After Growth: Poems of Seperation and Regeneration

I Will Write What I Write How I Write It

 

 no syllables forming

no screaming

rage only

Scratching, dead and

does not move making the illusion

of life pass away.

We travel into the spotlight sunset

raving and looning

extravagant claims on the never arriving future.

The next word is my future.

the next blink of a thought.

I am in the future passing into a mist,

already dead one hundred years.

So why do I fear every move?
 Each breath a life, each life on fire

with every exhale.

scorching the earth with my remnant air.

here is that tiny doorstep of breath before the yet to be opened door

I can open or wait for the other side to bloom into me

take me in the cradling petals that evaporate into soft air.

9

 

 

White Elephant

After so many years,

You gave me back my Heart,

and I have no place to keep it.

What can I do with it?

Like hands when  public speaking,

how do I perform my daily tasks

with a nervous heart hanging around

awkwardly with no purpose.

I can’t ask just anyone to help me hold it,

when I am shifting my load or opening a heavy door.

I must set it down, and when I do,

it ends up getting cold and bruised.

Some day soon, I will set it  in the wrong place,

and someone not paying attention

will crush it as they pass with an innocent foot.

“What the hell,” that careless person will say.

“It’s not your fault,” I will say wiping

the foot with something handy laying about.

“I just can’t hold it all of the time. Sorry, about the mess.”

I hope whoever it is will understand.

Maybe before that happens I will find a warm

nest for my Heart to rest in.

My breath will come a little easier then.

Maybe I will build one.

I wonder if I could look that up

On Wikipedia or find one for not too much on Amazon.

 

Greetings from Inside

Hello Out There,

All of you, who are not in here with me,

I miss you so much.

I look forward to the time

When I am opened up

Like ripe fruit or

A flower spreading.

My pedals are still curled inward.

Someday soon folded wings will unfurl

Making space for you.

We must be patient with ourselves,

Forcing moments like these only

Ends up in regret for

Damage to delicate structures.

We are strong in moving slowly.

I am readying even now

When I look so closed.

Little adjustments Like waves

will move out to shatter the shell

Scattering crisp pedals like snow

Uncovering  me,

And I will finally be able to

See you.

Personal Event Horizon

I came here to tell you

that I have no comments prepared

on the new direction my case has taken

 at the present moment.

I stand mute

With my empty dialogue bubble

And stare vacuously into inchoate

mass of unrelenting ambiguous static

That are my thoughts at this time.

I have reached a level of blankness that leaves me

Unable to react or respond to events that are

Even now unfolding in my vicinity.
I am here merely to observe and

Patiently await the next occurrence. 

My eyes are open, my ears hear.

I smell, taste, and feel

Whatever comes into the field of my senses is recorded.

I, however, cannot provide feedback, guidance or  context

For the mess of swirling color, sound,

somatosensory and kinesthetic input

That assaults my being.

 like a black hole, I absorb all stimuli

That stray into the range of my senses, storing

Vast masses of information

reflected into me from an undisclosed location

condensing and pressurizing

all into a density, so compacted,

that it can no longer hold its form

releasing a universe

Of mind into the infinite

vacuum of my life.

Stay tuned for further developments.

Chiaroscuro Prayer

I am an archive of treasure.

My memories and experience overflow

into my present,

spilling gems and coins 

clattering and sparkling about.

When will I realize every life has worth,

even in failure and remorse,

even in dire tragedy.

Even as rough faces fade with time,

every shadow shapes the light into a form

 which can be deciphered and known.

Love Casts Out All Evil

“Love casts out all evil,” She said.

She is casting out her evil 

with beauty and gentle faith

transforming into light by the river.

She lost her daughters 

to her addictions, but

was able to hold onto

a tail of light

as it dangled 

in the well.

three years she climbed

and clung

to reach this new world

where she cleans under 

the bridge and talks to angels

while the current, still far

away, rolls on.

She rises with a smile

to face the new love of each day.

 

Winter Meeting

Seeing all these familiar faces

as if I had been away at the north pole

or they were locked up and are still trapped

in their job prisons and I visiting.

I feel like I am visiting my life when I talk about

what I have been doing.

It is separate from me,

scenes from someone else’s imaginary, never to be finished movie

which changes with each retake.

I have to remind myself that I have lost teeth and weight.

I look older even though I feel better some days

than when I was much younger.

Some days I have to make myself push through the fog.

too often I move, a habitual ghost, leaving no footprints

in the fresh snow.


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