In my solo years,/
I have not become moody,/
just introspective
ORjust contemplative
OR become withdrawn
Or become sullen
In my solo years,/
I have not become moody,/
just introspective
ORjust contemplative
OR become withdrawn
Or become sullen
My thoughts were twisted.
In my pain, I never thought
Of how I hurt you.
A friend’s brother, who was a guitar and banjo maestro, recently passed away. He befriended the homeless, bringing them home for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
This holiday season, I saw a homeless man standing on the corner, in the rain, with a guitar case next to him. I thought of my friend’s brother, rolled down the window, gave the minstrel some money, and said “There should always be music!” Then I wrote this.
She won’t even know/
I gave money to homeless/
guys with wet guitars.
Though she’d said goodbye,/
from a thousand miles away/
her alarm woke me.
Sometimes there’s no good /
reason for doing something /
stupid. You’re just dumb.
When did you decide/
that I’d /
become worthy/
of silence, your deepest cruelty?/
Why me?/
Sad anniversary:/
One week/
since the last words/
I heard/
you speak.
How does one go from/
sharing everything to blank/
and total silence?
Christmas miracles/
still happen. My children healed/
many broken Hearts.
Imagination/
Runs so strong in both of us,/
Neither knows what’s real.
She always worries/
she’s babbling. The funny thing/
is: She never does.