all I know, revisted

I sit amidst
my bloody entrails
with you
trying to recover.
This
all of the muck
is the real me.
according to you.
I begin to believe.
as do you.

We continue to sit
amidst our waste
glorifying the grime
that chokes and conceals
the true foundations
beneath.

I look about me
in disgust,
realizing that I
we
are trapped
in the muck
the entrails
the shit
the bile
I vomit as you pick through
and thank me.

I cannot remain
any longer.
I rise to my feet
and walk away.

I must purge myself
of the shit.

I only hope
you too can pull yourself
out of the muck.

Only when removed
individually
from the waste
will we see
the foundation
surface again.

Memory Poem #3

It was a beautiful day

set aside

for us.

To exercise our bodies

and celebrate our bond.

With high ambitions

and detailed plans,

nothing could hinder us.

Or so we thought,

as we meandered along

chatting and laughing,

contemplating and discussing,

stopping by a mulberry tree

to sample the sweet delicacy

before moving forward

on our arduous adventure.

Fresh and ready for a feat

nothing prepared us

for the turn of a corner

and a sprawled figure.

You were concerned.

A roller-blader

seemed non-plussed

by the figure’s presence

they passed

fifteen precious minutes

ago.

We moved forward with

Sir

And

Hello

And

Are you okay

And

He’s not responding.

dropping to my knees

removing his helmet and glasses

feeling for a pulse

listening for breathe.

And

I don’t hear or feel anything

And

Is he dead?

And

I have to try.

I lift the chin

I breathe into a lifeless gurgle

I compress the chest

the snaps and tears of shattered bones.

You call for help.

Then you join.

And others join.

And others have stories.

But nothing changes the fact:

he’s dead.

I remember

mounting our bikes

and continuing forward

with tearless eyes,

heavy hearts

and a devastating,

yet irreplaceable

moment.

Tragedy bred unity.

Some semblance

of understanding

for an event

that makes no sense

beyond death.

Memory Poem #2

Standing in anticipation

amidst the echoes of silence

reverberating throughout

the immense vastness

of ornate holiness.

The body pulse.

The intake of breath.

The fall of

the guiding hand.

The first note.

A chorus of voices

drowning the silence

in melodious waves

flooding the

awesome space,

caressing the

ancient walls,

dancing around

the lush art.

A privilege and an honor

to raise voices spontaneously

in a sacred and majestic

monument to God.

An unforgettable moment

of beauty and worship

as your son.

Memory Poem #1

a day of celebration

a day to acknowledge

the beauty of life

gifted to the Earth

in the form of you

 

the heart knows

but the brain fails

speaking of waste materials

and future unknowns

rather than the present

joy of your existence

fortunately your heart

big and understanding

saw past the failure

to the greater truth

with a humored smile

we should not need

a day to celebrate

for every day

is an honor

and a gift

All, for us

All is known to you,

                                    yet you delight in our prayers

                                                                       discoveries

                                    yet you weep from our pain

                                                                         selfish pursuits

                                    yet you rejoice in our hope

                                                                       renewal

                                    yet you gave us your son

                                                                      a choice

                                    yet we know nothing

                                                         nor fathom

                                    your great love

                                                                                  for us.