I’m Glad You’re Here
How did those
words
become so
revolutionary?
so bound with
meaning?
Still, I am though
friend
From the start ’til
the end
How did those
words
become so
revolutionary?
so bound with
meaning?
Still, I am though
friend
From the start ’til
the end
May I cut your wood?
That’s all life seems to be
since the storm named after you
knocked down all my trees.
Once again my prides aloof
for as far as I can see
the yards are full of limbs and leafs.
I grab the oil for the chain
with which I saw.
Cleaning up messes
that I didn’t make at all.
I’ll spin this blade
until it’s black and raw
and there’s nothing left of me.
I love the curves of sunning swans
crescent moon, rainbow rings
fancy wreaths and valentines
the circle of a hug and embrace
the welcoming smile on your face.
Our planet’s a circle that circles the sun.
Our life is a circle we travel from beginning to end.
Let the love in your soul color all time you spend
from your birth to life’s end.
driven from company house and store
damned script won’t buy anything elsewhere
hungry mouths I’m supposed to feed
yawn at me with hollow eyes
damned script won’t buy anything elsewhere
Sheriff’s deputies lean on shotguns and
yawn at me with hollow eyes
“Which side are you on, Boys?”
Sheriff’s deputies lean on shotguns and
no one goes to the mines today
“Which Side are You on, Boys?”
eight hour day with decent pay, or
no one goes to the mines today
cave-ins and bullet holes
eight hour day with decent pay or
mark the mountains with blood
cave-ins and bullet holes
carry The Union into these hills
Mark the Mountains with blood!
either way, we’re dead men
carry The Union into these hills
is it worth dying for
either way, we’re dead men
swinging a pickaxe well into their rock
is it worth dying for,
driven from company house and store,
swinging a pickaxe well into their rock –
hungry mouths I’m supposed to feed?
Hickman Creek, Jessamine County, KY
Omit thee electronics, I’d rather play with my dog Onyx (Black Labrador Retriever)
Splish, splash like a toddler, he believes he’s an otter
for Grace at a siding
I love you not
for your rose flavor and hue of blue lustre,
or temper—carnations that puff fire:
I love you in close dark where
nameless things are loved,
whisper-quiet through shadow
which follows your soul,
I love you—
plant that doesn’t flourish,
plant, playing hide and seek in flowers
I thank your love-
pressing aroma ascended
from earth, darkly
alive in my body
I love you
not knowing how, when, nor where—
a direct manner
I see no problems or pride
This is my love because
I love no other way
than this: together we
each cease to exist yet so near,
mine your open hand on my chest,
and your eyes secure
as I fall to sleep
Poet: Pablo Neruda
Interpretation / Translation: mannygrimaldi
I was voracious in my consumption of the door
I stared at the headline
like it might change eventually.
Heart sinking into my gut—
a burning truth
I wasn’t ready to bleed.
This can’t be real.
Not you.
Not the voice that taught me
how to scream without apology,
how to ache in rhythm,
how to fight through static.
You were the fire
in my headphones
when the world grew cold.
Now all that’s left
is silence
and a thousand questions
choking in my throat.
How dare you.
How could you just leave?
So many leaned on your sound
to stand.
Did you not see
how we followed you
through every lyric—
every crack in your roar
a crack in our cages?
You had it all.
A family who adored you,
children still learning
how to be whole.
A wife who held your storms,
fighting beside you.
And us—
millions
who clung to your words
like lifelines,
because they made our own chaos
feel understood.
You stood on top of the world
with the crowd beneath you
chanting your name.
How could you fall
from a place so high?
Selfish:
A name for pain,
disguised as betrayal.
We needed you.
We believed you were healing
alongside us.
Yet anger, like grief,
is just love
wearing breakable armor.
As I sat,
face buried in my hands.
I felt the truth rise
through the quiet that followed:
You carried a war
inside your bones.
A darkness louder
than any stage.
We never saw
the weight in your lungs—
how singing
sometimes felt like drowning.
You weren’t a god.
You were a man
with a gift and a ghost.
You held back the tide
for as long as you could
while pulling millions
to shore.
I write
I play
I sing—
because your pain
taught me how to feel.
Because your voice
made mine matter.
You were my beginning—
not of notes,
but of purpose.
Your story
stirred a reckoning inside me,
I turned my pain into melody—
refused to let the darkness
have the final word.
Seeing what you carried
and how it crushed you
pushed me to write of
life’s worth for those
still drowning.
If one heart finds meaning,
then the hurt becomes holy.
You shined
through broken glass
and burning wires.
Decades of thunder,
still echoed.
Now,
I feel this more than ever.
Your voice still lives
in every soul you reached,
in every note carried on.
It’s true—
I do care
if one more light goes out.
the grayness of the day–
I don’t mind
reminds me of a place in my soul
deep and dark
where bitter things prey
making my life but a toll
the devils well
sucking on you till you pray to be eaten and quartered
left in the grayness of today
