An Act of Courage

Open the body's gates. Now, let fear

come, up those steps of bone and down

pulsating halls, to the room

decorated with love,

chamber of the heart.

Offer your breath.

Softly say:

Welcome

home.

I die, until the subsequent morn.

Deeply thankful
for the curved edge
of countertops,
coffeemakers
than those stovetop
kettles, homeworks
done, keys in place.
I’m the morning
rush: mismatched socks,
chewing fast, tense,
skimming the news,
checking the watch,
anguished rocking,
forgotten lunch...
and then I’m gone.
Silence. Silence.
The sun star throws a ring of saffron light
that cradles every heart and calms each soul.
At night, people return and later rest.
 I die, until the subsequent morn.

The Wastebasket

A black colored wire mesh basket—

Inside which some words on crumpled
pages I’d forced into arranged
marriage of rhyme and rhythm, jump
now for joy though it’s hard to see
their friends crossed, some torn to pieces,
thus they taste bittersweet freedom,
saved from the ever scheming mind
of I the struggling poet—sits
in the corner next to my desk
across from the open closet,
where I keep stacks of lined paper
and many dozens of black pens,
and holds words prisoners, those words
who refused my orders and rules,
rejected my concepts and plans,
endured my threats and abuses,
were free at last to simply be.

All I Heard

There once was a little word
who loved to fly about
a town which oft was dark
though rarely lights did flash.
One day it saw the light and flew
from the town, but then was lost
inside another maze of flesh.
It fell through a hole and broke
But all I heard was someone spoke.