God’s children

we may have different colored skins
but we all commit the same tired sins
our differences can provoke a violent reaction
yet sometimes there is calm interaction

our hopes & dreams are largely the same
but when things go wrong it’s each other we blame
& though we may belong to different nations
we have the same trials & tribulations

we’re all God’s children
though we may sing a different song
we’re all God’s children
we should learn to get along

we all have families, we all work
we all have little things that drive us berserk
we all have things we’re frightened of
we all have people that we love

so it shouldn’t matter what language we speak
or be a competition between the strong & the weak
no man is an island made of granite
we gotta learn to peacefully share this planet

cause we’re all we’re all God’s children
though we may sing a different song
we’re all God’s children
it’s time for us to get along

copyright © 2008-2014 KPM

God's Children


david running

Michelangelo’s David had been possessed
with the wherewithal
the substantial strength & sinew so needed
to raise himself from his prison of a pedestal
& run
he would have looked like you:
     pectorals pumpin’
     thigh muscles jumpin’
smilin’ & sweatin’
down the sunny street of a Sunday afternoon
without a care & certainly unaware
that a child of Aphrodite
lush of limb, yet lonely & lovelorn looked on
as your long legs
led you purposefully down a path where only
astronomers & angels are allowed

copyright © 2007-2014 KPM

david running

in a happy place

she saw him from afar
grinning madly as he played guitar
in some hole-in-the-wall bar

he didn’t see her
as she slunk like a cur
through the crowd’s insistent purr

he looked like a bum – he’d never dressed very snappy
still, he looked happy

as tiny as a tomb
yet crowded was the room
where sad souls swayed in Marlboro gloom

suffused by infernal heat
enthralled by the beat
right up front she found a seat

some folks in the audience were loud – rather yappy
yet he looked happy

onstage, his band resembled lords
drums so loud they rattled floorboards
he winked at her as he ran through the chords

pleased she was by this secret glance
signalling as it did another chance
rising, for him did her special dance

he played, he smiled – she no longer felt crappy
grateful to have proof that he was happy

copyright © 2014 KPM

in a happy place

atonement’s nightmare

on a dank, dark street corner
crowded with grimy buildings high
a dreamer stands uncertainly
beneath a threatening sky

shadow figures pass her
with casual malice they do stare
an evil wind spits gritty tears
that settles on her perfect hair

she can’t remember where she’s been
or where it is she’s going to
she thinks she’s meant to meet someone
though she’s not sure this is true

a drop of rain assaults her cheek
just before the man appears
with a cry, he clasps her knees
his upturned face is wet with tears

his voice reeks with anguish
as he recounts a hateful tale
of a love he did betray
and a woman he did fail

the dreamer is appalled
yet she is touched by his remorse
her kiss is a benediction
allowing nature to take its course

their bodies battle time
pores secreting bloody sweat
she seeks the one she loved & lost
he vainly tries to escape regret

a roar of thunder coincides
with an orgasm to shatter stone
and as the dreamer fades away
the man learns again he can never atone

copyright © 2014 KPM


awake & asleep

each other’s quirks
& flaws
they do not mind
by mutual likes
& honest love
they are now entwined

both of them are pleased
that they laugh
instead of fight
they’re old enough
to realize
that compromising’s always right

& they both
have their secrets
both own an angst-filled past
yet they manage
to share everything
this makes them strong enough to last

falling asleep opens the door
he waits for the moment
she starts to snore
nightly he crosses
the sacred breach
desperate for the heart he can no longer reach

asleep, she lives again
in the house
on Milverton Road
where her dreams
as well as her love
was a painful load

she’s forced to fight
for the right to simply be
asleep, she begs again
for her right
to be free

copyright © 2014 KPM

awake & asleep

before the storm

in vain I try to capture
the colour of the Dundee sky
but it’s dead hard to describe
this haunting hue that fills the eye

a mix of cerulean & jade
reminiscent of the Aegean Sea
that brings the taste of sun ‘n sweat
hurtling back to me

