about
a year ago the doctors ordered me to return,
put down the tablet, cease driving, stay seated,
you a skinny hair from dying, the drop dead
unkindly kind, come back to the city, there’s
an operating table Resy~reserved just for you,
the menu we will decide, two or three courses,
but for
the summering on your sheltering isle, where the
lapping waves sounds of the sound, the greenery
calming befuddles your senses is ended, the congress
of animals too  have ordered your dispatch back to
the hubbub of pizza parlors, nail salons & bodegas,
and
we will slice and dice, drawn up plans to redirect
the arteries and veins that you’ve spent good money,
lazy years clogging & *******, sending you back after
you’re  in fighting trim, and and recommence dialogus
with
the sun, sky, animals, the water and the waves, and
write of peace of mind, knowing that your body, too,
is
at peace, but not at rest, and let the writing begin
again, with a refreshed perspective, and re-greet
old friends, Hafiz and Whitman, who were left
behind in a hasty departure, your retreat is ended
and now, a new re-treating of the soul, to match a
newly refreshed body


postscript:
where is shelter? why, within and without…both needed,
in happy juxtaposition…

when the wind stops blowing,
and the trees still,
and the birds pause their tunes...

when you can feel the sun's golden warmth on your skin,
and you notice the faint floral scented air that surrounds you,
when you notice that the eery beauty of the earth is deafening...

you are grateful for the small things

He met me in my mess
When I was wrestling with my flesh
With hopes & dreams started to crumble and crash.
On the verge of breaking under stress
He met in my mess.
Lost in Oblivion
I ran into paths Unknown.
To ease the ache inside my chest
When tribulations put my faith to test;
When guilt won't let me rest
I cried unto Him
Until I shed no more tears to face the fears
I found God in my mess.
🌼

I heard the blaring wails
Of strangers playing pin the tail
On the donkey

Reminds me of a time
When we use to play
Swing the flail
At the monkey

We were young
And feeling spunky

But when the morning comes again
I’ll see you then

Today I’ll wear my positive attitude
Just for you

Till the soil in the flowerbed
Even if I’m feeling blue

I know it may seem old school
That I’m still sipping sweet vermouth

The memories flair up
And I’m returned to youth

Come upstairs
I’m on Floor 2
The one that has
A distant view

Just a couple steps away
From knowing where you are
I feel your presence fade from me
You seem so very far

The little talks
And street lamp walks
I thought would bring us closer

What was I to do?

Worry not your pretty head
None of it was true

I’m so excited about this election
about America and our direction

We’ll trust old men
to make big decisions
elderly men
of compassion and vision

Men who were there
when the work was done
when we went to the moon
and warred in Vietnam

A glorious age is at hand
we’ll be safe in those trembling hands

One who launched an insidious insurrection
Another who can’t follow simple directions

They will grasp what needs to be done,
our land will be free and efficiently run

We’ll trust old men
who think with precision
to keep us safe
with complex decisions

Men who were there
when the work was done
promoting corporate advantage
and environmental damage

A glorious age is at hand
we’ll be safe in those trembling hands

I’m so excited about this election
about America and our direction