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Shall I tell you how tired I am?

Shall I tell you how tired I am?
Not just in my bones
but in the places where memories sting,
where echoes of "You're not enough"
still roam like ghosts.
 
I am tired
of pretending the walls don’t whisper
every night,
of folding my voice into corners
so I don't disturb the peace
that never included me.
 
I’m tired
of being the afterthought in a house
that should have been shelter,
of smiling on cue
because that’

Exhaustion

At the crossroads of despair
And acceptance,
I met my old friend,
Exhaustion.

As always,
they said hello
With a clap of the shoulder
Affectionately kissed me on the forehead.

It’s been a while, they said.
How have you been? Did you miss me?

I mumbled back the necessary pleasantries,
Kept my eyes down,
Tried to tiptoe
Around the corner.

But as soon as I did, I saw a line of
Ants scurrying
On the sidewalk,
And I was forced to
Stop.

I looked around for assistance,
But only
Exhaustion
Stared back at me.

Makkavu

Meaningless music explodes in the tour bus, vibrating the aisle, where her movements are stiff and wild. Her face is the moon’s surface. She wants to show her colleagues that she is talented and convivial. But the reflection of a muddy inscape is always murky. The scar on her thigh is an insignia of her promiscuous past. Now that her passion has been parched, she gives arid moral advice. She catches lovers and cracks their romance. Her frustration is the epicenter. Will love ooze out of her sadistic strata? She often masquerades as lovable.

The World In a Different Realm: A Grown-up Story

As the days and nights go by the time nears to say goodbye no clarity in reality searching for remedy all that's left is the fleeting melodies some optimistic but largely pessimistic like anxiety overwhelm the world is left in a different realm. We wake up from our dreams seeking to find our way, day after day stuck in our way life becomes a treadmill so weary we try to conceal but end up revealing it mostly to ourselves. We walk in trepidation but deep beneath it all is an underneath light. That light is a cancer like a lump unable to be ridded off. We may grow up and up but still nothing i

The old generation

I am from the old generation
I don't listen to rap
Because rap is not
My kind of music
The new generation loves rap
When the new generation
Is in public
They put the rap music on
That is in their cellular
Phone
And they don't put their
Head phones on
So they are the only ones
Listening to it
The people have to tell them
To wear their had phone
I don't need to hear that rap
Music
I can't stand rap
I was born during the 60's
And there was no rap
It was the birth of
Rock in roll

One Summer Day

An allusion to Beethoven

While walking through the woods one summer day,
he glanced along a river, clear and bright,
saw bubbling notes like dappled fish at play,
and dashed them off that night by candlelight.
Meandering down coniferous-scented trails
where chickadees and tree frogs made such noise,
he didn’t hear a thing except the scales
and chords and cadences that were his toys.
He couldn’t hear the leaves in the aspen thickets,
the deer flies buzzing round his graying hair,

Summer Solstice 2025

Friday, June twentieth
at 10:42 Post Meridian
Eastern standard time
will find Earth's North Pole tilted
closest toward sun.

This demarcates
most daylight hours of the year
for people living
within the northern hemisphere.

Just shy of the supposed bewitching hour
(more than twelve hours
from drafting these lines)
nearest star in solar system reaches
highest point in the sky.

Hence hasty intent to beat buzzer sound
dashing off riding figurative one seahorse
open sleigh madly awk cross cyber sea,

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