet pressing

And she is reminded that she is

Still here and still connected;

She breathes and lives.

…the sensation of her feet pressing.


And she is reminded that she is…

She is not alone when he squirms

Against her breast and settles.

He is here with her.

And she is reminded that she is.


She is not alone when he squirms

And her heart against the pressing darkness

Beats and thumps, flaunting its truculent posture.

She loves him.

She is not alone when he squirms.


And her heart against the pressing darkness…

It willfully ignores the prior years of pain

That caused her to shut down and push

Them all away,

And her heart against the pressing darkness…


It willfully ignores the prior years of pain,

Each beat and thump pushes aside

The fears she has always feared and the

Rejection that threatened.

It willfully ignores the prior years of pain.


Each beat and thump pushes aside

Herself for this one, this him in her arms.

She pulls him closer to her; her head bows.

She kisses him.

…Each beat and thump pushes aside.


Herself for this one, this him in her arms…

As in labor, she vows now again: mine for this one.

For the first time she knows what it feels like

To love.

Herself for this one, this him in her arms.

It’s Her Fault

She was born to be at fault.

She wasn’t in their plan; she happened.

She was to be the boy that would replace the older;

Delivery. “It’s a girl. I’m sorry,” her mom said.

She was the reason they never had that *real* boy.


While the older wrecked havoc; she absorbed.

The family fought; ready to tear apart at the seams.

She tried to soothe, tried to hold them all together.

Yet, she bore the fault of the older who deserved the wrath.

Early life taught her: “receive; you are at fault.”


A guy stood in a doorway a few feet away from naked-her,

Her body shivered; she tried to dress herself; she was crying.

He called her names: “whore,” “you’re nothing but a prostitute,” “hag,” “filth.”

It was her fault that his roommate took her when he wanted to;

It was she who was the whore who deserved it.


She gazes upon the “ring-of-vows-now-broken” still wrapping her finger.

Her heart—broken more—questions, “how did this happen?”

“I’m strong; I’m smart; I’m educated…How?” she whispers.

The silences threatens her; it has the condemning answer:

“Oh silly girl, don’t you know this by now? It’s your fault.”