I lose myself
sometimes
in my spoken words
trying to capture
the depth
of how much
you mean to me
I’m better with rhymes
with phrases I can polish
and buff
for I too
in thoughts of you
am rough
around the edges
and though
I can’t yet claim
to know you
well
I savour
the spell
your passion casts
through your voice
through your art
and I am grateful
to play a small part
in your amazing life!
This place is beyond empty
it’s missing its heart
and soul
so I’ll stuff my belly
to bury these feelings
before they eat me whole
This place is beyond empty
it’s missing its heart
and soul
so I’ll stuff my belly
to bury these feelings
before they eat me whole
You lift
and flatten
and spin
words at will
alive and still
as if fresh clay figurines
dancing to your tune
both slave and immune
to your intent
bent on gracing voice and paper
spinning on some ballet caper
in iambic pirouette
albeit kept in line
by invisible signs
your sweet voice gives
they live their lives
utterly free
from shyness to intensity.
We play a game
with the name
each time
she gets a new
prescription
trying to
rhyme
them
with anything
at all
but there’s
nothing that works
certainly
nothing poetic or sublime
about
trastuzumab
or
deruxtecan
or
palbociclib
or
capecitabine.
But as she always
says to me,
please,
let’s joke
and
laugh,
I am not my disease.
Barking
barking
always barking
barking with joy
barking in defense
barking at others
barking when things get tense
and although I know the difference
I too often take offense.
So we had one of those talks
that to me made eminent sense
though to him
I'm sure
it was all the usual
blah blah blah
nonsense
But I still like to think
we have these amazingly mature
conversations
where he explains his rationale
and I talk about
my auditory irritations
and he responds
how it's all about
context and doggy relations
and how barking
is nuanced communication
depending on the situation
and I end up understanding
his exhortations
and that
what he needs
from me
isn't
dialogue or disseminations
it's just
love me you dummy
and
rub my tummy
rub my tummy.
When she died
no flags were at half mast
nothing was canceled
no tributes broadcast
no honorifics were attached to her name
for she’d earned no millions
and garnered no fame
she lay unattended
given no care
left in her own urine
alone in her despair
A storm outside
disquiet within
trembling contained
by alabaster skin
scattered sounds
teeter on the brink of songs
the lyrics
dry ink whispers on the wind
blowing lacy curtains
undisciplined
reminders of softness past
as darkness casts
shadows on the soul
the night cajoles and teases
memories from the breezes