THE APHASIA  

Misspoken 

 a word salad 

sentences fragmented-  

broken 

a riddled confabulation 

a word trapped 

  tangled...

 spewed 

  chewed 

and mangled 

I try to form it, 

shape it- 

rolling it-

with my lips and tongue... 

write with a pen 

sure I can speak the words 

if I visualize them 

I feel the words! 

I feel deeply... 

the significance of what to say 

a synapse misfires... 

  connections go astray 

a poverty of speech 

of word deprivation 

a decimation- 

of the language 

of that which is me 

the perception of I... 

self 

 deep is the laceration
 

of my proclamation 

Rain snapping the leaves 

THE DANCING ANGEL

I was lost,

 all alone

whence came an angel, dancing in a path of flowers strewn

fiery copper shimmered from her hair

 pools of green cast golden glints beneath her stare

she spread her wings for me to share 

said, the path traveled by two is best to fare

 petals lifting in the air

I grasped...what she all along had known

it was the pain through which I had grown

there I was standing on my own

 not lost

not alone

I danced with the angel in a path of flowers strewn

THE FISH MAN'S WIDOW 

Crying in waves as the sea 

each tear swelling...  

 crashing on me 

rushed by the tide 

ripping from the shore 

screams a mere whisper over the roar 

the touchstone of existence 

 seemingly at the core of pain 

APHASIA 

I try to form it

shape it

roll it

with my lips and tongue

I write with my pen

sure I can speak these words

if I visualize them

I feel!

I feel deeply...

the meaning of what I want to say

 the synapse misfires...

I lose my way

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

Damsel in distress

SUNLESS MOURNING

Surely, the hour of death draws near.

Drenched in forlornness God would not hold me here.

Known, but not spoken,

I’m no good, my spirit broken.

Do you hear my wail? Recognize the guttural sound, emitting from a soul immobilized,

tied and bound?

On to higher sphere,  gone are my gifts of love from here,

Roaming within a surreal and widened space

Which exist not time nor place.

Death brings release, freedom, spirit coming full flower.

Life beats hard upon the heart whose love has lost power.

To love and be loved not. To reach out and be touched not.

Blinded by rivers of tears from the sun.

Set me free where amongst those I love my spirit can run.

What good is life, a permeation of fear,

It’s process the death of those cherished and dear.

I SAW YOU 

 I saw you... 

looking at me looking at you 

I listened to your voice, 

 hearing words I once spoke 

I sensed you feeling the pull towards me 

your breath warming me 

he saw me looking at you looking at me 

as she saw you looking at me 

red angry eyes bore into us... 

the snapping heat of hate 

threshed through the air 

Departure 

You, on that day of threshing , spoke 

of your requirements; 

to be upbraided, to be 

unloosed from these blue garments. 

I recall you sobbing, in twilight, 

in the upper garden... 

Hush now, listen to me: 

you have touched a patch of wet clover suddenly, 

gripping the damp earth, rooting 

yourself in objects, in perception. 

You have pounded against a mass of stone. 

Be still, listen to me: 

I know what the river has told me 

and my own name. 

You will also come to know the whiteness of longing. 

You will understand what it means to be alone. 

Danny, 2014 (my son) 

Death's Repose

Love as you sleep in death's repose,

my love doth not dissipate;

evermore it grows.

Love as you sleep in death's repose,

pain wraps up around me,

it's roots catch me

in it's throes

Your heart ceases to beat,

lying in wither.

At the sound of your name

mine heart pounds, races: come hither.

Your heart ceases to beat.

Mine heart broken,

longing, longing, longing

for kisses so sweet.

I roam the nights.

Footsteps clang echoes

against the walls of rooms incomplete.

I gather all you've touched,

building altars of you all around me.

I fall into slumber,

smelling and clutching your clothes.

My yearning doth not dissipate;

evermore it grows.

OLD EARTH 

Oh mother- 

of the old earth, 

sower and grower, 

of wisdom and worth. 

Poetess of pain... 

prudent is the Mother 

of all virtues. 

dancer of the rain, 

THE STING 

  I feel the sting of your words 

even when I do not hear them... 

you cut me to the quick- 

nail me to the wall 

I feel the burn of your stare 

LOST 

 It is I who is losing... 

I am the one that's leaving! 

it is for me 

that I am grieving... 

that's my chisel in the rock, 

scratching out what is left of me 

let go... 

your shadow lingers- 

casting a block 

release the chain that binds us 

look forward and not behind us 

let go... 

your idea of me 

of who and what... 

 you need me to be 

THE MERE SHADOW OF A MIND 

I recall- 

 the shadow of your face 

the shape of your form 

that look when you worry 

the deepest breath of your sigh 

the love in your soul 

I can close my eye's... 

draw the line of your chin 

touch your cheek 

and remember you standing in the sun 

tell me...  

of our love, 

our connection, 

of who and what we were together 

of what we are now 

tell me... 

who you are, 

 how I know of you 

THE DEMENTIA

Draw the sash-

lock the door

they tell me-

 I don't live here anymore...

