My Adam

Tender and handsome
funny and strong
braver than I
learned to be
Adam...
apps & music
videogames
friends
when he laughs
my heart sparkles
glass bells sing
my soul knows joy
each day a journey
of learning and light
My sweet boy
high school now
face so soulful
hands of beauty
thoughtful voice
getting taller today
corn niblet toes
walk him away
into his future self
without me as guard
my mind just begs
for places of peace
rooms full of love
his face so lovely
hands in between
small and grown
Reach for everything
Pull it close baby
hold next to your heart
the toys of living
warm your life
forever Adam
if I can't go then
please remember okay

cherry jello

What you’re wearing

speakers blaring

stepping up your

conscious sharing

toys like candy

look at Andy

car wash songs

so clean & squeaky 

few of you might

last the weekend

smoking packs

hair’s all groggy

time in window

getting foggy

drums chase blue ones

girls all new ones

getting lost is something funny

think I lost your money honey

separate states of being present

like a king or when he isn’t

once I knew the strings and fingers

jumping baby you’re delicious

come I like the way I’m feeling

shutting out the hungry squealing

fucking bored of blue eyed kitty

chased the girlfriend in the city

acting so pneumonia smiling

then he phoned up hot and dialing

let’s get straight and go unconscious

let’s play songs and metamorphosis

dreams excite my boring day job

she denies she has a heart throb

digs him but she hates the tension

so she fucks up his dimension

lips like cherry jello pouting

shut the door I hate the shouting.

Kimbowa

Demanding something 

out of everyone

to make up

what is lacking 

inside.

When it’s cold

she is unhappy

she is ugly

feels bad. 

And then it’s hot 

and she’s in love

because of the heat

rolling down her back

comes loads of love

and acceptance

finally, acceptance

sweet 

proof

she can make it.

Proof she won’t trust

still knowing

any moment

it could drop

a few hundred degrees

again and suddenly she

would have to start all over

dripping cold

in the kitchen doorway.

My Son

My son is dangerous.
Brown messy boy hair.
Eyes just like mine.
Perfect nose somehow.

Twelve year old hands.
Jeans hanging loose.
Shoulders already broad.
Shoes but no socks (of course).

Lives life in fun.
Not weighted with worry.
Sees his path well lit.
Laughs as he starts off.

How can a mother explain.
Love that goes straight through?
Joy and fear hold hands.
"One day you'll understand."

Bond like I never had.
Too many photographs.
Memories sweet and happy.
My son is dangerous.

Intent

I am dripping with intent.
So eager to mean something.
Quietly screaming my own name.
Lying perfectly still in wait.
Something is supposed to happen.
Nervous energy wishes itself away.
A lot of things have already happened.
You may have seen me different.
I cannot be held responsible for this.

Childhood

When a child
strawberry-faced 
and dirty
barefoot toed
kicked past the concrete
slab out back called home
dirt dug deep
to look for treasures 
buried there
telephone lines
on the ground
from a storm
and the dirt is mud
is like
"here's mud in your eye"
of the future
children can't see
waiting up ahead
is more dirt
more buried treasure
buried too deep
for this
still strawberry-faced
now
seeds of forgiveness 
in her mouth
child in 2010
born 1959