Who Knew

Left Knee Sketch

Who Knew The Knee

Who knew
Carbs could crash a knee?
Or that
Skeleton and sinew
Succumbed to sugar’s wiles?
Age?
Sure.
Wear and tear?
No doubt.
But they don’t wear them out
Completely
The way false fuel does.
Time to upgrade to premium.

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Wounded

Poetry is natural medicine, it is like a homeopathic tincture derived from the stuff of life itself–your experience. Poems distill experience into the essentials. Our personal experiences touch the common ground we share with others.”

~ Excerpted from Poetic Medicine: The Healing Art of Poem-Making

Wounded
I write
Heal
Risk
Again
Live
Boldly
Love
Freely
Move
Serenely
In this world
Wounded
I write
To right
What’s wrong

*Written for Verse First ~ Poetry Heals

A Little Help, Please

I write this sitting in the kitchen sink
Fear preventing feet from touching floor
I write this aware I’m on the brink
Awaiting knock from coated men at door
I write this wishing I could think
Clearly, logically once more
I write this watching real-me shrink
As illness eats away my very core
Sometimes
Meds are miracles.

* In response to Eric W Storch’s Spring Master Class … For those of you not familiar with Master Class, in a nutshell, you will be presented with the opening sentence of a famous (or not so famous) book. You are to write a story using the same first sentence and use as many words as you think you need.

Jesus Complex Recovery

Shrugged then rolled shoulders
releasing burdens there
tipped chin to chest
shook tension out, and hair.
Sweet release!
Martyr no more
astounded one could care
so much
about so much
that was another’s cross
to bear
Jesus Complex recovery.
Be free

* A perceptive and wise therapist once asked me, “Who do you think you are, Jesus?”  Then he continued, ” Let me tell you, YOU’RE NOT!”
He gave me a lot to think about in the following days! ;-)

Snapshots

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Cardboard bed sullying scene on Powell near First.
Early city visitors and denizens alike
Walk on
Each disregarding berth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Goes his way
As they charge toward moments of importance.

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Bassett crib, dresser, walls, sports-gear immersed.
Early twenties mother, on-his-way-up dad,
Adore
Observing him with mirth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Left un-noted
Each recorded as a moment of importance.

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Upper bunk, Cardinal life; he leaps headfirst.
Early season trainers and his coach, Division I,
Create
Controlling strength and girth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Issues forth
Without reps plotting moments of importance.

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Metal cot sporting buckles, sheetless now – it’s safety first.
Early-onset illness, medication self-prescribed,
Destroy
Perception, options and self-worth.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Springs to mind
Minus demons stealing moments of importance.

He is precious to someone, that boy, now man
Rolling bedding from the mission, he does curse.
Early morning hangover, a keen desire to die
Heighten
Feral hungers laced with thirst.
Not a blink or a nod or a thought
Coming lucid
He careens toward final moments of importance.

He is precious.