~
A crescent moon now overhead
As I come rising from my bed
Remembering the words I said
A few short hours ago
~
Like linens hanging on the line
The clouds a comfort for my eyes
In secrets whispered on the skies
Along with breezes flow
~
I wonder of this time apart
As longings cling so tight my heart
In gilded frame like precious art
The sun comes into view
~
When then my open eyes can see
The man that I can surely be
If only you would come to me
Whatever I must do
~
With endless trees and hills to climb
My aches, my pains on borrowed time
The distant church bells set to chime
The miles in between
~
I follow on in destined task
Is it too much for me to ask
Within your arms I long to bask
If you know what I mean
~
To stumble on the crooked path
And weep these tears of aftermath
For comes the heat of summer wrath
In everything so new
~
I wander here and wander there
In hopes to show you that I care
With you my dreams I long to share
Until my days are through
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
Dance is everything, and it is evergreen.
These movements are the passage
to your mind,
your innermost loves and hates.
You are betrayed by movement,
by dance.
So seductive, so yielding, yet hours
and hours
are necessary to make it
truly yours.
Only after breaking pointe shoes,
only after pulling your world apart,
your body apart
for the right line of your arms.
Only then, when you see your own shadow
moving like water,
then you will know, that dance is
music made visible.
It is all your ninety-nine words for god.
It is evergreen, and it has
survived stronger people than you.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Norwegian Independence Day.
And 200th anniversary.
After the Black Plague in 1349
We fell under Denmark.
1814 there were many enough of
Us to start anew.
The Constitution was written a
Fifteen minute drive from
Here. The heart of the country. And
Here I sit. Outside. Shirt on the
Ironing board. Sun in the face.
So much green it's an ocean of fields
And foliage. Under my bare feet I
Feel the strong, steady
Pulse of the Land. Like that of a
Mother's to an unborn.
*Closest.
Closest.
Closest.
Closest.
Closest.
Closest.*
Happy Birthday, Mother.
I'm here.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
My words
these words
to her they mean nothing
I feel like burnt bread
left stale in the oven
she wants
she wants
me to feel
and feel all of these things
but she wants nothing to do
with the one
thing
that means
[everything]
to me
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
Upwards, eagles rule the skies
when she was sixteen,
she said that she would never leave
and at eighteen she couldn't wait to go.
and I will paint your face on canvas
with muted tones and fine tooth combs.
and I will write poetry about you.
and in one hundred years,
when you ask me, why
it is because when I was fourteen,
everything changed,
and upwards eagles rule the skies.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
~
Choices
Shadows move on sheet rock barriers
framed in time of late
Spaces filled with unknown visions
dance about with feet of clay
Gowns of nightmare carpetbaggers
thunder on the floor
Drippings in a mist of nervous breath
blanket my safe haven
and the sounds scream
in voices of past mishaps
Lost in lonely corridors,
wailing on aching skylights
permitting barely a moon glow psalm
to echo of their meaning
in songs from a distance,
of pleading skeletal desire
“I fear for I have no choice”
Doorways yawn in weary ovations
Slanted photos dot the landscape
Windows prove little relief from the cold
as heat pierces my cavities
Gaping wounds of frail memories
clutch at my last ounce,
measuring the words I am reading
Taking a breath, sweet, stagnant
Clawing for an exit only to find
it has stood before me all along
Baby steps, I have been told
Find that trust, slowly…make sure,
reach out for the hand
offered on a dreamscape message
“I fear for I have no choice?”
Eyes, so tired, weeping pools
out of focus since that day, open
(As if sunflowers float on silken wings
and glorious becomes an understood word)
slowly and tentatively,
blinking sorrow’s pathway free
to lead me to you
The imprint of that butterfly
marks my palm in red lines of love,
mapping my skin with a long awaited
smile, dry lips curve as I take your hand
trusting, for the very first time
realizing the feeling
which hath finally…set me free
“I no longer fear, for I have a choice”
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
Please don't tell me I'm
Everything
That I deserve happiness because
That's all I've given
You
You tell me you are
Nothing
And if everything in my
Heart is every bit of
You
Then I am nothing too.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
"eyes are the windows to the soul"
or so i've been told
for some reason you enjoy
staring into my eyes
and i always look away
because if eyes really are the windows to the soul
im terrified you'll discover
that my soul is full of pain and sorrow
my windows are shattered
and the glass shards might cut you badly
so i'd rather keep you wishing
than let you down
because when you stare into my eyes
you wont see vast blue skies
through unclouded glass
you'll see a thunderstorm
through a shattered window pane
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
stumbling home
in the evening
with my breath
smelling of cheap beer
and cigarettes;
people worry,
I tell them not to;
I do this for me,
not for attention
or sympathy,
I do this to feel
more alive,
because I feel so
dead inside
and my thoughts
are racing;
drinking shuts them up
for a couple of hours
and I feel better;
I feel sick,
but I also feel
great,
like I can do anything;
like nothing can hurt me;
is this what death
tastes like?
god,
I hope so
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC