just up the hill from market basket
only one or two street lights are on
the other day we heard
a young man in the neighbors’ back yard
loudly drunkenly announcing
his candidacy for mayoral office
shouting that he’d
turn on every street light in fitchburg
but tonight they’re mostly off again
a string of small bluish orbs
shines suspended in the heart of darkness
lining the pathway before a house whose owners
bought a few solar-powered garden lights
at the dollar store beside market basket
it must be dark now too
in the library across the river
Digital data are words without meaning;
Information, meaning within his narrow context,
Elusively expressing something of our ways -
Ways expressed in our goings-on together.
Where the meaning is always elusive.
Poetic words are data with a meaning:
Poetry, meaning within her narrow context,
Elusively expressing something of our ways -
Ways expressing all of our goings-on.
Where the meaning is always elusive.
When truth and beauty emerge in words.
Digitally transformed with our human passion.
Elusiveness disappears, for that moment.
As our ways, our goings-on, are clear.
Where the meaning is always love.
We met on the bus travelling here
But never arrived the same at our place.
In our moments of resolute pride
The windows shattered from seeing better
And a new view was fore-ever present
In our making: a creation without barriers.
The driver of the bus turned around
But the face was too distant to make out.
Walking down past the passengers,
Chit-chatting about the everyday things,
A hopefulness of directions possibility
Came as the driver turned to look ahead.
Banging on the window, hoping to see
The road ahead through the drivers eyes.
The driver turned and I saw myself.
Awe stuck I turned again to speak to you
In the journey inward I found my habits,
My ways of living with the everyday,
My ways of seeing through another’s eyes.
Her eyes.
In the journey inward I found my freedom.
My ways of being content in going along.
My ways of speaking of an eternal love.
Her ways.
In the journey outward I found her words.
My way of being alone with human fears.
My way of listening for moments of joy.
Her hope.
I played when I should play,
I laughed when I should laugh,
& I loved when I should love.
Finding a way to see came later.
I worked when I should work,
I cried when I should cry,
& I spoke when I should speak.
Finding a way to listen came later.
I slept when I should sleep,
I woke when I should wake,
& I wrote when I should write.
Finding a way to be with her came.
/ The outside comes in
If you leave a space.
Un-drawn curtains hope
let ignorance accept
no plea; futures coil
unwound, regret, empty.
Who are you?
Who am I?
Tell me !
I might just believe
you
Don't freeze.
Get a big bag for your stuff.
A suitcase if you can afford it;
Otherwise buy a box of garbage bags,
Double-bag your stuff
And throw the rest of the box inside.
Don't freeze.
Make sure to call the shelter hotline
If it's going to be below freezing.
They'll come pick you up.
They're nice like that.
They don't want you to freeze.
When you get to the shelter,
Spray down your cot with lice and bedbug spray.
It's either your hair or the lice.
It's self-defense.
teabags
tingling
heavy eyelids
I wondered who I was
then remembering a moment of recognition
I thought I knew
I unzipped my life and exposed my source
It is time to move amongst the bushes
to isolate the rooms
close up the gaps
out from the lapse.
forget the clouds that gloomily hang
around the centres
stopping the breath from freely passing.
to be alone as we all must be
in birth and death
no holding of hands
or clinging to mother.
it is time for me to be
to check myself alone
within the spaces of walking
through the avenues of trees
that bend their branches