Night, the oldest of mysteries
settles, spreading like hunger.
A pall of mist
shrouding over the world.
Siren sounds and firefighters,
drunken brawls, and
Eyes of wonder asleep,
emerging out of
the network of shadows
Stray nuggets of light
also reach the eyes shut
Furtive shadows of passion,
elsewhere. Muffled joys;
Shades of bottle-grey.
faint. Raspy owl-calls,
In the deep, secret
rites of initiation.
Somewhere in the far
the stars and
the broken moon peep in.
Old song on a highway truck.
Little lamps adorning the hills,
courtyards in the distance.
Still developing this piece, more abstractions needed...
You grow tired of creating mouse-sized shadows,
Lose hope when your leaves cannot cover a whole human palm,
Wither when your fruits are too small, bitter, and too unripe to stomach
As the other taller versions of you tower above, they steal your food and tuck you away underneath
It's hard to get noticed in a sea of fish so vast only the insects can fathom its size
It's hard to survive in a crowd of Darwin enthusiasts
Ah, so young, and so deprived of faith in success.
I have faith for you, tree. Brother, we are the same.
We all just want to make it.
We want to be one of the great Redwoods pictured in magazines,
They take all the credit from us
Don't worry, friend.
Together, we will break through the underbrush,
Show them what we can do,
Prove our greatness once and for all,
And stand tall with our comrades of the vast forests everyone knows by name.
Tell me your dreams
The desires for which you so
Tell me so I can see the burning passion
in your piercing eyes
The sparkles that shine so prominently
Tell me your fears
The nightmares where dreaded creatures lurk in the
darkness, attempting to penetrate your mind
Tell me so I can prevent those common shadows before
they befuddle and torment you
The burning fury they obtain when they engulf you
at your most vulnerable state
Tell me how your mind works
The intricate way for which those wonderful
thoughts of yours flow
Tell me how to be so magically profound about
life, time, and death
The ways of straying away from reality to catch
a glimpse of paradise
Tell me the forbidding truth about my unfortunate path
The cold, naked, and abandoned road for which
I have regrettably travelled upon
Tell me that paradise is at the bottom of a trench
And I shall allow myself to fall, so that my life
shall perish happily upon landing in paradise
his throat was still thirsty for liquor
and my heart was hungry for his touch.
Serpent like, we slid down the hall and found ourselves in shadows.
I also found the mistletoe straight above my head
but his lips only locked on a glass of Hennessy.
On New Years
( after the eve had passed )
he and I found home on the floor while our lips went wild.
It was good place to be happily drunk
with strangers and smiles.
But it's really all I want to remember.
was their anniversary. She spun her wrist round
flashing diamonds and jewels embroidered by their love.
I spun my mind trying to find
how the greatest gift he ever gave me was a moonlit kiss
even then I knew we were bound to be empty.
the sky was out of place in this night sky.. it was as if this night was not real.. but it was.. there was a feeling of leaving always.. as if the night was saying goodbye to me every second i was in it.. it was quite enchanting being here.. things were not in their right place.. pictures on the walls were alive.. even the luster of the stars in the sky spoke of flase beautiful magic.. almost as if a child drew them upon the shadowy blanket dark sky..
A lone cloud passes by and takes me with it.. for a moment i am above this night.. i see my old street where i grew up.. i see my brother pulling me in our red wagon.. fireflies gather around us.. the baby pine trees begin to dance in the wind.. the night starts to feel fresh again.. the air taste so good..
i am back to my first home.. i go inside my first room.. and go straight to my old toy box.. the wonders i see.. all of my old toys light up my memories.. the room grows dark and my old night light glows upon me.. once i was afraid of the shadows there.. now i see them and become one with them.. shadows of the soul.. I awake from a dream of my past.. I see clear my memory shell and how it pieces together..
i’ve been trying
to sleep away
every bad thought
every ill omen
every second of my futile existence
but i sleep
a dreamless sleep
in the box is moldy
and i wonder if i’m hungry enough to
scrape it off
each day i wake up
and eat the
so you don’t have to worry about
i have the sun in my belly
it casts shadows on my bones
when i was
a kid i used
to suck on pennies ‘cause
i could get some good luck from it
i remember running
in the grass bleached
evergreen by the summer
and i let
the sun out of my belly
so everybody else could
and now i sulk with the moon
and i don’t care
i don’t care about anything
so when luna says i
should get out more
i say “fuck you.”
some things in life
are pointless and
i am some of them
There is a freedom in delusion,
It is artificially flavoured and cheap-
for anyone desperate enough to buy it.
Like this, there are many more copies of the originals.
It is the promise of Love,
The dissapointment of failure,
and the bitter taste of regret.
Yes, there is a blind happiness in the act of faith;
believing in the shadows reflected on the walls of the cave.
A hard truth to accept- the lies you tell to yourself
as you go to bed and succumb to wishful dreams.
Another day wasted-another mind twisted.
