No Choice But To Move – By Lisa Perez

…if only the doubting self could Spin counter it’s orbit She stands Still Even though she knows Better will always Come here and Now Those miles clear But corners are tricky Can’t see past the bend’s Blind spot She got up and made coffee And thought about leaves Good Mourning doves Paced at her doorstep Her heart quickened She sipped slow What was she supposed to– Remember? The pace of cow’s chewing grass The length of animal waste A sloth convention The therapeutic process The speed of a snail The time it takes to cook a turkey She has no choice but to move She has no other move but– The chess board demands an opponent Lest she be mawed Or eliminated Threatened Dis-eased Stepped on Raw She looked up from her cup Ah, she remembered: “change” She was moved Your turn… Continue reading

One of the precious gifts of sobriety is a grandchild who never saw you drunk – By Cassandra Smith

  Precious, Precocious, Lyric Running, rushing, reaching up, giggling & smiling like- an angel Pushing her love in, touching every nook & cranny of my heart  Eyes lighting up like- fireflies sweeping through dark night Clinging, holding on, wrapping chubby arms around my legs  Refusing, daring even mommy- to separate us/pull us apart     * Two years ago, a tiny infant- soft, soft, skin/ baby face pressing against My breast- baby oil & baby powder, intermingling like dancers Drooping eye lids, tiny head falling, jerking up, falling again Dismissing sleep without her music-video music/ only Bruno Mars Playing piano & singing her favorite song “When I Was Your Man.”       * Lyric- sitting like a princess, surrounded by balloons-crown on her Head -eyes roaming /birthday cake, party favors, lots of kids with presents  Eyes sparkling, smiling wider than ever. Singing, “Happy Birthday to me.” Blowing out candles… Continue reading


    Some as precious and spectacular as rubies some as ominous and treacherous as fools gold whether dark or light each sticks to our bones and falsifies our essence. Some sparkle in fantastic splendour memories of stolen moments of joy, passion, mischief. Afraid to let them escape from our depths in case the feeling ends in case it wasn’t true caressing them like a twin flame we nurture what is only ours to know what seems sacred. Yet horror lurks there still, you drink it down try to poison it. Its ugliness wants to stare you in the face it screams it bites it hurts and tries to smother you and you wreathe in anguish as it refuses to give you peace moulding you with its fear enforcing its identity upon you it snuffs out the light bringing you to the brink of insanity. So thickly are you covered… Continue reading

The Grim Reapers Bicycle

    I saw a man talk to death today. I didn’t know if they parted company, or became stead fast friends. I saw a woman from her bike pass something to the medic, not overtly concerned at her rock still companion, his chest compressed, his temple bloodied. Perhaps her friends shock and awe, were distracting her from the situation. I noticed no breath. We do not breathe in conversation with the grim reaper.   I didn’t stop. I just stuck out an arm to signal possible assassins I was indeed going to overtake the fire truck directly in my path, where Death had just minutes previously, laughingly, shouldered his victim to the road so that they could talk. I don’t want to chat with death, he plays unfairly. So I pedalled on my way hoping he didn’t want me to join the party, aware that my flesh and bone… Continue reading

The Visitor

  And we walk in shadows, always asking for something, always hoping to be seen, heard, loved… Yet trees grow tall, so old, unconcerned with this and that or who they might be today, or tomorrow… Eventually we too will be relieved of this duty to be… and simply exist unaided by the silly idea that there is anything we need to do to be beautiful… Eventually we will simply open our eyes and smile…. and smile at the brilliance we had mistaken for something dangerous, something terrifying, something we assumed was unneeded, not yearned for… yet always right there at the door knocking softly, not wishing to intrude, to shower you in the taste of freedom… in the grace of unbounded love Nothing to do at all… nothing at all… You are so beautiful my eyes dissolve in your brightness, my flesh turns to light. © Daniel Cryns 8/2012… Continue reading