cold crisp air
reaching in through the open window
the hard bright sunshine
the ripple of curtains
the soft rustle of bedsheets
the give and take
of warm skin pressed against skin
a smooth sweet honey of a morning
©A. D. Joyce, 2017
the story is centuries old
the land-raped
government-corrupted
children of africa
are laid waste to starvation
kidnapped
exploited
strewn lifeless across dirt roads
bulleted and bled out
their innocence is not lost
simply subjected to indifference
the recently poisoned
breathless
convulsing
children of syria
for whom we would
sacrifice our own
in military aid
are equally as precious
©A. D. Joyce, 2017
a residential enclave
in the urban landscape:
birdsong instead of fire engine sirens.
traffic noises come from parents
pulling in and out of driveways
taking kids to school
then going to work.
a woman who lives
on the corner of the block
feeds the strays, and sometimes,
even on a cold spring night,
piercing the darkness,
cats scream bloody murder
in the name of love..
©A. D. Joyce, 2017
i came here to love you
through lifetimes
i have sought you
in every pair of eyes
i have strained against
the touch of hands
needing to feel your essence
and in spring
when the air reeks
of rain and dirt
i pick your flowers
and see your face
strewn among
the fallen cherry blossoms
i am not here
on this earth
to pull punches
i am here to express
i unbalance the equinox
with poems
obsessive and fevered
this is the promise
my soul makes
time and again
in each incarnation
and life form i inhabit
on this brand new day
i awake in the hope
you will soon be here
with me
©A. D. Joyce, 2017