My Brother, the King (for deverse; Let's get a little medieval)

My Brother, the King

Am I envious?

Of the crown he wears

The women who succumb

To his royal advances,

The palace in which he lives,

Abundant in its material guise,

Dungeon of doom.

His thoughts,

Hold no more value

Than my own

His teachings

Instilled with cruelty

And punishment

No rod is spared

For his inability to

Remember

As he lay quivering

In a dark corner haunted 

by the memory of misunderstanding

wounded still from the bruises

of childhood.

Such fine clothes

Adorn his frailty

He hides his fear

Dancing with the Queen

Who does not love him

Simply a womb with a crown.

Am I envious

Of my brother

As I live outside

His prison of contempt?

 Even though I am-

Bastaridized

Insignificant

Poor and wanting

I do not envy

my brother, the king

 

For I am wealthy

In love

And all the poverty

Of being cast aside,

Child of our father’s mistress.

I am warmer

In the fields of want

Than I could ever hope

To be

Within the confines

Of his prison

I hear him weep at night.
Do you?

For You (for deverse- A Poem From the Future)

For You

I know you never believed

you’d still be standing

painting your dreams

with those crooked hands

your body, fighting itself

like  an unwelcome intruder-

Yet here you are

reading these lines

penned by those swollen, red

works of art God didn’t let time

destroy;

And how the grandchildren

love you, so happy you are here

to hold their babies-

Benjamin, the sweet and gentle child

grew up to be everything you imagined.

 How he reminds you of yourself,

 always searching, grasping time

 knowing it is all too fleeting.

The little girl, you called Baby P.

holds her son and sings the songs

Gammie taught her, old Motown

remembering your gentle voice.

Baby Kay holds her children

tells them the story of Margaret,

The Happy Cub, filled with hugs

and good wishes and how you

brought her to life, more precious

than the prize you told her one day

she would win for helping to heal

the wounded.

Your three girls

still hold you close

treasuring all the moments

you shared with them,

years reflecting the bluest eyes.

As you all have witnessed

the changing world,

no longer a digital age

of cold communication

It has returned to the human touch

 we all missed for so long.

The sun still shines brightly,

the moon lulls the sleeping

and though you are now old

and waiting, you know 
how blessed you have been.

My House, Half Empty

I occupy too many rooms

All sparse

Only fragments of me

Fill the shadows

No one room

Can I fill

Vacant, a flickering of light

Soon extinguished

By  indifference.

The pearl, hidden in the

Confines of world

Blinding its eye

Although it burns brightly

In all that is human

It offers no riches deemed worthy.

It is a pauper’s song

Ancient lyrics of a search

For the why and the need

of the poets who are always hungry. 

Is This Love?

I would like

to hold you

gently

without restraint

just let you be

breathe in and out of me-

Sustaining the beat

of hearts who discovered

each other when the night

 left us empty enough

 to fill the pure space between us.

Lotus

Held hostage
by the shackles of limbo
where reaching is restrained.

Always in the posture
of departing, feet bound
by doubt.

The ransom already paid
by the crippled years
she binds to memory.

Never blooming in mid-afternoon,
she rides the dark horse beneath the moon
seeking the Goddess who will save her.

Silent Snow (for deverse Snowed under, Iced in...)

Quiet earth

Beneath white silence

Pureness

Untainted by this world

How it makes one

Go inward

Feel the gentle stirrings

Of memory

Gratitude

For the warmth of shelter

Empathy for those without

Like a seventh day

All is still

We can almost hear

 The angels sigh.

Thief

The thief arrives
stealing the lies


Truth-
almost fatal
stirs in the dark

and some part of you
cries in the night.