Archive | Poetry RSS feed for this section

Your New Eyes

3 Apr

It’s about time for a new life to see

the world anew

to see through that life

precious and in awe

 

you see, I’m afraid I have gotten old

not in body but in soul

the beauty which used to make me gasp

hardly makes me turn my head

 

you see, I’m afraid I have grown accustomed to

soft nights

wind warm and fragrant

changing colors and lines in the sky

it feels too ordinary

I hardly open my eyes

 

I make things mundane in my head

and forget miracles moments after they happen

I know a life with no magic

is hardly worth another day

 

I need your new eyes to see

I need your tiny hands open to all the world

every thing will once again be new

I know what you will bring

and I in the whole world will be better for it

 

cute_hidden_eyes-normal155

However Small the Source

20 Dec

 

however small the source

of the sound of running water

it is enormous in my soul

I can’t tell you how

the scent of damp leaves

make tears leak

only that

I need to be in nature

like breathing

and You

this is where I most clearly see

Your name written

etched in the bark of ancient trunks

woven within green vines

growth all around

life pushing its way outward

upward towards

grey clouds that emphasize

the light to come

where birds tell a story

about amazing grace

and life growing inside

a small seed becoming

a greatness within me

and I know

however small the patch of dirt

however insignificant the blades of grass

there I spot bits of peace

and find echoes of goodness

Writing Is Excavation of the Soul

 

 

Inside’s Gold

5 Dec

from inside’s gold I can see

the light shining around me

peaceful and true

I don’t want to know if I ever

have to return

to where the sky fell apart

and the lines on the ground

wove into a spinning pattern

I am happy here

yet I won’t forget

the warmth inside stability’s arms

or the howling suggestion that

brighter days are coming

from inside’s gold I hear

a tiny echo of reassurance

that when my times comes

I’ll be swept away

in a bright madness

of everything beginning

I Took Your Name

24 Aug

I took your name

in taking  your name

I lost nothing

but:

loneliness

the lie I can live life alone

the confusion that happens when

I attempt to make sense of the world by myself

 

I lost

any desire to search for someone else

my cynical views of romance

that tense, gnawing sense I am still waiting

 

I took your name

in taking your name

I lost nothing of my identity

Instead I am inclined to fall

more into myself

the real, undiscovered self

I see reflected in your eyes

miles and crowds of people

and words and dreams realized

 

I took your name

and gave you myself

a frightening and beautiful process

of wholeness and abandonment

an awkward yet synchronous dance

we continue to learn

for the next ninety years

 

I took your name

and gained the world

you see so brightly

and call ours

IMG_3987

A Field of Empty Pages

19 Jun

 

some mornings

certain words

try to press into me

and  I can barely feel them

 

I shake off their outlines

like they never meant anything

though once they were air

now I choke and splutter

 

It’s always scary and amazing how

that which once felt like life

seems like death

and some of what I had mistaken

for death

is a lot like life

 

just a bit of it

enough to get me past

the raging feeling that

all of this is for naught

 

vanity, vanity

 

and I don’t have the energy

to disassemble

and interpret

the complex

mixed-up

stories

that repeat

over again in my head

 

with no understanding

lessons gone unlearned

headlines unheard

screaming warnings unobserved

 

poetry forgotten

I drag myself into a

field of empty pages

desperate for some awakening

aching for an exclamation

 

yet

when words fail me

I know I put too much hope in them

they are empty without

the meaning behind them

a heart with no blood

bones with no skin

love with no risk

 

you can’t read in the dark

so I must let the light in

I Believe in Breakfast

11 Jun

when I don’t know what to believe

I believe in breakfast

I believe the day is better

when you eat real food

eggs, bacon

fruit, toast

real butter

coffee, of course 

I believe  beginnings matter

food matters

despite all the changes in my mind

I still know

one dark day

God died

history paused

frozen with the greatest tragedy

all seemed lost

 

then

he came back

all alive, all new

and everything else was new, too

 

but first,

he made breakfast

break

fast

the mourning is over

the darkness is no more

it is a new day

 

every sleep is a little bit of death

every morning is a little bit of resurrection

every breakfast is a reminder

we are alive

whole

forgiven

 

so good morning coffee

good morning life

have some extra syrup with those pancakes

believe good will happen today

Looking For Faces

6 Jun

at night when I drive
I become a machine
I know the route so well
I get stuck in a daze
and find myself at point B

