Blessed Foolishness

m parkes inappropriate love
from my favorite artist Michael Parkes

After belaboring sowing and reaping,

and reminding that Karma is a bitch,

I laud blessed foolishness.

There are things in our living

that can make tricksters of us.

Absolute fools.

The high card of them all

is love.

Praise affection

familial and friendly.

For me, nothing compares to

Eros —

Who sets one cockeyed silly bombastic

earthmoving and roving,

melt-earth-and-rocks foolish.

I do experience this

addicting affliction in my lifetime.

It is fully irrational,

falling to pieces to give all my pieces away.

Mister Toad’s wild ride careens

between crashing chaos and

pummeling wind

euphoria

mounting the silken enchanted carpet.

This love takes body, soul, goods and

sanity.

Foreshadowing of the searing slicing

pain

of Eros’ love’s end

haunts, bites and blunts.

It leaves me with

gratitude

that I live authentically

recklessly

from my foolish smitten heart.

I lose all. I find all.

No one can take this away —

body and soul are knit.

I am the fool clown for love.

I live on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Thing Called Love

“I love you”

Falls easily from lips,

One realizes.

Almost a cliché.

Now I think – if you love me,

prove you are man enough for me.

I am formidable.

Only the true and brave stay

beyond the adrenaline rush season.

Cowards all?

A simple part of being

man enough –

Is

Paying

Attention.

strong me
Photo my own

 

 

 

 

 

A. B.

scary twitter.pngPhoto ~ my own

I know a she-zero that takes pleasure
in stealing human treasures
from women she can never measure
up to, ever.
She brings one-hundred-fold of her own jealousy
and hatred back upon herself and her cohorts
for generations
and generations.
God/Karma have pity.
I don’t.

If I Lived Down Your Road ….

trouble
Online Gif

If

I lived

down the road

from you,

How discombobulated you’d be by the things that I’d do. Late at night I’d knock at your door gowned in muslin and fragile moon haze. You would take me to your arms for my warm comfort after my mind-numbing days.

On languid summer afternoons, I’d saunter by to join you in your jazz fest hammock nest. When fireflies and crickets would start their twilight play, we’d follow suit in sweetness and damp. Your beard would be wet with dew before the predawn hour.

There are times I’d come to you tense as an out-of-tune piano wire. You would brush my hair. I’d groom you like a cat — with care. We’d tangle in frantic therapeutic moves wrestling in front of the Cherrywood fire.

If you lived up the road from me, how bumpy and unpredictable your days and nights would be, my sovereign. Sprites would people your life, all to be in the company of this astral traveling husband and wife.

Just so you are aware before the time is due, what will happen when I live down your road from you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tongue in Cheek MAKEOVER

makeover
Photo ~ my own

Working on changing the blue threads in my fabric to something new

Like sunshine quicksilver gossamer showing a vague outline of the real me

Always here for you

Always bright

Always uplifting to view

With shells and jewels trailing from my hair

Peachy dreams lifting in the delicate drifting perfumed air

Always sweet and compliant, wearing my mother of pearl mantle

Granting wishes, conjuring illusions of shiny enchantments to entertain you

As you watch me, transfixed, through my prison bars

Which of course I can blithely turn into lightly whipped chocolate bars

Yes, I am on my way to your forever happiness

 

 

 

KICKED TO THE CURB LAMENT

harps-on-the-willows
Online art

One keeps living on,

but has no idea

how it is even possible.

Can lungs that breathe

no oxygen

still function?

Can a body with a cavernous

hole in its center

exist?

Can a mind with no meaning

still process thought?

I am living proof

of animated flesh

that no longer

has a soul.

 

 

 

 

CAREGIVERS LAMENT

clarity
Photo ~ my own

My day is so full of countless incongruent pieces that slip off the table.

It is like being in a nightmare where you are running as hard as you can, but the landscape doesn’t change.

Then the fear chatters at me and I do wonder if my mind is sifting away bit by bit . . . .