The vitality of grass and the prattle of the birds ceases
love fades away, as does the vigor of the summer.
Words once fluent, now cease to forced murmurs of dispassion.
There goes the first leaf of autumn-
in the cold harshness of the creeping wind.
There is honesty and pain in recognition,
Deceit and grief at the eyes of imitation.
Yes, there is a temporal taste of forged happiness;
A comfort in the fabric of deception.
I have not left you
I don't detest you
admitting to still holding that fire in my palm
that i meant to extinguish
that fire burns for you
i have it locked up
it's not gone
but it's not really here either
in other news
I'm not gone
I'm still here
my voice is soft
but the poems still come
i can still remain an
i am still an unheard companion
I do not know you
I do not see you
I do not hear you
I do read you
Words in black
background of white
Links of red
but that's just a side note
to my unmet family
I love you
...difficult to say
I choked it out
to use more accurate
I love more people
than i had previously thought
i love you like a sibling
i find you immeasurably attractive
I love you more than I love myself
you may be my enemy, but i will die for you
My voice dies
at the end of a long year
the snow falls silently
matching the soundless rhythms
on my breath
my heartbeat churns
like the magma beneath my feet
which is pretty far down
but not really
blood like fire
or like metal
or like water
burning, binding, flowing
biting, toughening, eroding
Two shadows cast down a winding trail under a sleepy moon's gaze
Like waking from a night of slumbering under heavy winter blankets, plumes of smoke rise from small brick beds
The shadows sway and dance under the last breaths of sun slipping into the night
When I hold on to her like the last days of summer, but she is like the end of Autumn
When red and gold love letters fill the trees
When the last red ribbons of a sunset caress her face
In her eyes I see the low hung stars of an autumn sky
In her kiss the last sonnet of a season's end
In her arms the warmth of a fire set to welcome the first winter night
For this years Thanksgiving, I have decided to focus on developing a sense of gratitude. The world is full of real bad stuff happening to too many people and its easy to let the darkness of our times cast long shadows of resentment, anger and ill will over our outlook on life. So today as I travel to a relatives home to gather for our national day of thankfulness I choose to leave resentments at home and cultivate a sense of gratitude.
I’m grateful for my eyes. My sight allows me to perceive the million graces The Almighty abundantly confers upon the inhabitants of the good earth each and every day. My eyes help me to discover the pressing needs of others and respond to it. My eyes help me to discern light from darkness, distinguish the forest from the trees and eschew pedestrian views to behold a beautiful vista. My eyes are a pathway to my soul moving me to contemplate the good, forsake the bad and move against evil in service to truth.
I’m grateful for my ears. The grace of hearing permits me to listen. My ears alert me to the cries of my brothers and sisters and enables me to understand our shared human condition. My ears tune my spirit to the chords of exquisite music and the natural symphonies of Mother Earth’s angelic chorus of singing birds, heaving oceans, the majestic pause of silent mountains and the fleeting rush of the swelling wind are all divine voices singing the joyful hymns of life.
I’m thankful for my sense of smell. Graciously my nose breathes in the inviting aroma of a lovingly prepared home cooked meal, the wholesome scent of baking bread wafting from the door of the corner bakery, a briny snort from the boundless sea, the rich compost of the deep woods after a soft summer rain, the bouquet of an infants hair and the perfume of a lovers embrace.
I give thanks for my ability to touch. Hands engaged in productive work and gainful employment is a blessing absent from too many Thanksgiving Day tables this year. We yearn to connect and the sense of touch invites our ability to feel. Feeling is the father of empathy and the mother of compassion. Caring for our animal friends we live in communion with all sentient beings. As we touch one another and allow others to touch us; the hardest of hearts is softened, the most grievous wounds are healed to liberate the sensual yearnings dwelling in the deepest recesses of ourselves. Feeling allows us to become fully present, fully aware and fully alive in the celebration of what it means to be fully human.
I’m thankful for my sense of taste. As Sinatra croons “from the brim to the dregs” the wine of our lives may not all taste good but it all flows clear and true. Sample, savor and learn. Taste and see the glories of the Lord’s banquet so abundantly placed before us. The bitter herbs, the sweet cakes, the leisure repast, the fortifying meal and unrequited hunger is the daily bread of being human. Pause to consider those that are lining up for the tenth Thanksgiving Day meal in Afghanistan and Iraq and pray that the awful rations of war fed to our young soldiers be supplanted with the good manna of peace.
Perhaps we loose our sense of gratitude because expectations of ourselves and others always seems to come up short of the mark. Imperfection is our most endearing quality. It informs our ability to forgive transgressions, form bonds of friendship and unconditionally love each other. I remain grateful for the sense of my imperfection as I overlook your imperfections and remain ever hopeful that you will extend your hand to help me overcome mine.
You Tube Video: Jean Ritchie, Shady Grove
I want to thank the HP community for your kind support and comments
I wish everyone a great Thanksgiving...
peace and prayers