in love and mist

a morning comes, in love and mist, alive —
the habitat of all its absentees —
she’ll rise to breathe again and fail to thrive
as long ago were any days of ease

but soft upon the door, the winter knocks,
and hard upon the floor, her husbands sleeps:
her best pajamas, and her favorite socks
make up the company she daily keeps

and coffee greets her as a warming friend,
the flickering screen of comments on her posts –
the hope perhaps today the joints will bend
and she won’t know, again, depression’s ghosts

as coffee to her lips is lightly kissed
the day begins again, in love and mist

Hearts Are Full Of Fields

You know her angry, critical;
A person certain, full of pride –
But once, there was another her;
From time long past and distance wide —

She loved a boy, who was her heart;
But he, at last, his love denied –
He left her on what should have been
The day that she became a bride

So now you see her as she is,
Someone who always seems outside;
Who keeps her distance from the team,
With comments both acerb and snide

But if you knew her as I do
The love that never died inside,
You’d know that hearts are full of fields
Where flowers grow
That none
Have spied

Space Invaders

It’s sad that no one knows that he at one time protected the whole world from invasion; but real heroes, he’s realized, rarely get the attention they deserve. At any rate, he would not have liked the attention had he received it: the one type of invader he can’t deal with at all are those who invade his own space.

Constricted

The ties that long constricted her
Are there of her own choosing;
The method to her gladness; whether
Using or abusing

And now she sits beside a man
She doesn’t really know –
Allowing him a privilege
He hasn’t really earned –
She’s there in dazed bemusement,
Not quite sure why it is so –
But knows the ties that cut too deep
Are just like being burned

There is a type of battle that
Is deadlier than swords:
And everywhere she goes, she fights
Against
Her self-made
Cords

The Poet Transacts

He heard: “You’re just a poet. Write your words
of common things, within your daily span:
Don’t try understand what’s past your reach;
Do not essay to plumb the depths of man.”

He left his money there, as he was told,
And walked out into emptiness and night —
For much within this city never glows,
And many who are smart are not
That bright

The Weak Survive, Too

They told him, “just the strong survive.”
But he does not believe that, much —
A type of mere tautology
Because strength is defined as such

For he’s known weakness, indolence,
The need for frequent healing —
But he survives ’cause he’s refused
To ever give up
Feeling