Truth never lies, and a lie's never true.

Dissonant chords; are they red, white, or blue?

Spoken to mirror deceit in the soul,

Truth is a weapon; a lie is a goal.

Stabbed in the back but admitting the deal

Practices lying, both hands on the wheel.

Truth sets a standard of freedom's regime.

Lies are but gestures of trickery's scheme.

Sword and a shield bearing truth as the mark

Battle the demons that lie in the dark.

Sinister motives a fib holds within-

Bold to the face in the gist of a grin.

Truth marrow filling the bone of a word

Speaks what is honest and pure, not absurd.

Lies boast decay in the flesh of the mind,

Maiming and aiming at garments, unkind.

Difficult notions seem hard to disguise ...

Lies aren't truth, and the truth never lies.

#poetry #Philosophy 

Deeply secluded within

feathered point of view,

Thanksgiving dinner threatens

all I hold dear.

I had big plans -

I wanted to be a baker

but I’m combustible you see.

Don’t want to be roasted

golden brown and succulent.

I don’t deserve to be eaten -

I’m involved in worthy causes -

Turkey Anti- Defamation League

the Uncle Tom Underground

and Kentucky Fried protest.

I have to admit -

I was a normal poult,

I pierced my snood and wattle

swaggered my bod in front of

sensuous juicy buxom hens

but now…

I’m in the prime of my life

organizing turkey Olympics

games of throw the egg,

bobble heading and

biggest turkey feet.

I’m furious at this family

holding your forks

waiting to stuff faces

with particles of me.

Why don’t you think

of turkey’s point of view?

You think we just eat grubs

and gobble all day?

I’m running for President

plenty of turkeys there

and most of them plump.

Why don’t you roast Trump?

Tonight I want to drink until my pen is wet.

Until the moments unfurl...float away into the mist of ink and fire.

Tonight I drink to remember and forget.

Tonight I drink to new loves and old flames.

Torn out clippings from newspapers long since yellowed and crushed.

Tonight I drink to the roads that rise up to meet us.

The thirst on a summer's day in a pasture twenty years back

To the white fences. To the field hands.

To the bitches in my past.

To cool autumn days and mint julips on the porch.

Tonight I drink to wet my pen

To pay tribute to those that inspire

Encourage and to those who dismantle a soul with a smile and a

Bless your heart.

Tonight I drink for you

Arms wrap around me from behind and I sigh in contentment. Pressing my back into the muscled chest behind me and my body starts to relax. Lips press against my neck causing goosebumps to flush across my skin. Fingers roam from my shoulders down to my hips, followed by a coating of something warm and liquid.

I open my eyes and turn to face the source of my new found warmth when I notice the colour of the liquid that’s falling down my bare flesh.

My body turns to ice and quivers in trepidation as I complete the turn.

A scream tears out of my throat as I see Jason’s face looming over me. Blood pouring out from the open wound in his head. His mouth open in a wide grin.

“Did you miss me?” he asks, the manic grin on his face.

His blood flows faster and faster pouring all over my face and into my mouth, I try to scream around the blood that’s drowning me when I feel hands grip my shoulders and shake me.

I wake up screaming and drenched in sweat with Louise’s face looming over me.

Shaking her hands off me I sit up and pull my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and hugging myself tightly. Louise sits in the edge of the bed. The silence between us is so awkward. It’s never been awkward in the past but since… well, I’m sure you can guess since when.

I can barely even look at her.

When were kids I used to have nightmares all the time, awful ones, where I would wake up screaming and crying and not know where I was? When that happened, it would be Louise that would wrap her arms around me and hold me until I fell back asleep, it would be Louise that would get up and make me a hot chocolate, read me a story, sing a lullaby. She would do everything that my mum and dad were supposed to do but wouldn’t.

I’d gone to a sleepover at her one year, all the girls in our class had been invited, it was my first sleepover. I was so excited. I didn’t think my mum and dad would let me go, but I think they were relieved to get me out of the house, and that they wouldn’t have to feed me for the night, they could spend their money on booze instead. Once we’d all finally exhausted ourselves with laughter, games and food sometime after midnight we all started drifting off to sleep. I tried to keep myself awake, I didn’t want to fall asleep. I’d been having the nightmares for around a year at that point, they started when I was seven.

But it’s pretty hard not to fall asleep when you’re tired at eight years old. So of course, I eventually feel asleep, and then I woke up screaming from nightmares and woke up all the other kids and Louise’s parents. No one could really settle after that, a few of the other girls insisted on their parents being phoned and being taken home, looking back at it now, I feel really sorry for all the adults, being dragged out of bed to deal with distraught children, it mustn’t have been easy for them. After everyone had gone back to bed, I couldn’t sleep, and so Louise stayed up with me all night, creating silly little games we could play to keep ourselves awake. She’s done that ever since.

And now here she is, sat on the end of my bed again, but this time offering no comfort. I want to scream and rage at her. I want to throw something at her. I want to break down and cry and beg her tell me why she did it.

