Tag Archives: Poetry

shit may or may not happen

29 Sep

It seems to me tonight

that I can’t get it right.

I have tried so hard.

It also seems

that I can’t mess up.

I return to a

seat

wedged between my heart

and solar plexus

on which balances

a space between

striving and not.

This seat does not totter

or teeter

but provides a solid spot

from which motion or not

is clear.

Every effort and every allowance

can be seen in joy.

May the Protestant work ethic

in all its good intentions

burn brilliantly into its own footprint.

Work Happens.

Stillness Happens.

And Shit Happens

from another seat

altogether.

 

 

brillo breath

21 Sep

Forgive me

all

for when I step on your words,

for my imagining that I know what you are going to say.

Forgive me for the tight holding

I have done

and keep doing

in uncountable seconds

of my personhood.

She imagines she has something important

to say

(any words in time are flowing water)

and she has a poorly acted way of pretending to know things

from her limited exposure.

Only ever each moment

to release into this soup of being.

My psychic muscles are tired

of holding self together.

Breath,

thank you,

enters

into the each

last

holding,

of this construct

scrubbing away the clinging.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

how the future comes

16 Sep

Shush

compromise.

Remember,

safety above the mess

is a slow death.

Knowing what is next,

assuring myself

I know

what is next,

stomps out miracles

and silences sirens:

closes the door on what

can be.

i will not go through days

the same from morning to night

in and out of slow sliding seasons

as the she who thinks

in square units of measured time.

i will dive

into the murky mud

of what longs

for birth.

Growing

are fierce buds

through my rocky soil

with fists

tight with determination

into next

and next

outside of tidy

outside of known,

I hope, though, shy of disaster.

Inappropriate Creation,

comes forth,

and I let it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

my dating profile :)

22 Jul

I look normal, I seem normal, and I can wear my normal suit as needed.

But life’s journey has led me away from the path of normal.

I am putting my truth out there on my profile into the world of normal, to eliminate most, and to speak to those who will instantly know what I am talking about.

I am not talking about anything overt; I am talking about the inner blossoming.

I am on a path toward self-discovery.

The answers I have sought have been discovered to be within and to be never far.

Breath is the vehicle for me on the ride.

I spend time in silence,

I fall in love all day long, everyday, with ants and trees, and songs.

My boundaries have loosened, my identity has loosened.

I can still dance in the world of normal, but I only do so when absolutely necessary.

I am looking for friends to interact with who have a clue what I am talking about.

I am looking to weed out all who are nice, but still normal.

I leave this breadcrumb trail of nonsense as an invitation to anyone who finds the normal paths of life debilitating; there is more. And it is so much more.

The only clues cannot be named or nailed in directly but can only point, like a mute but colorful road sign.

Contact me if you want to talk of such intangible things, or if you want to watch ants or the leaves dance in a breeze, if you sometimes realize you are the breeze, the leaves, and the breathing eyes watching.

trust

20 Jul

is in the breath –

every.

damned.

time.

thank god,

so close.

i’ve a new name for it

8 Nov

–the vast neutrality.

 

what glorious lonely can do

4 Nov

how many years did i run and cover over the hole?

not able to know the wholeness

until I stopped

and felt it–

empty,

nothing there,

alone.

 

leave me to it.

don’t soothe me,

it needs to be seen–

i’m lonely for —

union.

lonely aches

behind the sternum,

and leaks out of my eyes.

i’ve the courage now to feel it–

lonely,

and I’m pressing into that bruise.

-letting it be there.

letting is

composting me

letting is

squeezing out juice

yet here i am,  still asking lonely

grant me

courage without aid

without aspirin

without the phone

without the tubes (You and cathode ray).

hobby callings

flattened.

i am headed to flatline

daring  defribulation when

either side of death

is now okay.

the pulse is not mine to keep or lose.

ha, never was.

ARGH,

the tone is way too serious, here.

from lonely comes

hilarity

this serious poem is a

belly laugh!

but first i seem to be

leaning into whatever

had me running

to begin with.

for years.

good god

what!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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