I once was so sad
I came here and found a community
People like me
Restless and needing understanding
Lovely people
My account was hacked and I lost everything
I didn’t even get to say goodbye
Or even copy my poetry
The seen and the hidden
I have missed my friends so much
If anyone remembers me
Please let me know
The hugs will be endless
I have suffered the loss of you all
Deb

the rain won't lift.

it moans a low,
lonesome sound,
gives no mercy.

a window opens.

"i'm a little lost lamb," she tells me.

and I look up and she smiles at me,
she always smiles,. "Maggie," I sigh.

"what are you doing out on a night like this?" she asks.

"i long to dream in black and white
of deserted city streets
to waltz down at night in a cold rain."

it's summer and Maggie's
hanging out the window,
streetlight in her eyes,
her long ***** blonde hair
getting wet from the rain
hangs down around her face.

the dreamer of all the good dreams.
i have to tell her, "Maggie, you're
so beautiful."

"come up. I'll tell your future."

I shrug my shoulders, "I know the future. you die."

"not with me." she laughs softly
like a summer breeze
and her smoky voice whispers,
"your getting soaked, come up
the fire escape."

"so you're the lost lamb," i laugh,
"then what am i? the beckoning scarlet knight,
the golden moth drawn to your fire?"

"there's no music, Jack, but you know
the song too well."

"who chooses who we are,
what we become?

"no pity for us lost lambs."


whether lost or found,
the way a bird knows the sky.
i always know that where ever
I drift
or whoever I might become

I'd can always
find my way back to Maggie's window.

“Epistle at Noon”


Steam curls from the chipped mug—
a psalm rising in arabesques
against the sunlit kitchen tile.

My spoon taps a rhythm
like distant temple bells,
calling memory from its slumber.

Between the coffee’s warmth
and the hush of half–read pages,
I find an unexpected covenant:
mercy in ordinary motion.






.

the fullness of words in your mouth
my trembling hands
a truth cuts deep
into the ribs of morning
it's the big bang of language
when silence has no shadow

On a morning like this, lethargic and indifferent,
It is so easy to make me rich,
When the pain is moving slowly and smoothly, and
I hold on to you, like a monkey,
                                                         ­            Sob on me,
Make me the richest woman in the world,
Richer than Hetty Green,
Greedier than Hetty Green,

Can you see, my dear, how fast it is raining?
And the forest, a trickster, is washing its leaves,
Pretending that it cares while it is cheating with the rapper.

No one tells them that after the colors explode,
They will invade their hearts, like big Colonizers,
Will put names on them, and play cards,
Drink whiskey, laugh, and feed the earth, so after
They can ride their horses as a symbol of freedom and kindness,
Making donations and digging water wells,

On a morning like this, I believe,
Our story is like that of the gold seekers,
It is so easy to make me rich,
Make me the richest woman in the whole world,
Richer than Hetty Green,
Greedier than Hetty Green,

Dig me, baby, it is in my eyes,
Whisper in my ear, while the cold raindrops are touching my face,
They are hiding in my hair, on a morning like this,
Be my tears, lethargic and indifferent,
Ask the leaves, on a morning like this,
I hope they do not lose their mind,
                                                And will remember me in the spring

Nobody knows when
love will roll in and
waltz with your crippled
soul.
Nobody knows when
the chickens will come
home, or when the dog
will have its day.

I heard of a place where
silence blossoms into
flowers of wisdom, but
when I ask for directions,
nobody knows.

I taste the sadness of
the sky in every poisoned
drop of rain.
I was born to swallow it.
To be consumed by the
gray expanse.
I ask for the antidote,
the cure.
Nobody Knows.

What happened to the
street signs, the picket fences,
all the love and empty spaces?
People play games, and only
traces of humanity remain.
How do I pull the cord on
this parachute?
Nobody Knows.

It’s not a remarkable rarity,
Not a ruby reflecting the rays
Of the sun, indeed, serendipity
Is like salt in the Monterey Bay.

It’s the dollar you find in your pocket,
It’s the hummingbird visiting home—
The song you would keep in a locket
If you could, for it plays like a poem.

You needn’t be lucky to find it,
It is not a matter of chance.
Open your eyes, be unblinded
And you’ll see it in every glance.

The moon, the stars, the heavens on high
Are not hidden—simply look up to the sky.