But I can’t.

Instead I sit in silence as tears slowly fall down my face, images of Jason running through my mind, from how he really was, to the last time I saw him, and now the twisted version from my dreams swims behind my eyes also.

I feel a bit sick.

A baby starts crying the background pulling us both from our thoughts. Louise stands up to go the baby, she had a girl, and she’s called her Claire. It’s only been three days since…

They ended up at my house as I couldn’t get the blood stains out of the carpet. It can’t go on though. I can’t look at her. I can’t relax whilst she’s here. I need time and space to think. There’s going to be questions soon, people will realise he’s missing. There’ll be phone calls, police visits. What if they turn up looking for him? We were engaged for a time. They’ll obviously come here looking for him. He was a lodger with Louise for a while to, what if they go there when there’s still blood all over the floor? What if they look in my car?

There are so many questions running through my mind continuously. The same ones go round in a loop time and time again. New ones jump in on occasion.

And then the blood. I can’t stop seeing all the blood.

Running into the bathroom I reach the toilet just in time before what little food I’ve managed to force down in the last couple of days comes rushing up. After I’ve finished being sick I sink to the floor in-between the toilet and the bath and lean against the bath. The tears flowing freely again.

It took a while to sink in what had happened. My body and mind had made the decisions for me that night without me having to think about anything, and then Louise went into labour and making sure her and the baby were ok was the most important thing. It wasn’t until we got back to her house and saw all the blood that the reality of the situation really began to rear it’s ugly head.

My best friend had murdered the once love of my life, and I’d helped her get rid of the body. I still haven’t gone to the police. How could I? She’s got a new born baby, I couldn’t see her go to jail. Not yet.

Closing my eyes against the bright light of the bathroom I will myself to go back to sleep. I can’t be bothered to move.

As I finally feel myself drifting off I hear the door opening and look to see Louise standing staring at me, baby cradled in her arms. She has a look of pure contentment on her face and a rage I didn’t know it was possible to feel comes bubbling to the surface, giving me strength.

Using the bath as leverage I haul myself up and look her in the eye for the first time in days.

“Why did you do it Louise? Why did you kill Jason?” Despite the borrowed strength from the rage, my voice still waves and I still trip over his name. I can feel the tears stinging the back of my eyes again but I blink them away.

I look at her and wait and wait for an answer. It feels like an eternity. We don’t look away from each other at all, until finally she answers.

“He made you cry.”

This is you

At 36

I have some things to tell you

The more you have sex

The more you will like it

Do it every night

You both need it to grow closer

You will have health scares

But you will survive

You will be stronger for it

And it's how you'll find God

This is your home now

Try not to be homesick

You'll learn life is simpler here

You'll learn to love travel

You won't turn out like him

But you will help him on a journey to change

Love Mama and help her with baths as often as you can

Enjoy brushing her hair when she is too weak

You will be greatly blessed

With a family

Give thanks often

And enjoy breastfeeding, you'll miss it

And for goodness sake

Know that you are a hot mama

But please

Choose a salad sometimes

See you soon

He carried the uncertainty of a man who was often caught deciding whether to fold his legs or cross them in public. Fear turned him into a poser. He spent too much time looking in the mirror, yet not long enough to find himself in the distant brown eyes that stared back at him. At some fork in the road of his life, he had buried that person under the shame of what he thought he had become: The hull of a man he once knew. Would it cost more to retrace his steps or go forth into the abyss? Would it matter? 

I am about to sleep, a very deep sleep

when I wake up

I see myself as an apprentice to Leonardo da Vinci.

He refuses to paint Mona Lisa's lips,

because of the way she keeps staring at me

To wake, and see myself 

eating stone cold strawberry flavor ice cream

on top of the sun.

To wake, and see 

how confused Edmund Hillary will be

when he arrives at the top of mountain Everest

and sees me napping on top.

To wake, and see myself

having breakfast, with the queen of England  

To wake and see

I and Nelson Mandela, playing chess in prison

To wake, and see

The wright brothers, using me as a test pilot

To wake, and see myself

throwing apples on Isaac Newtons head

To wake, and see

Archimedes balls, as he runs on the street

shouting, "Eureka"

I want to pull off my pants, run on the street

and shout out loud, 

"this land is forsaken, oh! it's forsaken."

To wake, and see

The shock onWilliam Shakespeare's face, I caught him in my office stealing my scripts. What!

To wake, and witness the first lunch of a space shuttle

To wake, and see myself

teaching Albert Einstein definite integral

To wake, and witness the birth ceremony of Aristotle

To wake, and see

I and Nikola Tesla

rubbing minds, in the library.

To wake, and see myself

holding the coat of Benjamin Franklin

while he addresses the high and mighty of Boston

To wake, and see myself

giving Luther King Junior today's paper

saying, "Barrack Obama as been the president of the United states of America

for the past eight years

To wake, and proof 

the possibility of all impossibilities

I really need to wake up from this sleep

so all these things can happen

Someone please, wake me up.