I think of poetry as prose that has been purified.
And with brevity the soul of it’s wit, Twitter can be thought of as a “language distillery.”
Now please allow me to offer you a taste of my higher proof poetweets…
***
purified prose
produces poetry
every scratch
a fallen petal
on father’s watch
is precious mettle
give pain meds the blame
for drug abuse shame
and outlaw their use
to combat abuse
but when drugs are craved
lives will not be saved
and no addiction
is only fiction
so passing the laws
that ignore the cause
may rid us of pills
but won’t solve our ills
fascination
from
finding
fall’s
finest
foliage
foreshadows
finally
feeling
fate’s
farthest
fall
if
why
when shared
shows us where
then
where
will now
show us how
I hid but my failure discovered me.
I ran but my failure recovered me.
I forgot by my failure reminded me.
I blinked but my failure it blinded me.
I talked and my failure it studied me.
I bathed and my failure it muddied me.
I fought and my failure it pounded me.
I fell and my failure it grounded me.
I hoped that my failure would end for me.
I found that my failure was friend to me.
I learned that my failure was me to me.
I then let my failure be free from me.
To fight poor health discreetly
You gave yourself completely
You might have loved your medical career
But will you love this tomorrow?
Is care a hope to treasure
Or something you must measure?
Can you believe the tragic change in sight?
Will you still love this tomorrow?
Faced with healthcare that’s broken
You say that you are only “one”
But you won’t feel like jokin’
When your right to a choice is gone
You’d like to show that you love
To give what we’re in need of
So tell yourself to face that task again
And you’ll still love this tomorrow
September 16, 2014
Hint: Try singing it to the tune of Carole King’s Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?
though my ideas
are in my post
it’s your ideas
that matter most
my body age
not so illogical
is easy to
discern
but true mind age
not chronological
is really my
concern
first day of spring
say thank you please
to those who ease
our suffering
artist
is not what you
do
it’s who you
are
And finally…
since brevity is the soul of twitter
longevity as a goal is bitter
*
Confluential Truth 
A Poem for Debbie
*
When she was born it’s right to say,
A blessing came to earth that day.
To ease our pain and bring us love,
Directly from the Lord above.
A daughter, mother, wife, and friend,
With caring that would see no end.
A nurse who’d go the extra mile,
Who always met you with a smile.
If she was anywhere you were,
Then you were family to her.
And could expect, as from God’s grace,
The blessing of her warm embrace.
With such profound humility,
Her skill defied futility.
And when she faced what most would fear,
With love and hope she’d persevere.
But tending to the quiet needs,
Might count as her most noble deeds.
And though this blessing we now miss,
God comforts us in knowing this…
If love defines a life’s treasure,
She lived a life beyond measure.
*
~Written with your help, my dear friend,
January 6, 2015