Tag Archives: poetry

#SimplePoem

I’d trade in all this tobacco for a wide green pasture planted with plants that meet my pleasure.

I’d cast off this cyber connection if it led to the lesson of real interconnection.

I know I can go to the earth and immerse, but while I am human I love to converse,

plants are quite peaceful and abundant in knowing, I know that us humans continue to grow and I want to be a little water.

I want to redirect the sun.

I want to speak sweetly as the seed has just begun to grow.

I want to show what I know with a peaceful hand.

I’d trade all these advertisements for one real conversation about something that doesn’t rely on superficial reactions

So, I will keep sewing, quietly toiling while minds keep wandering to pointless places

I have a love, I wouldn’t trade, no matter time or day

Take it or leave it, I haven’t put an expiration date on it… but that doesn’t mean that it has a shelf life beyond me.

I don’t work in guarantees.

I offer what I can, while I can, relinquishing my hold on what I think I am

I work for Creation, because in lonely days that is the singular satisfaction I find to encompass everything we blind ourselves toward.

Focus on the seeds of being that are ready to burst free with life and living.

 

 

Love Letter

The magnetic specter of our dance is gratifying in its own way.  The ebbs and flows, the way it goes carving-marking along the way. Deeper than ditches run, farther than a tumble weed could tumble, we fade into each other and the landscape.

When time is timeless what does time mean?  Perhaps a momentary infinity of you and me on this hypothetical horizon, watching the shades fade from hue to hue. Darkened silhouettes along the terrain, enveloped in some other domain existent but far between.

Specks in the dust, they say

Each meaningful and yet inconsequential in their own way

Working the wheel.

Beating the drum.

Reading the same script, over and over again

“You play this role, and I will play that.”

Expectations, at times hum-drum because you know you’ve played and acted these roles before, whether hero or villain you are familiar with the score.

Dum-ditty-dum-ditty-dum-Dum-ditty-Dum

The pipers come piping, the drummers do drum. The hamsters keeps spinning,  song after song.

So what?  In mixture of this intoxication in our physical being- how can we sequester such meaning? I cop it up to hormones, emotions and feeling. Avoiding the meaning it plays on some higher reality. You have yet to play the lover or the beloved.

The world at my fingertips, hair on end as I keep feeling this world, again and again.

I can be the gyroscope, and if you can hold a steady plane. Let me spin inside your skin until our souls touch.  In some perfect balance of day and night, taking flight to higher heights than either has ever known. Sew yourself within me- carefully.

Together we can be stronger than before, a united front of protection in this mundane place of normality. We would be allowed to dream bigger dreams. See ourselves as champions.

I can share with you my secrets of the cosmos- my ever evolving mind.  This heart holds divine space for you, there has always been a place for you in the core of my cerebellum, telling me to move muscles and sinew forward until the crux of time and space collide.  The horizon simplified, no longer lingering in hypothetical realms or parallel dimensions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our compartmentalization of feeling somehow becoming null and void?

 

In Honor of Life and Death

The whole of humanity is a series of cycles and connections.

 

 All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

– Willy Shakes  (William Shakespeare)  “As You Like It.”

wshakesp

I think William Shakespeare, (if that’s EVEN his REAL name) summed up the cycles of life very eloquently in that prose from the well known play As You Like It.  And yet, it plays the individual as an island… and we KNOW, No Man Is An Island.

 

”No Man Is an Island” by John Donne

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were. Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.  

jdonne

So, if humans, are merely actors, that must interact with other actors on the stage of life… Do we not follow scripts?  Taking on the attributes of the Archetypes, at times passing the torch off to another player… at time’s being upstaged by an understudy?

There is no step missed in the organic cycles of living… but are we living or dying?

Anne Sexton addressed this well in her book of Poems Live or Die

Live or die, but don’t poison everything…

Well, death’s been here
for a long time –
it has a hell of a lot
to do with hell
and suspicion of the eye
and the religious objects
and how I mourned them
when they were made obscene
by my dwarf-heart’s doodle.
The chief ingredient
is mutilation.
And mud, day after day,
mud like a ritual,
and the baby on the platter,
cooked but still human,
cooked also with little maggots,
sewn onto it maybe by somebody’s mother,
the damn bitch!

Even so,
I kept right on going on,
a sort of human statement,
lugging myself as if
I were a sawed-off body
in the trunk, the steamer trunk.
This became perjury of the soul.
It became an outright lie
and even though I dressed the body
it was still naked, still killed.
It was caught
in the first place at birth,
like a fish.
But I play it, dressed it up,
dressed it up like somebody’s doll.

Is life something you play?
And all the time wanting to get rid of it?
And further, everyone yelling at you
to shut up. And no wonder!
People don’t like to be told
that you’re sick
and then be forced
to watch
you
come
down with the hammer.

