Walking in dim thoughts
with the sound of rain outside.
The dripping pattern takes
me on a pitter-patting journey.
I'm neither here, nor there,
and yet somewhere
I must be.
Craving to be healthy,
in mind, body and soul.
Content perhaps?
Aware of who I am
and who I will
always be.
Is anyone like this?
Really?
Or are we a collected
mass of android
arms reaching
lamely for
robot parts?
Artificial emotions that
fester out like
***** mud shoes left
in the hallway.
We yawn internally
to avoid the truth
that we are bored
with one another.

Raindrops continue, as
does my doubting heart
as it wraps around
the possibility of
funerals and
Requiem Masses.
Long faces and
sighing masking
the indifference
of striving.
Together in mood
but far apart
in disposition.

Carry on, rain,
carry on. Slip
your wetness
against the dry spell
of my perception.
I can see. Or, I can
close my eyes to
imagine that the
tomorrow of thought
becomes the infested
reality I will be living.

I spend too many
careless storms wishing
for other days to arrive.

I have been near enough to death
to know it well
its unwavering dispassion
its unflinching reality

as I breathe into her
and hear the sound of empty lungs
it has ripped all the curtains I had sewn
all the false smiles and pat answers
a lifetime of rehearsed dialogue and robotic gestures

I was now naked before myself
and the lies that became me
now face me
and dissolve

Being left behind
When your love is moving foward
Is not a sign
For your life to be over

As you ponder on broken promises
A future together
You gave complete honesty
And life forever

But some things are never to be
So my friends let me share
You are valueable, you see
Remember that and begin to repair

Dark is the night, by the light of day

Harsh are the words, which some people say

Grievous the malaise, which we often feel

Deep are the wounds, of a hurt that won’t heal

Lasting the wrong, to whom it is done

Fleeting the moment, when praises are won

Tragic the loss, of someone we love

Empty the feeling, when they are thought of
WIZDUMBs BY JA 619

Some that have
And those that don’t
Both live
Upon this earth

But, it’s what they do
And what they don’t
That really
Proves their worth
WIZDUMBs BY JA 61

It was a summer morning. The man got up, got ready quite quickly. He pulled the door to, and stepped into the street. It was still early, the sunshine was bright, the street like a wasteland.

A small boy was kicking a football against a low wall. As the man approached, the boy kicked it towards him.  The man returned it, the boy returned it again. The man lifted it with his toe, flicked it ten feet in the air. The boy let it bounce and headed it back.
The man trapped it and left it at the boy's feet as he walked by.

'Where you going?'  asked the boy.
'To see my dad.'
'When was your dad born?'  asked the boy.
'Nineteen twenty four.'
The boy lifted his finger to his mouth.
'Ninety, that makes him ninety.'  said the man.
'Better hurry then.'  said the boy.
The man looked at the boy properly for the first time.
And smiled.