the mind
finds the same
path
and takes it
unless
something
takes it another way
something
some
one
thing it could
be light
maybe love or some
kind of sight
that puts up a battered blinking
road block of sighs
what am i looking through…

a lifting
i looked from within my shell,
from within my reasoning,
a judgement to find.
why did they make this?
i wondered if
they enjoy doing it.
then there came an answer.
the making is not mine.
there is no judgement for me to find.
a soul weight lifted.
my sight, as with tears, cleared.
a new way of seeing appeared.
-nmd
Augustus in the Sink

Augustus: I am quite happy with myself. But, I like to be with you sometimes.
Nancy: I see. But, do you have to be with me when I am peeing?
Augustus: Peeing is intriguing.
Nancy: And there is the sink. You leave the sink all furry.
Augustus: I like to spread the love.
the Mystery
Where
on the dot
What
just enough to sustain
When
it’s actually needed
How
we don’t see it coming
Why
is Love
Who
really knows
venerable autumnal recipe

one tree of crisp sycamore leaves
a small-town street
wind mixing-up a symphony
a delicious aroma of sound
careful not to burn-nan
THERE
there she stands
at the end of the land
thirty trips around the sun
plus two
she has come
to this place
looking for the
darkest blackberry
of july
sweeter

look at my past
the past of my father
the past my mother
methodist england wales
catholic germany
small towns
southern illinois
man marries
and goes into the air force
the woman
no one talked about
didn’t wait
he marries again
a catholic girl
her father would not have it
the family disowned her
my mother
how could they
when i was young
we visited her mother
her father in a wheelchair
thin
weak
silent
grandma gave me
butter and sugar on bread
she had a german accent
she was sweeter than pie
a love note
(thirty four years and july means blueberries)
divorce and your new life in marriage did not erase our past.
though it changed the future.
our memories. the goodness that was also ours.
i remember everything
cheers from across the room
i will never run out of kisses
i love you written on my back with your finger
bow nights
concerts
biscuits and cornbread
denny road boys
running to the phone with only a towel
champagne
christmas carols
driving icy roads
wedding
babies
ducks
the year of the flood and Casey
taking Sydney everywhere
my mental depression
missing being loved
wondering why you stopped loving me
not being what you wanted or needed
still loving you
building a house
resentment
home
work then wine making
kids and school
grocery shopping
hand-washing dishes
family
your friends
i am not glad to be rid of you
but i am grateful that you are happy
i would like to see you now and then
if i could visit i would love to
i know that she would not understand
wives rarely do
thinking they will lose love
but i know she will never loose your love and respect
she never did
too bad she doesn’t realize this
i have my dreams
people find sin in loving more than one person…
there is the two headed monster called jealousy and fear
i try to ignore this terrible monster
because it is not love
life is very amazing
and quite strange
ego and others
me and we
money and greed
love
home
need
https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=L21Tc_DtL6M
🌈
What to call my self

How do you think about yourself? I am a person, in accordance with other people, out of my own personality, and from things that I find to be interesting. Quite late in life, fairly lately that is, I found that I don’t necessarily have any control over what people think of me, no matter what I do. Just imagine. But mostly there are very few that even think of me at all.
I am thinking that people need to label and sort to be able to communicate. But labels can be a general thing. And labels are as different as each perspective.
do you care
have you ever tried to hold on
to something
that seems like a dream
with just enough reality
that you hang in that space
seldom landing
is this something
ever enough
?
IT’s a TELEPHONE
i pick it up
look at it
check for the message
write thoughts
listen
there is music
and books to hear
write thoughts
i could look
at this all
of my life
it is my life line
with no line
an invisible connection
my fingers touch
the glass
it lights up
my light my companion
i look at it
everything else
a blur
IN THE NEWS
The news is like a compost pile.
New layers atop the old.
Forgetting what we’ve been told.
The garden grows.

matters
watch
which
words
wander
within
and speak
of
hope and love
the gift
The gift of enough
in the hill country of texas
a place of God’s people
but only a few were
friendly
my room mate
going through divorce
used most of the
space in the room
her belongings
strategically thrown
throughout
and in
our own sweet
and miserable
sadness we were
strangers
i felt
judged
and alone
there, as well as
at home
i came
to do art
for… something
there i was
in the art studio
at night
the lights went out
i knew
i had to walk through the
stunted growth of trees
in the dark
i remember
the candles
i saw that day
in the next building
in the now darkened
and colourless center
why did i
look in that drawer
earlier that day
i don’t remember
but i remembered the matches
i made my way there
the door unlocked
i lit a candle
held it up
above my head
to see
enough
to take a step
maybe two
then
it….. was
a frighteningly
peaceful
beautiful
light
in the woods
a whisper
to my heart
when i was listening
it saw me through
and i suppose
i want to believe
to have hope
within everything
in moments of our time…
Love

i am a star
i am a star, unreachable. hanging lonely in the sky, just for you.