Tar-dark world. The defining color is black, the inky night of her nocturnal hunts and the deep, bottomless dark of her alien retreat.

A watcher of men, she is everything and nothing. She might be too much of something, or too little of something else. Time will sort out the particulars.

There are no simple entry points – she demands engagement, and to be taken as a whole. Her discomfort is over her own allure, her undisturbed surface. It’s more about intuition and gesture than dialogue. They remain as echoes. They’ve made her beautiful in a real way, with hips and blemishes and dimples in her skin.

The imprint of the lives she begins to grapple with as her time on Earth extends, leads her to stop seeing herself as a mere conduit for her mission, and to start developing a sense of subjectivity.

Her life force is overlapping, shaping itself into a pattern of rings that simultaneously suggests a birth canal dilating, the stages of a rocket separating, and a lunar eclipse as seen through a telescope’s lens.

She's a life-form you can’t quite understand, but it’s carrying on relentlessly, like a beehive, moving backward through the constellations at first approach.

I know it sounds  cliché,
But it feels like
I've lost an important part of myself.
As we're sitting next to each other
But I'm writing about our distance.

It feels like the metaphors have been wiped away,
Nor any simile comes to play,
Maybe it was always supposed to be this way.

It almost seems pointless,
It seems to be in vain,
As i try and fail to find the write words to express this pain.

Oh lovely one!

Singing in the shower,
dancing in the kitchen,
bouncing, tapping,
hugging, smiling.
Exciting news and friends.
A journey from last year,
that strained year,
with that sadder, trying smile.

Oh lovely one!
My heart.

I found a scribbled piece of paper on my coat,
The wife wrote, "pick up some CANDLES" in a note.
I thought it said "CANDIES" hoping to discover,
that we finally would have candies,
In our cupboard.
So I bought in a rush:
Snickers, Abba Zabba, Milky Way, Three Musketeers, Reeses peanut butter cups, M&Ms, Almond Joy, Milk Duds, laughy Taffy....and such.
I called her and told her all the candies I bought,
She said, "CANDLES, stupid", so I hung up.

Before I met my wife
I was incomplete
Now I'm finished.

Silly things they are—
companions at best,
and true friends, even better.

Mine is the brown kind,
with smoldering eyes
and a folly for snacks,
scolding the trees late at night,
awakening me to
his fierce, warrior ways
every time a loud engine brays.

I wish to keep you forever and ever,
every moment—
you and me, together.

But ten years is a long while
for a dog like you.
I guess I'm just grateful
that happiness
is all you ever knew.

If you get it, you lost it.


I am here
(On this platform it is evident for your reading now)
I express myself
(Heads scratching, wondering what and how?)


I share pieces of me
(A defragmented glimpse of an experience deemed ‘worthwhile')
Callous, sensuality?
(Or a traitor in sheep cosplay?)


A dead-end hi-way?
Or this pawn from yesterday?
Here, your final say


This family we never asked
Amontillado without it's cask
Dry and cheery
Heart’s are bleary
We own this laborious task

My sins are scrollable, thumbed in haste,
Wrapped in ribbons of curated taste.
A gallery of masks, all timed just right,
My shadow dances in the ring light.
What of shame when shame gets likes?
What of thought when thought’s in spikes?
I weep in drafts, but post a grin—
The world won’t wait for the shape I’m in.
So brand the bruise, then sell the hue:
A wellness tip in sponsored blue.
This self I host in feedback’s cage—
A pet, a post, a digital page.
I bare my soul (or just its shell).
You’ll never know. I sell it well.

I logged on seeking something undefined,
A tether, maybe—some reciprocal ache.
But all I found were mirrors misaligned,
Each smile too wide, each word opaque.

The comments pile like leaves, not read.
Applause from ghosts, replies from ghosts.
I feed the feed, it feeds instead—
A hunger that consumes its hosts.

I draft a truth. I dress it twice.
Add polish. Then delete.
I write in blood, convert to nice,
Make trauma fit a beat.

No lesson left. No higher shelf.
Just one more version of myself.

Beyond the keyboard
I see you smile
Beyond that emoji  
I know you are mine.
Beyond the calls
I see you through the phone
Beyond the voice notes
I see your intentions
Beyond the reaction
I see your action
This is more than I can feel
But love is more than feelings.

