Riding the my-will train

riding the my-will train to a
destination of my own creation
located nowhere on reality’s map
rocketing down the wrong track
hoping to pull a magical switch and
end up where I want to be

train stopwhat I need to do is pull the emergency cord
bring this insanity to a lurching stop
would I ride a real train to the
wrong destination
again and again
year after year
bewildered when I arrive
finding no welcoming arms
no expected outcomes

yank on that red cord
tell the conductor I want off
run to the station master
ask for direction from the one in charge
who knows all the best routes
including the one created just for me
take a few short trips at
his suggestion
regard it as an adventure not a
chore

smokey trainget off the train to self-destruction
head safely in a new direction
even if I have to wait in the station
be patient and let that
smoky false desire chug on by

read the wisdom of ancient passengers
scratched upon the walls
plato’s advice that
time will change and even
reverse many of your present opinions
refrain, therefore, awhile from
setting yourself up as a judge of the
highest matters

or elizabeth barrett browning
whom you greatly admire
a woman of letters and love who scribbled
God’s gifts put a man’s best dreams to shame

The garden path

garden pathshe tippy toes down garden path
mid fragrant hedge of self-deceit
his idle words writ on the net
form stepping stones beneath her feet

she stops to browse a wall not hers
photos of his other life
a stunning bit of azure silk
the glint of diamonds on a ring
shout wedding day
in deafened ears

a look content upon his face
at family table fed with smiles
slows her merry made-up pace
turns hopeful moments into miles
of unfulfilled and foolish chase

she grabs the dagger by the hilt
and draws it from her broken heart
her wound will heal if given time
and a willingness to part
with journeys down that garden path
that leads to nowhere from the start

Mystic

Mystic by Thierry Tramoni de Bazzacone (Copyright Protected)

Mystic by Thierry Tramoni de Bazzacone (Used with permission and fully copyright protected)

Poem inspired by photo “Mystic” by fine arts photographer Facebook friend Thierry Tramoni de Bazzacone who lives in Ajaccio, Corsica

necromancer’s brew of
mussel encrusted rocks
bathed in frazzled foam

cavity-riddled molars
hungering to
devour some hapless vessel
raw

gargoyled reefs
drowned in
agitated waves that
somersault into a
winslow homer sea

poisonous mists
deadly enough to
infect stone
sending shelled and
scaly creatures
fleeing for their
lives

hiding place for
tales of woe and
bad endings
yet one that draws our
eyes and hearts into its
murky mystic soul

Love words

love words
love words slide from my lips
evaporating into barrier of
thick unforgiving air before
intended ears can hear

others ooze from
ink-soaked nibs or are
tapped into existence
laying useless
unread by
hardhearted eyes

I am neither heard nor seen
except by those who
hang on my thoughts out of
desperation or
devotion

Cinderella revisited

cinderella1

POEMS FOR RECOVERY by DR. KAREN STEPHEN AKA DOC FLAMINGO

sitting by the hearth
wearing soot dusted clothes that
beg to be washed clean

stirring gloomy embers with an
iron poker of obsession
hoping to relight passion in
dark dead coals

memories of bright flames
sear my brain
forgetting how fast they
consumed reason
turned ardor to
conflagration
leaving blisters on my
soul

fire that burned
more than warmed
then died
leaving me even more
alone in the
chilled solitary night

can I take my
cinderella self and
search the garden for my
fairy godmother
armed with wand and
pumpkins

not to find a prince
but to take
just one ride in the
golden carriage of
my life

Courtesy of the heart

To the reader: This poem was created from an incredible page published in a 12-step daily meditation book, which in turn was based on a quote by Goethe:

Goethe It gives me a goal to aspire to when my thoughts and actions are quite determined to go in a destructive direction.

courteous

POEMS FOR RECOVERY by Dr. Karen Stephen AKA DocFlamingo

courtesy of the heart
akin to love
out of which arises
pure courtesy in outward behavior

courtesy of the heart
seems detached
lacks the fervor of the vengeful heart
the disappointment of the longing heart
the envy of the seeking heart
the pain of the broken heart

courtesy of the heart
interferes not with the
life decisions of others
neither plays games
nor passes judgment
declines to give advice
has no need to seek approval
does not accept guilt
nor lays blame on others
appreciates
rather than criticizes

courtesy of the heart is
never snobbish
nor superior
finds no difference between
a president or a busboy
learns from everyone
welcomes new ideas
embraces strangers

courtesy of the heart
feels joy
instead of fear
sees with fresh eyes
even through tears

