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Writing is like breathing

The angels whisper, never stop trying, never give up, always ask for more..

Here is where I spread my wings and fly...

Come, take my hand
close your eyes and dream
fly with me
to shores of beaches
our toes in the sand

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The Sound of Hope

Do you hear
the seraphim angels sing
high above heaven, circling round
as wispy white cirrus clouds
stand guarding your light?

Do you hear
the harp of the Archangel
as you rage inside
when wills collide
fighting your fight?

Do you hear
the heavenly messengers strain
through musical tones
on a breeze, in a dream
alone in the night?

That is hope…

Meeting Godzilla

My juices were flowing. I could smell the sweet clouds of cotton candy hanging heavy in the air. The annual Caribbean Block Party/Carnival held every year in the down town streets where I live. Great place to take the kids and family.  It was, it is, until you meet a drunken Godzilla grandmother who likes to push and lean on you in a line for children’s rides.

I’m a lover not a fighter, but I become the Punisher when I’m in charge of a 3 year old I happen to love dearly.  Defense mode is on auto pilot so politeness takes a stab at (GG, my nick name for her) when I’m pushed again. Seconds pass as I size her up, the crowd of parents and grandparents are now spilling obscenities no 3 year old should be hearing.

I’m pissed; I’ve waited in this line with my impatient companion for 20 minutes, 15 minutes past his attention span. I decide to defuse the situation and remove the fear from the little one, so I walk away.
Smart? I think so, he didn’t need to see me rip GG’s arm from the socket and shove it up her ass. I would have, if one little hair had been disturbed on his head by her.

As I walked away, I heard cheering.  Turning around I see the police removing her and her crying grandchildren from the line. Just then a young man comes running up to me, urging me to return for the ride. Hearing the happy little noises coming from junior, we did return.  He led us right on to the ride, skipping the line completely. Sweet!

I swear, sometimes I think the whole world is high on ugly pills. Tell me, what would you have done?

Brooms

I write to sweep the moments
of memories that harbor
in dark corridors like dust,
purging impurities
collected from a lifetime
of sin and sainthood,
I applaud those
with lives so perfect
where grass grows green
on both sides of the fence,
but my polish chips
my hair lacks luster
and the dust bunnies
keep collecting in corners
so I sweep…

Piano Man

There’s an old house on the hill
tangled up in vines
its white wooden boards
blackened
from weather, age and time

A hunched back man
who drew quarters from his ears
lived there
for many, many years

He gave piano lessons
never charging for his time
I always paid a quarter
with a nickel and two dimes

I know it wasn’t fair
he deserved so much more
but I would have given anything
to watch him pull it from his ears