I’ve got a paper heart and a rock hard brain
It’s hard as any stone; harder that any pain
Now, my paper heart; it bleeds quite well
Look through my eyes and you can surely tell

Love is a tragedy; it’s all systems fail
All that’s good and right, all that’s what the hell
Paper hearts can’t crush a mind of stone
Paper hearts, they only cry when they’re alone

The paper folds quite easily; in the creases you will see
All there is to find and all there will ever be
Solid ground is where you like to run around
And here you are in the lost and found

Paper hearts and rock hard brains
Harder that the hardest pains
Paper hearts with your creases deep
Which of my secrets will you forever keep

I cried for two years.
every day, all day.
Cara wanted to marry me.
I was hesitant. At that time,
I didn't know why.
Much later, when I was
in therapy, I came to realize
that, in the past, I unconsciously
feared that if I married,
most likely we would
have children, and quite
probably, we would have
a boy, and unconsciously
I feared I would treat
my son the same way
my father had treated me.
My father had treated me
harshly. He never told me
he loved me. I will spare you
the details. Cara grew increasingly
angry toward me for another year.
She used jealousy to try to
get me to marry her. She
swam in her swimming pool,
but when she dried off, I saw her
bruised *****, which I knew
I had not caused. When I saw
it, I went into shock and suffered
involuntary kundalini, which lasted
six years. After all those years
of excruciating pain, I finally
recovered. All this happened
45 years ago, but some days
I feel as though it happened
yesterday.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Not all rivers
end up in the ocean–
doesn't make their journey
less worthy.

Not all love
ends up in a lover's arms–
doesn't make it any less
worthy.

I bite.
Not with teeth.
with silence,
with sharp glances,
with walls built higher than your reach.

I’m not cruel.
I’m just tired
of being kind first
and torn apart second.

You call it attitude.
I call it armor.
Because being soft
never saved me.
It only made the fall hurt more.

So I speak less now.
Agree less.
Trust less.
I pull away before someone has the chance
to walk out first.

It’s not that I don’t want love.
I’ve learned that even “I care about you”
can come with conditions.
Even soft hands
can leave bruises
you can’t see.

I bite
because once,
I didn’t.
And it nearly broke me.

She’s ready for a new chapter.
But is the new chapter ready for her?
She’s punk again as expected.
The cuts are holes for light to shine, from the lightning and thunder inside.

The plasters are lovers covering the wounds.
The Avocado for comfort and health.
The only way in which she takes care.
The rest is filled with beer and pain au chocolat.

For the pain, the discomfort, uncertainties.
The chains.
The chains remain.
The brain and tying ends together, pressure.
She’s getting ready.
Always getting ready.
But is she ever?

At least for the new chapter, the moment, she tries.
But it doesn’t feel right.
A little better after getting it together, over and over.
She’s never done.

Take a break
but only if you've earned it.
Be kind to yourself,
but do not fall into the trap
of overdoing it.

Self-care
is only caring
until it isn't for the better good

Self-care
is no longer caring
if it hurts you more than it should.

So, go ahead, and take a break
take a day to go slow, and wait-
wait for the emotions to cease
until you breathe with ease
and know with certainty
you will be okay.

Then get up and don't let yourself be late
for that meeting, or coffee, or dinner date
because you deserve a life of love, not hate-
so continue living,
and if you're tired,
take a nap.

Dark clouds come and go,
but the sun always stays.

Yet every dark cloud manages
to leave behind a scar–

one that even the blazing sun
can neither erase nor hide.

Don't confuse funicular
With rack and pinion
Or you'll never get up Snowden
There are those who'd argue
But that is my opinion.

1 Ring
5 Rings
10 Rings
20 Rings…

I was just sleeping—
walking down the stairs
with heavy feet.

The window cracks
shining light to my face—
tempting me back to bed.
Opposite of a charming kiss
given unto a princess in slumber.

…

But I cant go to sleep
as she doubled the rings on the door.

So I opened the door
and like a dead corpse,
I faded by the light.

“Ahhh.”

At that moment
I remembered what I dreamt of…

“Lying and Semaniusly”
Blurted out
as I realized
I was already blocked?

“That makes no sense!”
I thought to myself.

Why would they do that?
What was the reason for it?
Was it necessary?

All of these questions
and my mind was tied
to the self-deprecating rings
that stopped me
from searching in this dream.

———————————-

To acknowledge
that I left the dream confused
was frustrating.

But cleanly
I came out of the dream—
and had to check
if it really was a dream…

Contumely so—
I left with a new word.

“Semaniusly”?

