Author: picturesassembledfrommemory

She very proudly told me that she was toxic.
She just as proudly told me she loved it that way, 
her smile framed in the light of those green eyes, 
deep, 
enticing.

I believed her, 
it was written all over her face, 
radiating out of her smile. 

Then she almost started to cry talking about her life, 
and then, 
those same eyes, 
once blazing with confidence, 
began to fill with tears.

Then, 
I knew she was still a little girl, 
and those blazing eyes, 
if allowed, 
would cry, 
until she, 
had no tears left. 


T.S. Deary 
2/23 - 8/23

"Life becomes easier when you learn to accept the apology you never got." Robert Brault 



I accept, 
what I said was too harsh, 
and, 
that I responded, 
according to my heart, 
and not, 
with logic.

I will no longer, 
say those things, 
I will, 
remain quiet, 
distant from you, 
but no longer angry, 
or wanting you, 
to hear me. 

Just at peace, 
no longer, 
willing to drink, 
the poison cup, 
finally at peace. 

I don't expect, 
or want to hear, 
you, 
say that you agree, 
or even that you, 
understand, 
my point, 
so we should let it be, 
letting time, 
and, 
space, 
fill in the blanks, 
of those lines, 
that will never, 
fill that empty page. 

I only want you to know, 
I am sorry, 
I was wrong, 
and now, 
I am free again. 

I have poured the poison, 
from the cup. 


T.S. Deary 
11/4/23

Today, 
this is what passes for intellect, 
this is what passes for being well informed, 
and educated. 

Chanting slogans, 
masking genocidal, 
impulses, 
with entitled, 
smug lined faces. 

They smirk at their defiance.

How could they be wrong? 
How could anyone disagree? 

They know best, 
these uncivilized clowns, 
acting out their stupidity, 
on a fully public stage. 

All the while claiming, 
to be enlightened, 
yet they speak, 
so darkly, 
full of hate, 
bleeding contempt.

Citadel of stupidity, 
faction of backward nonsense, 
praising butchers, 
killers of babies, 
as if they are heroes, 
heroic fighters for freedom. 

Elevated to a pedestal, 
all of them, 
junkies for attention, 
just remember, 
pedestals get knocked down, 
just as Hamas, 
from, 
the river to the sea, 
will be annihilated. 

T.S. Deary 
10/17/23 
 

You, 
with those eyes, 
deeper, 
deeper, 
than any ocean, 
I have ever, 
swam in. 

Drawing him in, 
to the season, 
of romance, 
growing close, 
to her attentions, 
blessed and bound, 
by a noticeable, 
determination. 

Shiny hair, 
framing your face, 
falling over and between, 
your shoulders, 
swaying when you walk, 
letting off a scent of flowers, 
waiting for them to catch those eyes, 
and the casual observer, 
to be reminded, 
of days of youth, 
that once flowed in veins, 
and the urge, 
to dance again, 
on that line, 
between certainty and doubt, 
with all those, 
days yet to come. 


T.S. Deary 
10/18/23 

The soldiers moved into Kfar Aza, 
after the terrorists left, 
findiong bodies, 
already decaying, 
among the ruins, 
of what, 
were once homes, 
where familes lived, 
now, 
there is only carnage. 

Moving into, 
Kfar Aza, 
Hamas, 
put knives to throats, 
and bullets to flesh, 
even beheading, 
babies, 
with parents, 
looking on.

In New York, 
fart way from Kfar Aza, 
there were people, 
screaming, 
about Nazi's 
and fascists, 
pointing fingers at Jews, 
fully confident, 
in their right, 
nevefr stopping, 
to understand, 
their words, 
were really, 
about themselves. 
In Washington, 
the self righteous, 
demand an end, 
to defense assistance, 
to Israel, 
remaining smug and ignorant, 
in their blindness, 
they speak, 
not one word, 
about the massacre, 
or the dead babies, 
whose blood, 
smears their hands. 

Hamas has shown, 
who they are, 
bastards, 
criminals, 
orphaned lunatics, 
children of a lesser realm, 
snakes and scoundrels, 
you will be driven to the sea, 
to drown. 

On that day, 
the peace of God, 
will surround the innocents, 
that you have destroyed. 

T.S. Deary 
10/8/23 - 11/4/23

I saw him leaning into her shoulder, 
her gorgeous smile on display, 
just as I have always known it to be, 
fully beaming, 
as if it comes from somewhere else, 
deep inside of her, 
blessed by God, 
a testament to her beauty, 
showing off, 
His hand in her creation.

For what she means to me, 
I give all glory to God, 
a reminder, 
of how blessed I am, 
in having her, 
as my daughter. 

Because of that, 
I can say, 
there is no crown, 
no honor, 
no diamond, 
no gem, 
no throne, 
that could ever replace, 
the honor, 
I have in being your father, 
I have taken her heart into my heart, 
there is room there to carry it, 
her and mine, 
beat together, 
now and always. 

Then there are the times, 
she reaches out to me, 
like when she was a child, 
her hand in mine, 
urgent requets for princess kisses, 
dances, 
now, 
she goes her own way, 
no longer reaching for me, 
but still watched by me, 
waiting for the opportunity, 
having glimpses, 
of the past, 
what was, 
constrasted to now, 
still her heart carried in mine, 
matched beat for beat, 
cherished always, 
hers is mine, 
mine is hers.

Now more oblique, 
off to the side, 
farther ahead, 
me, 
still close behind. 

T.S. Deary 
9/21 - 9/30/23

It was joyful to see her, 
and her face light up into a smile, 
when he gave her the flowers, 
she was so thankful, 
for the toughtful gift, 
their presence announced by their smell, 
the aroma, 
of youth, 
summer, 
and love, 
all blended, 
refelcted, 
and
perfected, 
in her response. 

As we drove, 
she braided her hair, 
holding stands in her mouth, 
moving quickly, 
as if knitting her appearance, 
and perfecting, 
what God had made, 
imagining that he, 
would always be so thoughtful, 
as if shifting my role, 
from bringing flowers to her, 
to being the obserever, 
of her growth, 
from girl,
to woman. 

T.S. Deary 
9/25/23 - 9/30/23

From casual observation, 
anyone could see, 
that the way he looked at her, 
was something different, 
not well hidden. 

Leaning in close, 
following her words, 
even with his eyes, 
smiling, 
eye contact, 
telling a story, 
a heart story, 
a passion play, 
of holding hands, 
and quick smiles, 
hearts beating out of chests, 
and a longing to touch warm skin, 
even for a moment, 
or even to catch the smell of her hair, 
so lovely, 
culred and long, 
to match the images he sees in his dreams. 

He dreams even while awake, 
collecting images, 
precious contact, 
to fuel the fire of his dreams, 
that will come when he sleeps. 

T.S. Deary 
9/16/23

She is hard to reach, 
closed off, 
the tormented adolescent soul, 
she holds herself so tightly, 
but she is fragile, 
growing grace, 
hidden all along that beautiful, borrowed face. 

I saw you today, 
walking down the hallway, 
I was hoping to get to talk to you, 
thinking of all those pictures, 
all of them you, 
arranged on my bureau, 
you were so young, 
now so long ago. 

Today, 
you smiled at me a bit, 
making me wish, 
you could see me the way I see you, 
an angel in my heart, 
alive and well, 
one that draws me closer to you, 
in reciprecation of the beatin g of your heart, 
carried in my heart, 
arousing my deepst sense of pride, 
and a desire, 
to always have you in my mental images,
as if all those strangest angels, 
are pointing you to me, 
and even back to me, 
if you ever get lost. 

T.S. Deary 
9/12/23