two for one…

two for one

aunt bea
was sitting outside
reading a birth announcement
from a grand-niece
she said
i’ve read
that everyday
while two people
are dying
four are
being born
one sorrow
two moments
of joy
life and death
to be
out of balance

love is hell…

it is not the lack of love
in the human heart
that brings one
to styx’s shores
love is the tormentor
bringing into one’s life
hopelessness and suffering
when unrequited
and sorrow and destruction
when it departs
the heart
and even when
shared between two
it is
a passion
that cannot
be quenched
by a single touch
unsatisfied desires reign
day and night
in the souls
of the young lovers
and with age
those who truly love
find no rest
from its burning passion
it is
a bottomless pit
this thing called


Point-Counter Point Challenge:  For those of you have been following the challenges between Jade and I, you are aware that several challenges have taken place over the course of the last few months.  This time, the challenge was to be initiated by me and I decided to change the rules a little…well a lot.  Here’s how it works this time.  Each poet provides the other poet with  five quotations that must be addressed from the opposite point of view as the original quote. Here is the second quote that Jade provided to me: “What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love”  Fyodor Dostoyevsky

dust to dust….

Photograph by CWMartin

when your dust
settles back
into mother earth
and the tears
of sorrow
have dried
what sounds
will be heard
above the rumble
of time passing
a mumbled mantra
chanted to convince
others of their
love for you
or the roar
of deeds
well done

line sketch…

life line
lines on chart
bus line
stay between lines
line of reasoning
lines of conformity
graduation line
lines the pocket
communication line
lines dropped
front line
lines between sanity and insanity
crossed the line
enemy lines
line of fire
three     short     lines
reception line
lines of sorrow
lines of crosses

sudden deafness…

she could see his face
moving in slow motion
somber and professional
yet very sympathetic
his graying hair
spoke to how many times
he had repeated these words
but with each saying
she was certain that
     he did not lose
     himself in sorrow
     nor reflect upon the sorrow
     that filled his heart
     as he drove home
     each night
     into a crimson horizon
     among the sleep-walkers of life
     and day dreamers of peace
she left those thoughts of him
and began to look for clues of his life
some were evident in the room
     the cane angled against
     the gold-plated flag post
     and the sutures that ran along his left arm
     dodging from sight
     under his neatly pressed uniform
and the way he handled each form
     attending to each line
     as if folding a flag
     and handing it to a loved one
and how he conveyed through gestures
the importance of all the fifty lines
to be filled in by the surviving spouse
     like some vicar speaking of psalm 27
she could not hear him
all she could hear
was the final bugle call
and the death echoing
volley of rifles