Mama’s boy

breath held to fend off the
whiskey vomit stench
his small fingers inch the bottle from her
limp grasp
like a deadly game of pick-up sticks

empty jim beam bottlepours the dark liquid down the drain
buries Jim Beam in a
garbage grave

then dashes out leaving
screen door ajar

garage peeling paintporch steps breached
sneaks along the lee side of the
garage
dressed in peeling paint
tears through
old man Smith’s petunia patch
lungs on fire

blackberryreaches his secret place
on the far side of the
blackberry hedge
hits the ground hard
squeezing back tears

her voice
too distant to be heard
still clack clack clacks
in his ears
mean drunk helicopter words
slicing through his brain

the same small fingers
pluck dark berries from their
prickly cocoons
liquid stains his
fingertips
blood or juice
it doesn’t matter

The notebook

IMG_0764vintage palms
suggest a
British empire hazed morning
a prim ruched bodice
gossamer covered arms
pen held delicately
scribbling a memoir of the
raj

five ninety-five price tag
on the back
speaks bargain store

if I remember correctly
(five years dim my memories)
a valentine’s gift
when I had a valentine
who celebrated my
writing

I meant to write on the
palm-shaded pages

IMG_0765but the end came before
a single letter was formed
before even the germ of a
literary thought
found its way from
my brain to the
virgin folio

which still lies unspoiled by
regret or rue
the void an
homage to
dreams unmet

Reunion

old lovesa tight spot in my chest
aches from the inside out
I want to
rock my heart
sing it a lullaby

revelations slip out
roused from dark places
deep hurt
flash frozen at eighteen
unthawed after fifty years in
cold storage
singed by freezer burn

past bliss
squints in the bright light of today
losing definition
more chimera than
substance

a whiff of his cologne
provokes an intimate connection
did we breathe the same air
share the same bed
touch skin to skin
or was it all
illusion

bodies
changed with age and wear
connect
snap together with the strength of
opposite polarities
he startled by new feelings
me saddened by the irretrievable

serendipity joins two bare wires which
spark as eyes meet in
air charged with expectation

selves are turned inside out
frayed inner seams exposed
mine more than his
healing and disappointment are
stitched together in a
bitter-sweet quilt

my higher power watches
seeing if I can find my way
force myself into real choices
not hypotheticals

every desire is coated with the
plain truth of distance
age
health
lives rooted in different soils

old obsessions are defused
left lifeless on the floor
swept away by the stiff broom of
common sense

new understandings of the past are
shared
separate lives
filled with choices
some good
some lousy
thankful we didn’t visit those choices
on each other
we never divorced each other
a gift in and of itself
never fought over money or children
never nagged
never closed our ears

can we accept it was all meant to be
exactly as it occurred
paths ordained to diverge
amid pain and misunderstanding
predestined now to intertwine
just long enough to
uncover buried secrets

we part with a body memory that
no one else will share or
understand

our futures turn
practical
more in keeping with our
current lives
but this reunion
this unexpected reconciliation
lingers to sweetly
flavor reality

Flight of the soul

Dear Readers: In light of my recent near miss on a Southwest flight to San Diego, I’m publishing a poem I wrote several years ago

southwest takeoffmy flight lumbers down the runway
a drunken gooney bird
straining for liftoff
then soars into the morning sky
like an eagle
destination San Diego

flight plan prescribed
set altitude
longitude and latitude
predetermined
veering neither left nor right

each passenger
on a mission
mundane or sublime
but all set within earth’s bounds
a friend to visit
a funeral to attend
an elderly mother to care for
a business deal to seal

but what if this is not flight 1765 to
San Diego
what if this is an outbound flight
for my soul

I asked myself on rising this morning
my heart craving what it cannot have
can I discard my habitual moaning
my bitter tears
can I forego my usual recriminations
can I truly head in a new direction

clouds33-with-aircraftturbines surge
riveted metal shudders
as the plane breaks free of
earth’s gravity
ascends through a gray drizzle
into blinding sunshine above
a sea of white peaked meringue

suddenly a wing dips
our course is altered
anticipation and fear collide in my gut

the captain’s voice echoes in my ears
and mine alone
unfasten your seat belt Karen
feel free to move about in life
rise above your usual attitudes
oxygen masks have been removed
seat cushions no longer float
no safety instructions
no lights to direct you to the nearest exit
no soothing libations
nothing to take the edge off your fear

no exitin fact
there is no exit

leave your baggage behind
no carrying-on allowed
leave that suitcase packed with hair shirts and
sexy lingerie behind
fretting and yearning are prohibited

forget the flight tracker
you don’t need to know your destination,
nor your arrival time
all you need is you

phoenix_soul_by_clintonkun-d3clpipam I ready for this journey into the
heart of me
ready to stop regretting what I lack
open to finding
what I’ve not known about myself
not to uncover a smarter or wiser me
just a hidden me
one seen with non-judgmental eye
explored with gentle steps that
tread lightly on tender places

maybe this world needs a me
who is just me
not a better me
only the created me

plane rainjarred back to the present
thudding onto the runway
the captain announces our arrival
light drizzle
temperature sixty-five degrees

I know this is not my journey’s end
but its beginning
this journey of my soul will begin
with each breath in
end with each breath out
transport me to places
beyond my meager imagination