ButterFlies

She said he gave her butterflies,

But all he heard was utter lies.

So he backed out reluctantly,

quietly and forever.

She never knew why,

(and was far too proud to ask).

Eventually, they both achieved

‘Happily

(What)Ever

After’,

with people who deserved it

less than anyone

in the wicked, godless world.

His wife was bossy,

unwashed and plain.

Her common-law husband

beat her up every day.

(She was always falling down

those tricky basement stairs).

It was all the tragedy,

a world full of kindness,

could manage.

fin

A Few Words About Marriage

You said “your name was Tim”

I qualified your existence with (so very much)

love.

Now I call you “Baby”,

and “Fabricator of Lies”….

…The Man of My Dreams

I’m in love with your eyes, 

(Your beautiful, 
                              changing eyes),

that flawlessly shine-

from the deepest part (of 

your soul),

to mine.
                                     fin

( Background Image by N.C. Winters)

                               

The Weak Link – Pt II

I was halfway through

my sentence, between Gehenna

and nightmares, (amidst 

the frothy merriment, 

of another offensive X-mas).

Once again, I felt the desire to

recede into the weak link called

My Heart.

Now it is hollow; and darker than

it should be-but,

within the gated community

of life-it existed,

only, to house the most rank

and unscrupulous half-souls.

Flop house-squat house-drug house,

trap-house…reeking

of meth-a-m-p-h-e-t-a-m-i-n-e.

Humouring addicts, and taunting

them with the (dis)illusion of home.

So, they battered and filthied

the walls and the house, the garage,

and the yard, making every surrounding

element-

nervous.

Eventually,  

it was declared ‘unfit for human

habitation’. Debased and befouled,

an abandoned shell – until,

one winter night, a couple of 

homeless, (hopeless),

junkies, decided, to rest their

weary addictions

within, its vacant, injured walls.

In an attempt to stay warm-

one brought a cardboard box, full

of tiny, tea-light candles; they

lit them, and fell asleep.

The fire consumed most

of the room, by the time they woke up.

They fought the flames

with every possible means-that

is; to save their fetid lives, and

by morning, they were not only cold,

but dirty and delirious from

smoke inhalation.

(And “Hark”-a UFO? (A benevolent spirit?)-

Simply a big heart from

within the community)…

pitied them, and ushered them to safety, 

where they stayed until resentment and 

regret, changed the ways

of the Good Samaritan.

…

Finally, the warmth of Spring was

undeniable.

And, the toxins

in the air, thawed; the

walls inside,

sweating (pollutants—of the worst, kind).

Street people, occasionally used

this wounded place, for

their late night, secret deeds,

and often left, VIOLENTLY ILL.

This was a symptom of the noxious

air quality, and harmful bacteria,

thriving

in the recent warmth. So,

visitors stopped going in, completely.

Now, it stands,

pungent and defiled-ready,

waiting for my crises

born recluse. I am 

immune to its unbreathable air,

and in the confines of

(my own filthy heart):

There is always 

Room 

for

Me.
                                   fin

Thank You, Todd

…and the elderly woman sat, in the newly transformed hospital room. She could feel the terrible ache from her bones, beneath the swelling of her tissue paper skin. And, for just a moment, (and only inside her head), she thought about taking the next ritual offering of pain medication from the nurses on shift. They made it seem so…delicious-but, unless it was a bottle of whiskey; she wouldn’t know. (It wouldn’t be too much longer–). Still, she wouldnt break. A vow, a promise-to herself, with her integrity and personal dignation, hanging in the balance…no, she wouldn’t take them. She had very strong opinions about drugs; prescribed or not…..if she could only remember what those opinions were. Or, who she was for that matter. All this wondering made her tired. Perhaps she would turn to that deity she occasionally resorted to… if she could just remember his name. It might be Sunday today; there was a sign, outside her door, about a resident chapel.

Perhaps she would attend; a prayer might sway his decision to ease her suffering….(“What was his name?”)…(and how did that little ditty go?) Chapel or not, she decided to give it a try;

“Dear Todd; Theo, Art and Kevin-give us, this day…some bread. (And if you could toast it, with some nice butter and jam-well, I would like that very much)………..Hy-Men”

fin