Who changed the curtains?

painted over my pale yellow wall's?

let the ivy grow a tangle around the flowers-

encroaching up through the pathways?

all the endless hours I toiled in this garden,

all my work...

planting, planning...

contemplating, 

the placement of every seed 

 the culmination; 

a firing plethora of color 

bursting through gray 

 branching and spiraling

a cicatrix-

  bridging to the cross over -

that WAS the threshold of MY wisdom

where the unlocking of memory took place

 wandering through a foggy maze

 surrounded by gaps

searching for the key

pounding and pounding on the door

they tell me-

 I don't live here anymore... 

maneuvering around a hideous plaque

I think I understand...

I step over a hole 

 shift to the right

I'm locked in...

  going around the hole 

I veer to the left

 I'm locked out

they tell me-

I don't live here anymore...

I did not know what MUSINGS were. Finally got here this morning.

Poetry! Speaking from the heart. Absolutely lovely.

Love that people share here. I feel refreshed, washed clean after reading your work. really well done. inspiring

Thank you alz+,

I did not know what MUSINGS were.

IMO musings= ranting, raving, rambling, spitting out what hurts, re-storying,

the truth that may hurt others, unjust, inner reflection, depictions of beauty and ugliness and love and hate etc., etc., etc.

Manic is the morning 

the day of the new dawn 

wavy and curvy 

shapes pass 

through the heat of the sun 

she looks through the window 

beckoning to no one 

she stares... 

the keeper opens his shop 

she breathes in smells of the city 

 a mingle of smoke oil and gas... 

 she blows out the pollution  

as he pulls her from the window 

  laughs at the sleep lingering on her face 

he feeds her tea and toast 

tells her where they will go 

mapping out every little detail 

of where and when 

he assures her he will be by her side 

softly stroking her cheek 

he tells her... 

what day it is 

that he is her husband  

where they are 

the places they been 

she looks toward his noise 

a shroud of fog surrounds him 

remembering his smell 

 her face brightens 

she touches the shiny thing on his finger 

(he shows her this everyday) 

 and asks for tea and toast  

FAST TALKERS   

PLEASE...  

stop talking    

you're voice sounds like a helicopter  

snapping propellers around my head  

 talking- 

talking 

balking... 

 faster than I can hear  

let me draw words in...  

 marinate them in my thoughts...  

   distinguish babble  

 the truth of that which is clear 

be still long enough-  

for me to sink into your idea  

to know if I like it  

 hate it  

stop... rushing in  

   spinning a top 

around me 

sounding... 

 like a snake oil salesman 

pushing, pushing... 

  potions and cures
 

the grandiose politician 

filthy in dirty money 

harping  

harping 

 world peace 

the other party's 

doom and gloom 

the lemon selling car salesman 

the mother of the bride 

smothering every little detail 

as she slay the groom 

                                                                                    Dedicated to alz+

work in progress...

Poetry says what words can not explain.

Very cool work. I feel understood.

love and courage

the disease does not discriminate

it's hostages come in all shapes ,sizes and #'s

it does not care if you are affluent

rich or poor

happy, sad

THE AGE of INVISIBILITY
 

I was in line at the counter first... 

I looked at her,  

thinking...  

is she pretty or is she just young? 

He looked past me  

 through me... 

She flicked her tongue, 

snapped her young neck 

 catching his eye...  

She thought she was really something... 

He thought she was something 

I told my self they are nothing  

I swallowed my words... waited and stood in my invisible rage 

alz+

A compliment coming from you is validating! I greatly admire your talented writing, the out of the box point of view and spirit that you bring to the board! I will follow those posts of your's looking to be mused again.

AD VICE

A vice diva once told me about life.

I took an avid dive into her dull cave.

I came up empty-

A vise, a vase, a vise-grip,

of shrilling divas.

llee, beautiful work. Continue forward and I know others will be blessed by your writing.

God Bless, Paul

he turned me a song 

hymned to me 

  the night long 

the calling of love 

 whisper of fate 

I was beautiful 

 steady  

 strong 

a vision of perfection 

 his eye's... 

dark and kind 

a mirror of my reflection 

A bug sits at my hairline 

I turn away

  look back 

it is gone 

the bug returns the following day

it's at my hairline

moving closer to my ear

 I lose time...

 the morning passes me by

smoke wafts up from

 grey walls 

disappears ...

persons stand at the edge of a driveway 

too close to the road 

traffic roaring by 

I  shoo them back 

then see they are statues 

objects rush toward me 

I tango around a tangle 

  move backwards 

 gazing into the picture 

 watching myself from afar