Tag Archives: Poetry

longing is a secret door

8 Feb

We only need to long

from inside the caverns of our lower bellies

and from our furnace hearts,

not from the jumpled frenzy of our thoughts.

Each moment

is the longing for breath,

and the longing for blood in veins

to carry what the breath brought in –

just to keep us alive enough to long some more.

 

However, we are thinking animals

who have wallpapered over desire

with such complex patterns

that we’ve forgotten where

the impulse to act

about anything

came from.

Seen is that at the bottom of all complexity,

we can codify.

Is this list accurate?

Humans desire:

  1. to keep on breathing
  2. to pleasure the flesh
  3. to distract from the horror that comes from an empty cup at the heart of just existing
  4. to keep on breathing

 

However,

basic breath will go away; it will.

(enormous, this!)

Then and only then,

desiring the air of another realm

will pull us out of this life —

and though I can not prove anything to you,

I practice breathing and ending breath both;

for when my moment comes,  I desire ease.

I imagine our work on this larger breath can be gifted

to whomever needs it ~ when.

Use it with my blessing,

for I love you in this breath.

 

 

now that my tongue knows no blue

5 Feb

a salty song

around my shoulders

wraps me in a harmony

of thirds.

Love like the wind

needs no introduction,

no permission from my parents

to bow on a knee

with a ring.

I’m sniffing yellow

bursts of instant knowing.

I can be entered by the sun

in penetrating ways –

the passing through of each photon

registers on my richter spine

of sway – I offer my belly for a rub.

Hear this felt truth —  I know no bounds.

What enters me

is entered by me

as it passes on,

an exchange without end.

Ever echoes the fervored beat

I dance

eternity

for now

a textured shadow on my retina

curve

later thinning out on the curve

of expansion

among other all-

perceiving BEings

returning

to our agreed

upon spot

no one

need know

but love.

 

 

somewhere along the way

1 Feb

instead of keeping on

with the human interaction experiment,

I started saying no

and dropping out of the game.

It was so gradual,

I didn’t notice when self-care

turned into hiding.

Separate became a theme song,

playing on repeat

on the radio in my head.

Prone felt better than upright,

cozy felt better than cold,

alone felt better than awkward,

and predictable became a slow slide.

The blood began to thicken.

I told myself that I was refusing

to be food for the energy suckers.

What’s new?

I’m ankle deep at the surf’s edge

where

the water is cold,

the air is worse,

but the alternative is only for the bears,

and only in one season.

Spring seasons return,

and probably will again,

but I won’t wait

for it to come to me.

Motion is required

for the body,

but more so, for the mysterious heart,

which can’t be met

until I show up.

 

 

 

glowing on

24 Jan

 

Joy arrives in the smallest corners

without a script to find it.

Think a bird tilting its head to you in curiosity,

a cat curled up in your pine straw, allowing you close,

a deer pausing mid-munch to size you up

before bounding its fluff tail bum deeper into the woods.

Agenda toward joy can look alright to start with

but it soon becomes a grocery store cake in the mouth,

leaving you wondering how to spit it out with grace.

Grasping at joy is revolting, a fake laugh, an insinuation,

a glomping on – vicarious to the actual fleeting glimpses

we are gifted without neediness.

Don’t grab the kitty by the tail,

try not to join in when you haven’t heard the joke,

allow your own joy to arrive outside the attainment of others,

without needing to announce it to the imagined view of the world.

The original intention that you came here with

is still flickering – and it will not go out until you are gone,

even if you are in jail, or cast out, or inebriated

on the most common drugs of: figuring things out,

escaping your pain, making yourself important,

making yourself small, just

getting through the day, busy, busy, busy…

you know them all.

Even here, joy still visits, and fans your fractal candle.

Thank God, it is one of those trick candles, so blow away,

test it out; it will be here as long as you – waiting to light you

from within – and your inferno will be all your own.

My bonfire on a distant hill

connects the dots toward yours,

making the view overhead of all these fires a truer map

of who is down here,

remembering joy,

no matter where.

 

 

good kind of paradox

20 Jan

life goes by so incredibly fast,

and still there is no hurry.

sea scape dream scape

14 Jan

some times

on land, reality is fine edged and crisp,

but on an impulse to go on out to the beach

on a warm winter day,

I enter a mystery

of mist rising up from the sea

hovering over the land

reaching down from the sky

making the smallest

difference in color and shade

between land, air, sand, sea, and sky indistinguishable.

I have dreamed of this place.

Now I think I am walking

alone in the day on wet sand,

the sea as far out as it can go,

I will dream of this place again

at night.

I may be dreaming now.

Is sinew the only difference between

our walking waking and our haunted dreaming?

I am in a place of longing and regret-

a wide beach, those.

Boats clang and moan behind the curtain of mist

so close I could touch them;

a dog bounds up to me out of the cloud and pounces me

its lover,

I remember joy, pup; you know that me!

This life, so short, so lush,

so impersonal as to remind me

that my recurring hurtful thought of late

can be wound again and again

playing a song I don’t want to hear

until the fog, the sand, the fin skimming the line

between water and sand,

the light skimming the line

between dusk and night,

my mind skimming the line

between awake and dream

between alive and dead

between a life of thought

and a life of senses,

wakes me to know which to choose

even when I don’t know how.

 

none of this is pretty

2 Jan

When you can’t tell the difference

between what should stay or go, and

discomfort has you puppeting yourself

frantically false,

get the largest knife

from the kitchen drawer and

cut down that which has propped itself on you.

Get the long matches for the bar-b-que

and set on fire that which still can burn.

Don’t mess about forever asking questions

and making demands with your hands on your hips.

Cut it loose, already.

But if you do not,

the thousand cut route will;

for a thousand years, you will spout nonsense

and spin in your own confusion.

Do you want to wait that long?

If you are swift, have asked for no mercy, wisely,

it will come in the form of bleeding out

or burning down.

Have courage – remain. remain,

though you will feel wretched

and ashamed,

sitting in the ash and bones.

When the dust settles, the flesh rots,

remain remain and quietly,

see what is left.

Does it need a name?

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