Today life opened inside me like an egg
and there inside
after considerable digging
I found the answer.
What a bargain!
There was the sun,
her yolk moving feverishly,
tumbling her prize –
and you realize she does this daily!
I’d known she was a purifier
but I hadn’t thought
she was solid,
hadn’t known she was an answer.
God! It’s a dream,
lovers sprouting in the yard
like celery stalks
and better,
a husband straight as a redwood,
two daughters, two sea urchings,
picking roses off my hackles.
If I’m on fire they dance around it
and cook marshmallows.
And if I’m ice
they simply skate on me
in little ballet costumes.

Here,
all along,
thinking I was a killer,
anointing myself daily
with my little poisons.
But no.
I’m an empress.
I wear an apron.
My typewriter writes.
It didn’t break the way it warned.
Even crazy, I’m as nice
as a chocolate bar.
Even with the witches’ gymnastics
they trust my incalculable city,
my corruptible bed.

O dearest three,
I make a soft reply.
The witch comes on
and you paint her pink.
I come with kisses in my hood
and the sun, the smart one,
rolling in my arms.
So I say Live
and turn my shadow three times round
to feed our puppies as they come,
the eight Dalmatians we didn’t drown,
despite the warnings: The abort! The destroy!
Despite the pails of water that waited,
to drown them, to pull them down like stones,
they came, each one headfirst, blowing bubbles the color of cataract-blue
and fumbling for the tiny tits.
Just last week, eight Dalmatians,
3/4 of a lb., lined up like cord wood
each
like a
birch tree.
I promise to love more if they come,
because in spite of cruelty
and the stuffed railroad cars for the ovens,
I am not what I expected. Not an Eichmann.
The poison just didn’t take.
So I won’t hang around in my hospital shift,
repeating The Black Mass and all of it.
I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift.

-Anne Sexton  “Live”
anne-sexton2-18-10

 

So a human, can play a role.  Have a script, whilst still choosing to serve Life or Death.  And each day we are asked to choose; “Do you serve Life, or do you serve Death.”

Perhaps some people feel like they don’t really have a choice.

Death is inevitable.

 

Pain is a Place

She is soulful and silently chiding this estrangement.  Echoes ring inside her mind with aching pains she refuses to hide.

Losing Self, to Inner Peace.

Crawling from light into a place where warmth is first.  Catching a glimpse of shadows that please the mind.

We were simple once.

Conversations build elation, a mirage painted like a mural upon a crumbling wall.

What is this for?

Commotion, corruption; what is the difference?  Nothing more than a few letters.

Meanings lost upon the wind, patterns blown into the breeze.  Wild hearts seek a master, someone to tame their wiles, their reckless ways.

A child seeks the mother he never had.

We wrestle alone and pile upon word after word, leaving nothing but marks and bruises, barriers and walls.  Everything is lost in translation.   Everything.

“Who are these friends of yours?”  She says this with trepidation; she knows the place they hold.  They are the life within you; the death within her.

She is counting hour upon hour.  The slightest itch, creates a sore.  Bleeding never did cure the ill.  Bleeding never won a heart.

Loyalties and Royalties, another space filling another void that did not ask to be filled.

He never asks to listen anymore.

She thinks you’re afraid to hear the words between the lines.  You want to leave, to roam, and be free.  But these strings have been tied, waiting behind  each, a pair of scissors ready to take care of problems.

Flying from one wrong end to another, basing the same old ideas off the same old feeling.  Always using the same distinctions to discuss old conversations.  Tears can be recycled like yesterdays newspaper.

“No one will understand you, and those who say they do, are only acting.”

You are breathing verbiage that stinks.

“This word is defined the way I choose!”  says The Law.

Who gave anyone the right to change, to alter definitions?

“Hidden between the lines.” She says, “Creeping between the lines.”

WAKE UP!

Eat, sleep, dream, and fry your brains on anything.  Feel the circulation creep into the dark spaces, the dank places, the cold recess’ inside.

You have them.

“They hurt.” She says.

“They kill.” She says.

She isn’t me,today, yet anyone acquainted with pain will know this Place.

 

Harsh Reality

Life is not like the movies.

Even if you dye your hair pink and feel death permeating from the beach, where you look at crab shells masticated by sand mites; and you pause to reflect on the symmetry of the sunset.

It may remind you of some movie where the heroine shouts about her love to the sky, and moments later her lover appears.  This looks, so much like that scene.

But even if I yelled, right now; no one would show up, and the only people who would hear me would be the family, over yonder, taking part in a clam bake.

Even at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter how the setting sun reflects off the ocean.

I am the movie, I am the cinematography, I am the director… and it appears the cast and scenes seem to have a mind of their own.

We will each internally edit the scene according to our disposition and desire to keep certain elements sacred.

Later, we will screen our selective memories on those most close or dear… Hoping to satiate some neglected space in the Soul.

 

 

Waiting

I saw minutes fly by like birds in migration, flapping wings; they soar beyond sight to another hemisphere.

Only minutes forever disappear.

Fifteen of them at a time fly right on by.

Soaring near my face; One leaking shit on my cheek like a delicate opaque tear.