Si tú eres la yegua de ámbar
                    yo soy el camino de sangre
Si tú eres la primer nevada
                    yo soy el que enciende el brasero del alba
Si tú eres la torre de la noche
                    yo soy el clavo ardiendo en tu frente
Si tú eres la marea matutina
                    yo soy el grito del primer pájaro
Si tú eres la cesta de naranjas
                    yo soy el cuchillo de sol
Si tú eres el altar de piedra
                    yo soy la mano sacrílega
Si tú eres la tierra acostada
                    yo soy la caña verde
Si tú eres el salto del viento
                    yo soy el fuego enterrado
Si tú eres la boca del agua
                    yo soy la boca del musgo
Si tú eres el bosque de las nubes
                    yo soy el hacha que las parte
Si tú eres la ciudad profanada
                    yo soy la lluvia de consagración
Si tú eres la montana amarilla
                    yo soy los brazos rojos del liquen
Si tú eres el sol que se levanta
                    yo soy el camino de sangre

don't touch me
i'm scared of what will happen
if i forget to not feel

and if you get too close
and you pull away
i'm scared that i'll finally break

My granddaughter and me
the best artists to ever be!
We make, we write, we draw wild things,
So strange and bold, with scribbled wings.
We paint the sun with purple glue,
And give the moon a mohawk too.
We turn the clouds into mashed potatoes,
And make giraffes wear sweet pink halos.
You might look once and raise your brow,
“Is that a dragon... or a cow?”
But we just laugh and say with glee:
“You don’t see it? That’s on you, not me!”
We’re the best and no need to boast
Of silliness, we make the most.
So when you see our crazy art,
Know it's made with love and heart.

Last night I opened the door to a fear I do not know,
a stranger from the street.
Its overwhelming silhouette now casting over my feet.

It greeted me like a neighbour,
tightly gripping at my hand,
a warmth not becoming of the spectre I did not understand.

For my life I've carried this scar.
A symbol of my mother's mercy,
A blessing of a life for which others have been thirsty.

I quietly parade it in defiance,
that slender crescent moon,
rising from my skin so as not to be forgotten.

Now I stand at the doorway of my conscience
and warily make acquaintance,
with the helpless fear that long feasted on my mother's patience.

i’ve always been the third wheel,
the pity friend,
the background character.
i’ve always been another body-
just to make the group an even number,
another voice-
just to make the laughter slightly louder,
another wallet-
just to make the split cost a little cheaper.

Birthed a victim,
raised a suspect.

Trauma,trauma,trauma

To their hands,
from their hands.

Pain,pain,pain

Heartbreak inevitable,
heartbreak forever.

Hate,hate,hate

Mentally, physically,
physically, emotionally.

Abuse,abuse,abuse

Self defense mechanisms,
self sabotage mental illness.

Aware,aware,aware

Life is patterns,
patterns are life.

Broken,broken,broken

Safety required to grow,
safe environment necessary also.

Grow,grow,grow

People make mistakes,
God made people.

Forgive,forgive,forgive

If not yourself,
no one else you can.

You,you,you

If you cannot,
don’t feel bad.

YOU’RE NOT ALONE,
alone I remain.

Me,me,me

For some pain cannot be overcame,
for some pain like mine.

Tough,tough,tough

It’s not my fault,
fault I cannot change.

Past,past,past

Pain,pain,pain

Tough,tough,tough

Me,me­,me

You,you,you?

Aware,aware,aware

Trauma,trauma.trauma

Hate,­hate,hate

Abuse,abuse,abuse

Broken,broken,broken

Forgive,forgi­ve,forgive

Grow,grow,grow!

YOU’RE NOT ALONE,
nor am I!


Same words, different order, new pattern, new love
BREAK PATTERNS

I met Joan Baez in my sleep.
She whispered her poems and
sang her songs. I fell in love
with her instantly. DIAMONDS
AND RUST she sang in my
dreams. Linda Ronstadt sang
LONG, LONG TIME to me.
I cried in her hair, so fair was
she. We made love for eternity.
Ingrid Bergman came into my
life a long time ago. I was
mesmerized by her luminescent
beauty. She walked into my
life 20 minutes into CASA-
BLANCA. I was transfixed.
But it was Audrey Hepburn
who stole my heart. Tiny and
radiant, Audrey saw and
held and fed starving
children around the globe.
She entered my heart and
kissed my soul and never
left my life. Bless you, Audrey.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

One should not be too straightforward. Go and see the forest.
The straight trees are cut down, the crooked ones are left standing.
Kuulilya, Indian philosopher third century BC

Some friendships are timeless
Some don't stand the test of time
You can listen and care but can't fix them or repair them
Once that risks your health
You limit visits and communication
It hurts but change is never easy
A new  life lesson
Unfortunately,still learning
Debbie and Donny Downer limited
Polly and Paul Positive Welcome