I wake this morning to soft white,

welcoming overcast skies

the wind surge goes to and fro 

misting pitter patterned rain

upon my window pane



Each thrush and intermittent hush

coaxes my heart back to sleep

and after the rock tense stress of yesterday

it’s a well needed reprieve



For someone so prone to noise sensitivity

I sure do love birdsong, and the static

background, whispering wind


even the humming, mechanical noise, in the distance

contributes as an instrument in an unscripted song

and the cars passing by on the road play along



I think about how poetry can be

struggling to unwrap yourself

when you’re all wound up with rope

and ending up tripping

because every one way ties you up another



Or it can be rhythmic and enchanting;

a magical dance with fate and space

where the mind locks in and the heart beats

in tune with passing waves above, around, within

and everything is beautiful til the heart sinks



because it’s frustrating, knowing

some days the ocean fills you up

and you’re levitating

and it’s POWER in its most essential form

choosing you, flowing through you

and nothing can stop the poem from being born



other days, staring at a page

eyes glazed over, heart full of rage

wanting catharsis, fearing art has become

just a sensitive kid who’s afraid to take the stage



don’t look at me, don’t see me, please

if you don’t care, don’t fake it

i miss the days I’d freely say

whatever stole my heart to break it



but don’t forget me, please forgive

i can’t do this alone

i’ve given everything to this

i’ve made this place my home



all the while the funny little mind wanders

casting prismatic pebbles in the dark

for just a glint

whilst the great cosmic laughter erupts

and the hologram blinks

exposing everything
as light