My Brother (returning to The Creek)
my mother’s house is an empty chair
the rain refuses to visit her roof
rooms of childhood draw final breaths
and the echo of my true brother falls
to silence in the corner of the yard
the only hope for me stuck with anger
refusing to witness the wounds of me
is to go to go to be with the water
to walk with my feet bare my body
stripped to the bones that carry me
my brother lies in clay floats with air
he is waiting for a sign of bravery from me
to quietly sit wait re-member memories
accept my fears and call to him
I love you I miss you – forgive me
Speaking Reflection: Being and Thereafter as in or despite Before and After
Loss and death are powerful as they are are enough to halt us half way there even before we are aware.
                                                       Only we don't stop just stutter step
or so to be certain we comprehend: death is death loss is loss wreck
is wreck.
                Remember then what we've forgotten or have tried to forget.
Patience tries once and twice and more. We let impatience be its own
but it fails us once again. Not due to impatience obviously but due to
lack of sense handily employed by so called patience--duly foreswarn--
to be loyal.
Forgotten is just a word nonetheless, as always, handy as poems go.
Younger brothers are loyal once in a while if you don't mind forbearance.
                      They are there as always, needful of example and leadership even though you've not been a peerless one, you'll do.
Halt then. It's too late to be careful. Prime time is never for you. Time
is just time. A moment too soon. Poem, story, verb, feeling, la de daah.
What's needed more is never too late. For you none too soon is prime.
Always Shadow

reading your words
I become obsessed
Simon’s shadows of
sadness and darkness 
men afraid to be 
with light with air
men only boys
know them be them
skin scoured raw
they drew blood 
for kin and country
were packed into boxes
wood beaten with nails
the fate of lies sealed
They Say It's Never Too Late to Catch Up/Yeah, It Is True True

Always us always never too late no second chance that's the work
before we know it today is today and now is now.
                                                                                     For that, we are
ready as ever ever was. Fate has no chance, not even for repetition.
Never mind is too late to be forsaken.
                                                                 Hmmm is too soon this time
because trepidation is not circumstance but a calculation and a need.
For we are bound after all by kin who seek to be like we are: wary and 
worn by the time we finish stitching the final lace strand on the pack.
We are bound by duty that beholds us commonly together as sisters, 
brothers, children of children bound to be loyal with human love. And
a bond more everlasting than repetitive but generous and ready to sing
the blues into merriment, that dance our sorrows into tidings glad.
This is the moment then.
                                           For tippy toed gentleness and limber tapping with our toes.
                        This is when poetry invents new smiles and giddiness and overcomes overcomes overcomes us beyond belief as we surrender happily to smiles upon smiles upon smiles.
                                                                                             Dark and silence
are memories too for sure. And for sure is our certainty for sure and for sure.