POEMS and THOUGHTS
The Sound of “Lonely”
I never heard the sound of “lonely”
But always thought I knew.
I imagined it would be the sound of wailing in the night.
When I was far away from her,
I was nowhere to be found.
I was told that she starved herself, for just a few days.
Was that what “lonely” sounded like?
When I once saw a man, all alone on a bed,
There was nothing there but his silence and dread.
Except the shallowness of breath, there was nothing in the room.
Was that what “lonely” sounded like?
I remember a hospital and remember the screams.
Their yells of pain were not enough
To drown the noise of a flashing white car.
Was that what “lonely” sounded like?
Is loneliness hunger, sorrow or pain?
Is loneliness absence from lovers or gain?
The separation or thirsting for more?
Was that what “lonely” sounded like?
I do not know or claim to know
Where the sound of “lonely” begins.
I only know what happened to me,
When I was away from my dear friend.
I picked up my cat, my companion of four.
She was boarded while I was away.
And when I had placed her in the front seat,
That’s when I heard noise, bright and gay.
It was like a small scream, and yet it was more.
It was frantic and fresh and was new.
Whatever the sound of loneliness is,
Happy is different from blue.
LIKE YOU
I don't think I like you much, the lady said to me.
I tried explanation.
I pleaded my case.
But finally I confessed.
It's true, so true.
We talk every day.
You know my story well.
I don't have much money.
My story's so much hell.
That's no excuse.
She chanted and raved.
You had plenty chances, I know.
Your choices were made.
Your path was well-known.
Decisions are what made you so sad.
You could have gone left.
But you chose the right.
You could have had smiles and not frowns.
You lost all your friends.
You spent all your coins.
You picked up your fate with your hands.
You're where you are because of you.
There's no one else to blame.
You picked the brush.
You chose the paint.
That rainbow's yours to own.
I knew my lady friend was right.
Her words were fierce and strong.
Reflections are so accurate.
I placed the mirror down,
Don't be so blue...you've got you
Keep writing when everyone says that you’re wrong.
Keep smiling when all of your days are too long.
Keep dancing when fabulous legs are no more.
…for you have a heart that can tap on the floor.
Your strength is your faith. You wipe off your frown.
For you’re moving up. You’re not moving down.
Keep playing when all of your energy’s gone.
Keep painting when all of the models are home.
Keep trying when failure is all you have known.
Keep moving though thousands of errors you’ve sown.
Keep loving and trusting the people you see.
Rejection is only a part of the we.
You must see the good things, not evil or sad.
But even when you don’t, it isn’t so bad.
The end of a thing is often the best.
You must let it go, get it off of your chest.
Reactions are normal and part of the day.
Don’t stay there ‘cause others are waiting to play.
But even if no one is gathered around.
Even if no one can hear your loud sound.
You must beat your drum. You must play your flute.
For you have a vision that mustn’t be mute.
You still have the playground when no one’s around.
The toys are still yours if loneliness pounds.
You don’t need a something, a what, or a who.
Don’t be so blue, you’ve got you.
Life is good. Life is wonderful.
The Cat and the Moth
Freddy’s Narrative
I hate moths. But then again, I hate life.
My master talks about love all the time and nearly suffocates me while talking about it.
I itch.
I don’t understand humans. They yell and they scream. They also watch a box in the wall where more people and shapes and animals scream and make loud noises.
Where is that moth? I just saw it a moment ago.
Why do people have to come over? I only want my slave and me. More than two is too much.
What was that? I will kill it, if it bites me again.
My master says I have ADD.
I hate those neighbors.
I’m sleepy.
That is a weird color on the wall.
What was that? Did I hear the sound? Food?
Life is good. Life is wonderful. I will run to swallow those dried fish rocks.
I am happy.
* * * *
A happy moth flies away. He thinks he is a butterfly. But it doesn’t matter.
Life is good. Life is wonderful