I struggle with my efforts
to paint with words the Dundee sky
my dictionary was nae help
nor was the thesaurus nearby

but in the end it does nae matter
this failure to capture what I see
for the colour of Dundee’s stormy sky
will always be a part of me

copyright © 2014 KPM

before the storm

here be dreams

beneath the green shade she lay
mullin’ over the events of yet another day
attuned for Morpheus’ bittersweet lie
as she listens to the seagulls cry

beneath the green shade all is cozy & warm
sandy walls shakin’ with the thunderstorm
once more she waits for Hypnos to tell her why
she finds comfort in the seagulls cry

beneath the green shade she is safe & at peace
sure that her happiness will only increase
the Oneiroi will appear by & by
echoin’ the seagulls’ cry

copyright © 2014 KPM

here be dreams


it’s a given
that sometime during sleep
nightmarish visions
into her psyche will creep
mindlessly she’ll weep
            she’ll beg
fighting against
the cramp in her leg
but she knows
he’ll stroke her arm
pat her bended knee
she knows his touch will end
the demons’ psychotic spree

it’s a given
that between 3 and 4
when REM sleep kicks in
he will start to snore
unconsciously he mutters
            groans ‘n stutters
awakening suddenly
destination loo
and he knows
once he’s returned
to the now-straightened bed
she’ll wrap herself around him
and plant a kiss on the back of his head

copyright © 2014 KPM


you can’t go home again

Like a jerk, I went back to work after the funeral. I thought it might help…thought it might stop the anguished yelp that kept bursting forth from a throat that ached from too much crying. But it was naptime – the kids were all on their cots, asleep. So I crept into the stairwell, to sneak a smoke and weep.

Murray – the principal and my boss – found me sitting there. A lovely Jewish guy, both gentle and kind, he gently enquired, “Bubeleh, have you lost your mind? I know what you went through today. Is home you need to go – here you should not stay.”

Home? I thought as I drove out the school parking lot on auto-pilot. What home….the house on Milverton Street where we made love til you’d shout? Just a month ago I’d moved out.  My new place in Warrensville Heights? It was ruined – haunted by the memories of our last angry fights.

I was cryin’ so hard I could barely see. And the sun had come out, shinin’ on my misery.

My car drove itself down Harvard Avenue. It parked itself in the driveway of my parent’s house, the childhood home I hadn’t visited in years, not since that fight with Daddy that’d ended with a suitcase and tears.

I couldn’t get out of the car. I couldn’t get out of the car. I remembered my .22 was in the glove box.

I had to get out of the car.

I stood on the front porch of my childhood home. Rememberin’ playin’ jacks with my sisters on our scabby knees. Studyin’ for endless spelling bees. Barbie dolls with Eleanor an’ Trish. Starin’ at summer stars, makin’ wish after useless wish.

The front door was open. I peered through the rusted mesh of the screen door, determined to turn around and leave if I saw any sign of my father. But he wasn’t there…just  Ma, perched on the edge of the faded floral sofa, sewin’ buttons onto Daddy’s shirts while she watched the end of the afternoon soaps.

“Ma?” I called out as through the screen I peeked. I musta startled her – she leapt up an’ shrieked.

“Shit!” she swore, openin’ the door. “How long you bin standin’ there for? Wasn’t expectin’ no one today, an’ ain’t you sposed to be at work any way?”

“Ma,” I said. “Maaaaaaaaa…” My voice was a plaintive bleat. My eyes hollow holes of grief and defeat, I handed her the program from your funeral before falling, barely hearing my name, which she kept calling: “Kathy…Kathy. Oh Katherine, mah baby…” Pickin’ me up off the floor, sittin’ me on her lap as if I were four again (which is what I wanted her to do just then).

I cried and cried and cried and cried. And my mother (you do know she liked you ‘bout as much as your mother liked me?) stroked my hair and my cheeks as she sighed.

copyright © 2010-2014 KPM

you can't go home again

neutral territory

been in one battle o’ anothuh
fo’ mos’ o’ mah adult life
an’ Jesus knows I’se tired
o’ all dis bullshit strife

dunno why some folks get happy
from spewin’ bile ‘n blight
but ah cain’t get down with dat –
all ah wanna do is write

everyone has dey problems
dey got hopes ‘n dreams ‘n fears
we all got dat in common
no need ta cause each other tears

mebbe ah’m too idealistic
thinkin’ we all had a future bright
ah kin only speak fo’ me –
‘n all ah wanna do is write

copyright © 2014 KPM

neutral territory