The next one, Number Two, buzzed nearest my ear with a fearful ticking of finality.

The Third flew into my mouth, making me choke for air; daring me to fight for a Minute.

Number Four won’t back away from my hands, as they work to remove Number Three; caught between my throat and a molar.

Minute Five arrived just as alive as the rest.  Sinking claws into my scalp, then pulling away.  Leaving a talon in my skull.

This is bullshit.

My ass is getting kicked by minutes- Limitless and passing

Beyond recognition, each sort of leaving their mark on my skin; my heart and my brain

I’ve lain down enough lines tonight on this subject alone.  I feel like I own it.

Man, you’ve blown it.  I am still waiting on you to show up.

To not, let me down, but I frown at my attempt to be with you.

I should be in my own bed at my own house.

It appears you are out for the night, I should turn out your light.  I should board the bus back to my place.

I have an hour to decide; to make a decision.

I keep listening for your car to keep me glued to these sheets.

I’m defeated and tired.

Minute Six licks my cheek gently where Number One left it’s mark; then swiftly with stinging fury, smacks me so hard, I saw so many stars.

I never saw Number Seven, with a club in one hand, and in the other; a frying pan.

A single, a double, a triple whammy.

Damn, I must be the one tripping now.  I can’t seem to control these minutes and their rising aggression.

I get the sensation they wish they were being used by someone other than me.

They’ve declared anarchy on my sensibilities; meanwhile I wait for you to pull me though this lonely game.

It’s so much better with you here; to smack Minute Eight in the ass when he passes gas in your nose and mine.

It would be fine to have a partner in crime at this particular time.

Especially when Number Nine pulls his shit and tries to poke you in the eyes.  I would grab him from behind because I like your peepers; it’s too bad that I just lost mine when Number Nine got me with out any back.

Alone I still sit, thinking you must not want to be with me, a past regression into negative emotion.

Whoa, that must have been the influence of Number Ten; him and his rotten fortune cookie.

Look at me and Minute Eleven; Number Sevens’ twin… Again I get knocked silly, floating with stars.

Should I go back to the scummy bar for an ale before I hit the bus.

I’ve traveled enough for one night.  I have been let down  enough for three eves in just the matter of hours.

Mean while, Minute Twelve hid on the shelf, until I looked away in recovery.

I didn’t see him throw those books at my noggin; You’re usually blocking those too.

Thirteen beams with joy at adding to this display , by air raiding me with water balloons and foul language.

Fourteen pelts rotten apple cores, vying for my attention.

Boy, I’ve learned nothing but how to block these punches, and it’s hard when they come from every side.

Hence, Number Fifteen, sixteen times over, barks and bites like a Doberman Pincher.

Twelve Midnight and thirty minutes…

A half hour to catch the late bus, time to switch gears and quietly leave, each Minute a failed attempt at following me.

Lost minutes are no consolation for you holding me.

Doo Doo Duality Transcendence

mindIn my dream I was told that nothing was gonna happen, nothing was going to change, that the biggest deception of all, believing the world will rearrange.

And in my dream I thought to myself, well if nothing changes, than I refuse to go on, because I have a purpose inside that tells me I have to keep keepin’ on.

The East and the West are melding and lines have only been drawn in our minds. This Red Electric Skywalker will teach you to walk the thin line, then how to absolve what you find.

In physicality we have demonstrated demonology, we have played the part of duality, it has been inside of you and me for as long as we remember.

But when you slumber there are chances to rise above it.  To see what it has done to us.  You’ve chosen your own symbology, decided what it means to be: Human. 

But the Spirit in you, the one you haven’t given much credit to, has been on the sidelines this entire time guiding you through the mucky muck, when you thought it was just random luck.

Face it, we have been coerced to see the worst in ourselves and one another.  We understand now the possibility that lies within negativity. 

It’s become so blatant to see all around us.  We have fussed, and fought; been internally wrought with confusion.  We have ignored our own solutions.  The little hiding gem beneath the soiled dirt, beyond the pain and hurt, is love. 

Just love unconditional. 

When you dig down to find it, you will be guided by the light it gives.  And when you finally hold it in your hands, you understand the duality of man, and how to transcend it.  We weren’t left here with out devices to find love when the time was right.  So now, it is time for the light to absolve us.  To lighten the load below us.  To walk the clouds of confidence that lift us in love.

For the things you do not love in yourself, there is solution.  Change yourself in internal evolution, let your cells speak of revolution, for they are fighting  back.  When the vibrations of the lower start to choke you, let Universal Unconditional Love, stroke you back to health. 

You are a potential wealth of love.  No one can give it to you, find it for you, or tell you exactly where to go… but if you listen without judgment, that heaven sent map will guide you on your individual way, to the place of your hearts calling. 

So to those who dismiss the greatest mission we have ever had, well they just haven’t found theirs yet.

Let go of the things you’ve been told forever, walk through the stormy weather with a smile.  All the while knowing, that this motion is the needed emotion to making the world a little bit better. 

Again she said,

This is all in your head.