We've taken the fire from the gods
and held it tight with all our might
not letting go of any power
until our dying breath
adding more and more to the flames
so that the heavens themselves
dim and in turn so do we
focusing only on the external fire,
forgetting the one within
until it's almost fully out.
In some cases, never remembering
the internal dwelling of our soul
that lights our way.
Why would we when there are
always the streetlamp and car lights
and flashlights and blinkers and stoplights
constantly directing us home?
Too bad that home is dark and empty,
damp from the cold, long forgotten.
Too late to catch even those
last embers of what once was
though living constantly in the state
of what once was
rather than what is.
Our original sin, our theft
from the gods haunting us
until our very end.
Choice is always ours however.
Turn away from the flame, that screen,
that false blue light and
turn in to the warmth of
your own hearth that awaits you.
Brush away the cobwebs and dust bunnies.
Though forgotten, home never left.
Home was never lost.
Home is never lost.
Home can always be found.
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 6:46 PM UTC
Front seat tickets
to God's morning show,
though I didn't know
that I was going to go.
Soft whispers waking me
earlier than wanted from bed
out to the porch to see
a glorious red
lined with yellow
growing into pink
with geese making a stink
while I'm called to
record it all in ink.
Not much sleep behind me,
but what a treat to be had
happening every early morn --
wake and take in the dawn.
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 10:26 PM UTC
Born white
onto my own
boat at sea
‘Tis the privilege,
you see
to seek far off shores
confident and entitled
in every land.
But where is home?
Still alone
in distant lands
Still alone
when nearing the mainland
looking, searching
for the comfort of home, belonging
but no familiarity found
in the sea of other
white faces alone
greeting each other
with a pat on the back
and farewell.
We see boats
intermittent among us
chock full of people of color
taking each others’ hands
and into one another's arms.
What jealousy
we have of belonging,
seeping out of us
in childish hatred and rage,
tantrums sweeping us
into hungry tyrants
without home,
but with power.
Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 5:23 PM UTC
A dream a little too literal
for me to take
in a wild dream world
with Grace (Jane Fonda)
as my mother
living in an insane asylum
seeming perfectly sane to me
sometimes fully dressing
and going off into the “normal” world
only to always return
never remembering a single day
that passes
some fresh blood out of college
replaying her day in day out
though she’ll never remember
that either
or does she? Choosing to forget.
I found myself sneaking
into the asylum
in patient dress and messy topknot
my mother always returning
to hers after leaving
though never a day
without eyeliner and mascara.
I wasn’t supposed to be there.
In comes the fresh blood out of college
taking me as another patient
Am I stuck now?
He plays the recording
of the day she just spent
without a memory.
She won’t remember
the recording either,
or does she remember it all,
letting her life be what it is,
a series of defunct rituals
semi-trapped, semi-imprisoned
semi-free, semi-sane?
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 1:23 PM UTC
I’ve always felt forced
to look at my life
from above,
evaluating myself
in the light of
others’ judgment,
assessing my appearance
and interactions
as the breath
feels closer
and closer
to my back.
Step in closer to
the freedom
that your life
is yours
and yours alone.
Of course,
their judgment
will continue,
but yours need not.
Feel into
the freedom
to let yourself be
without assumption or shame,
for you are so full
of life and beauty
despite constant
criticism and cut downs.
You are built
so strongly from
the inside out,
but let yourself
sink into
the satin and silk
that softens you.
Open yourself to
the wellspring of love
that outpours and overflows
from your giving heart
and let it always
bless yourself before others;
let yourself drink
freely from all that
you have to offer;
let your lips
always be wetted
by your own freshness
and brought into a smile
even at the thought
of all that you are.
You are not sad.
You are not anything
that others have
made you out to be.
You are what you are;
you are who you are,
and what a glorious
creature to be.
Jun 6, 2020
Jun 6, 2020 at 11:29 PM UTC
As I saw
the sweetness
of the young man’s eyes,
I saw that
it had been
my own
to betray me
with my own
sweetness revealing
my openness to life,
to love and
to all that
masquerade
their ugliness, shame,
and hatred with
facades of
life and love,
when that’s all
that exists here
behind these
precious eyes.
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 7:52 PM UTC
This slow down
has brought me in
and wrapped me up.
Two months gone
in a flash, yet
so laden with the
weight of sadness,
reeking of death
and others' misery.
I remain swaddled
within the arms
of this strange
veil, sinking into
the tranquility
while amidst
the teeming anxiety
of complete uncertainty
and consistent misinformation.
All I can know
is my own life
and sit in stillness
to the rhythm of
my own heartbeat.
But to sit
fully still and
remain enveloped
in the solitude when
chaos swirls around
is exhausting in some
unexplainable way.
The chaos *****
away even at
those seemingly unaffected,
and perhaps,
I've been thrashing
more than
I've known.
Chaos pulls me in
different directions,
questioning my own luck,
my every move,
my own health,
my mother's health,
my father's health,
siblings' health,
friends' health,
neighbors', strangers',
dogs', and even cats',
and each of their
moves in relation
to mine, whether
I will affect them,
or they me.
Yet at the same time,
this holy pause
swaddles me so
fully that inner peace
overtakes that noise.
But I'm swaddled
so tightly,
I'm paralyzed in
this situation within
gratitude for it and
deep fear of
making a wrong
move if I dare try.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 11:36 PM UTC
Poems have been trying to pour out
of me for years.
But life gets in the way,
time gets in the way,
anything gets in the way.
But life without poetry,
without outlet, without art,
without the outlook
they all bring
is not life.
Life is meant to be
full, colorful, playful and bright,
even when all that flows from the tip of the pen
is dark and gloomy, especially then,
because when the darkness comes to light
and surfaces on the blank page,
lightness, color and love draw nearer,
swaddle, soothe and refuse to ever let go.
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 2:58 PM UTC
How did you
pick me?
Why did you
pick me
from the crowd?
What was it
in my countenance
that spoke to you
of weakness,
of prey
of sweet innocence,
of sweet simple
desire for love
and trust?
What pushed you
to your misery?
What knocked you
down that you
must grasp
onto others
in your fall?
Why do you
feel the right
to tear down
and terrorize?
When will you learn?
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 3:06 PM UTC
"I've been
hunting
for you."
I took
this for
flattery
instead
of the
true life-threatening
statement that it was
with a
mind warped
from endless
gaslighting
and disappointment
and lowly
expectations that
women are
meant to own,
I swallowed
threat as
compliment.
Threat upon
my mind,
my body,
my soul,
asking me
to leave
behind
all three
to be devoured,
to satiate
the man.
To leave
behind
all three
because they were not
mine to own.
To leave behind
all three,
to be the
hollow beautiful
sack that
men want
to own.
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 8:45 PM UTC