every once in awhile
I’ll come back to life
and see things
in the corner of my eye

a lamppost becomes a person
lights, a gaze at me

and I think
we are all just looking for faces

we see them in a piece of toast
or bowl of cereal
in cracks in the ceiling
or holes in our clothes

these sightings make frightened
make us laugh
make something ordinary, not

a holy moment
a sight of eternity
linking us with all humanity

we spend all day
filling our eyes with numbers and letters
dollar signs and every image

but we all know
faces are the only thing
worth anything

we lose ourselves
trying to forget certain faces
the way eyes crease
and lips thin when angry

we try to remember
a freckled nose
a perfect line
caused by joy

we squint just enough so they
all blur together
but we can’t erase them

we’re all just looking for faces

20130606-123024.jpg

That Bittersweet Wine

15 May

we are all on the verge of collapsing into ourselves
living on a narrow shelf
overlooking a chasm of despair
air so thin breath is labored

we fight to cling to the ledge
feeling momentary panic
mixed with a guilty relief
when others tumble in
just glad  it wasn’t us

being born means being on the brink of tragedy

groaning and grasping
hoping for one more moment of happy
to see us through the next thirty-seven negative experiences

“I think I was born with the glass half empty. I can’t pay attention to pain in the world or I question God,” she admitted.

“What’s so bad about that?” I said.

interview The Almighty
fill your glass a little
with that bittersweet wine

bask  in the pain and find some glowing light in it
some lingering sweetness on your tongue
and let the joy bubble up

the edge is slippery and frightening
but  you can’t beat the view

we are all hanging by a thread over death
yet death is just the beginning

and each thread we cling to
weaves into a tapestry of the Universe

a brilliant  picture

with every hue of the rainbow

only seen from the other side

 

type

This Morning’s Analysis

7 May

 

I came to the conclusion

while walking today

that the amount of effortlessly formed words

is directly linked

to the amount of time

spent under tall trees

allowing their safe branches to shelter me

 

I discovered

the desire to create

is fueled by the smells of green and growth

and staying indoors

is synonymous with

staying in my head

all locked up with man-made objects

nothing to provoke wonder

 

not like wandering

going

moving one foot in front of the other

down the block

or across the world

 

maybe it’s nature

returning to my roots

a scared child who found

freedom in the woods

 

maybe it’s the unfamiliar

fighting its way into the mundane

parts of my day

 

and maybe

it’s the need to be part of something more

than my tiny life

my several decades

my decisions and doubts

my dreams and desires

 

my panic that rises lately when I think

of all of this being over so fast

 

it’s why we conceive children

and build towers

why we write books we hope will last

It’s why we watch sunrises over mountains

and start causes to rescue the world

it’s why we live in communities

and go to football games and concerts

it’s why we get lost in throngs of people

and sit solitary facing crashing waves

it’s why we fall in love

 

we have to know

this reality isn’t just

reality

 

we have to know

what the trees know

 

we are part of an expansive, connected, beautiful universe

no life is separate

 

and so I suppose

my final

simple

conclusion is this:

to be happy

to be at peace

to live creatively

I must

get out of my house

get out of my head

and live

 

findpeace

Rebirth Certificates

25 Apr

I felt a poem coming at 2 am

accompanying a bright moon

dramatically revealing herself

an unearthly moment

crashing into a mundane one

 

as my dog relieved himself

on the scrubby apartment grass

 

I vigorously shook myself off

like a mutt coming out of water

all the while thinking

 

This must be rebirth

happening again.

 

and all the things I’ve fought so hard for

fall to the ground in droplets and evaporate

I feel a pulsating heat

rush out from the inside of me

cascading over my tingling skin

 

“What if waking up is the only thing worth pursuing?”

the moon posed a question

as the clouds swirled around her

showing off her talent

in visual effects

 

I want  to live in a certain world

I think

but faux certainty turns magic

to numbers and weather forecasts

 

I want so badly to know what comes next

yet I get mad at spoiler alerts

and bored when the ending is obvious

 

my lists and play-by-plays

settle my weary churning mind

only for a moment

before it rudely demands

the next thing

 

“What if the timeline doesn’t matter because

Real Life waits outside of it?”

the moon interrupted my musing

as my dog tugged at arm

 

and that’s when I saw it:

here and now

there and then

bleeding into one brilliant piece of art

hung on a starry wall

between a row of

my rebirth certificates

and this poem

 

%d bloggers like this: