A busy, coffee-smelling Sunday morning
With noisy banters while cooking and dining
Natural gatherings with our parents
A time to fix the little cracks and bents

But alas, my father is under the soil
While mother uses her time to toil
And I am left in my own devices
Do try to imagine how everyday is

And oh, please try to remember albeit
I am not a sad child at all, at least not yet
For I always reason, not in deceit,
That my family isn't broken, just incomplete

From the rooftop
I see the houses sleeping in moonlight

(My chance ascent to the roof
for a space to be aloof
begets this poem)

I know this stillness is deceptive

behind the half glow neon panes
or the wooden ones shut tight from light
beyond the dumb walls of white
tears and smiles are flowing
also grunts of despair
moans of flesh upon flesh
stopping at the skin
or going far down to that misty spot
and even far past all them
two hearts holding the flame
of years buried on the bed
a child still in their head
or there but really not there
somewhere too wide to build a bridge

(Thirty minutes past nine
the toy houses in the moonlight shine
in their chambers holding life not seen)

And I atop one such house know
it's time to go down the stairs
to take up the script again
and write and act and write
for the length of night.

The snow shivered in the heat
Tears fell from crystalline eyes
so white . . .
. . . the mountain gathered them up
and let them roll down his back to
the river . . .
. . . the river said ,"I'm overpool but I will make room for one more . . . or thousands  . . .
The crystalline tears mingled with the red mud and became blood brothers . . . and they flowed to the mighty sea . . .
. . .  "Welcome to my domain my little one's . I knew your forefathers and mothers from long ago . Here you will do my bidding as long as you stay . Here my windy friends will make froth out of you . And my big brother Sun will bake you and my sister Moon will entice you with dreams that can never be . All are here to test you , burn you , pull you apart , toss you around until you are ready to follow in your parents footprints . . .
. . . so the Sun scorched and the wind blew hurricanes in the east and typhoons in the west and the moon by night gave false hope in the way of impossible dreams and the ancient Sea watched all without saying a word . . . .
. . . then came the day the Sea was satisfied and said ,"Leap up my little ones , your day has come , ride the clouds to your new home . Some to the north , some go to the south , the rest go east and west . Take your precious gift to the land who is dying for your taste ." And one by one the tears lept into the clouds and ladened it's burdens and the winds cartied them away to the Plains and Forest and Valleys and to the Mountain Top . There the tears fell and froze and collected on the north face of the
mountain and the mountan was was glad .
"Welcome home my lost little one's . I'm so happy I could cry ." . . .  and he did .

Ochre scrubbed ebony skin
Wooden jewelery here and there
Picture perfect beauty in simplicity
She walked in moral fortification -
fashioned in decency
Hardwork and wisdom was her charm

Barefeet and weighted with firewood on her head
Pots and baskets she juggled in hands
and through scorching heat she focussed ahead
the dessert sand burning her feet
Not once did she say it was a plight

She was proud to be a woman
The keeper of men and children
Through rain through sunshine
cooperating with her man's other woman

She worked for survival of all
Getting up in the first light of day
Submitting and respecting
Raising her children in acceptable ways

She was the unglorified worrior
A war hero could not fit her shoe

But she didnt have that shoe
So she smiled and made her man happy,
and her children

I love the mornings
strength and positiveness
Coarse through my veins
As i rise with resoulute decisions
Determined to have a good day

As the day progresses,
So wanes my faith and strength
Life serves me too many lemons
With demon waitresses

Fight hard I do
Make lemonade from my lemons
But when demons are disguised as angels?
It is an icing on the cake of misery

By mid day I am realizing my hopelessness
and learning to call on miracles
So many rejections
So many betrayals

In the afternoon I give myself up
To the course of the wind
I get torsed north and south
Through  rain and shine
Neither lasting but frustrating

How I survive everyday
Is beyond my knowledge anyway
I end my day with regret
I serve myself some scripture salads

And make resolutions
To be broken again tomorrow