Mean dog
out on the chain
chained to the earth
Barking
Incessant
So cold
Hungry
Tireless
barking in anguish
it is just his way
to get through another day
His master watches television
Angered by his barking, whining
Hits him, hard, his canine skull cracked
wracked with misunderstanding
and so much pain
Why am I here
Does he think this?
Not unlike a small child
asking for shelter, food, and
God forbid
Love
Tonight's poetry comes from inspiration caught while driving, a first line or two echoing over and over so hard and loud in my mind that I briefly think about pulling over to the side of the road...
I have learned in these amazing last several months that meditation, music and writing can cure just about anything and everything, even my dreadful low laying fury, even my deepest darkest rage...
Waves of anxiety and distress plague us all and we say we are okay when we are in fact, not. Are we? Writing and talking are two very different modes of communication. Writing is the one I am better at. Always have been. It's better to burn out than to fade away...
On the train to NYC last week, I read an article about a mother and father. I knew when I finished it, it would remain harsh and sharp in the corridors where I keep the horrors like Jon Benet Ramsey.
I grew up watching my father place green tomatoes on the window sills of the house I grew up in. The house that burned because he and I were smokers and ultimately paved the way for the writing I have always done.
This writing would be lost if I did not take the time to sit and be ready to hear my soul release it to my son and all those who have recently lost someone who sounds like he was so kind and the best type of friend anyone could have asked for. Much love and light being sent to Bobby and his family.
