Cherish

Murillo_immaculate_conception

Immaculada de Soul:  Murillo, Bartolomé Esteban

I speak low lest
my love evaporates
before e’en kissed
by your infant’s breath,
and beg before day’s
whispered hush
ascends to nightfall;
small child, look at me
one last time
before you crawl away as slow
as time roams vast.

Too soon tomorrow’s
branches, laced
with the chirps of sweet song,
will bow to cradle this dear life –
and since time nor death
show mercy –
warm arms, other than mine
shall hold him, and voyage with him
to a strange, beatific world,
where all will be waiting.

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Weeping Psychedelics

Weeping Psychadelics  picture.jpg

To those who weep when
laughter sleeps,

for those whose days
are stolen by black dogs –

and even to those who keep
sanity all to themselves,

or those who sleep
half jacked up to avoid Mondays

all jazzed up on life, hot on the tail
of a trail behind blazing Mars.

To those who Sunday is the day to bleed,
and for those who wept when Jesus slept,

but sigh for those of us who weep
for humanity on its path to oblivion,

but have nowhere left to go,
I raise my glass.

In 2018 I beat my target. Going into 2019, I am nearly half way to this year’s target. Let’s beat cancer sooner. Would you support me in raising funds – every little bit helps – even the price of your next coffee?

In aid of CR

Hi.  I’m using the run up to the holidays, calling on friends here and the writing community at WordPress for support to ask if you can either donate a small amount by using my donation button below (any country) or text BGON64 to 70070 (for those here in the UK) to give whatever you can (even the price of a solitary cuppa) to help Cancer Research and Breast Cancer Research.  As a breast cancer survivor, I can sincerely say that your help is more than appreciated.

Cancer Research is not government funded and is responsible for a high percentage of the major breakthroughs we have seen to date.  Without you and me, those breakthroughs will not happen.  Regardless of the amount or where you live in this world, your generosity will one day give the gift of life.

On the JustGiving page, you will find verification.  It will also tell you all about my story, reasons and action plan I’ve used and for the foreseeable future.

Thank  you very much!

Anita

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Chronic Canvas

chronic cnavas

Picture: Jay Nabonne

charcoal clouds smudged by thumbs
once haughty –
leaned before angled perpendicular
with promises of black line afterlife; mid air

heady, hung like his smokers’ lungs –
fringed, black laced –
grieving for some time
and for something sinister – brooding
but not quite imagined, not quite
realised on life’s stark canvas
where thumbs are shadow puppets
still stuck in contemplation.

how does one recreate visions of the dying,
and paint death’s culprit edges, dimly
lit by shadows inside wheezing
last breaths?

smoke filters fraying cushions
of shape shifting disease –
hidden, toxically poised – exhaled,
life is spent nervous energy and regrets –
all bad scions; not a good wash for pretty
pastels caught in a ridiculous tango
with painter, thumb and a wispy capacity
of mournful oxygen rattling alone on canvas.