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Philip Salt Nov 10
Sea thief
Little daughter
About to disturb water

Joy amongst toys
Astounding smile
As you buoy that blue pearl

Love yourself
Lovely lady
And shelf that smile next to your ducky

Kingdom queen
Bubble crown
Manage those tides between your feet
Philip Salt Nov 9
Atmosphere
Leaves blow in a northward wind
Directions of smell
Loud ground effects
Long light cloudy rain
Red orange and meringue
Dancing needles and leaves
Wind that dries the cheeks
Decay and a mingle of vibrancy
Brittle leaves crackle and chatter
Pushed
Why am I in this place?

Why do gusts answer,
Soundless questions only for me,
A conversation
Philip Salt Oct 14
Lost where you are
Lost for a long time
Lost for words
Lost for feelings

Come back to me my friend
Come to your place among us
Come here to find what was never lost
Come home

Standing on your skiff
Standing at the edge
Standing tall with sunlight jets
Standing on the precipice of next

Out on open water
Out between drafts of wind
Out amongst woodland hills
Out there hiding on the expanse

Let your tide come in
Let yourself sit down
Let yourself navigate by daylight
Let your discovery happen

The shoreline is sandy and warm
The ***** is gentle and the ground soft
The sounds are rhythmic and calming
The sense of yourself will be strong and sturdy

Here is familiar
Here all your feelings are felt
Here you won't feel forgotten
Here family is waiting
Philip Salt Oct 5
Babe emerges into life
Her intellect springs anew
Looking, looking to learn and do

Child gains speech
His voice resounding outward
Speaking, Speaking no longer just spoken to

Youth embraces rebellion
Her subtlety develops covert tones
Silent, silent outside but so loud within

Adult looks forward
His plans eclipse his dreams
Doing, doing endlessly doing

Mother always busy
Her need to to drown
Working, working through life

Father anchored here
His collar heavy with duty
Lifting, lifting the weight of the earth

Aged passenger on a trip
They have done generations of travel
Born, born again to unravel
Philip Salt Sep 28
I am capable of anger
I am capable of compassion
I am white hot rage

Tempered only by the skulls
Skulls beneath my feet
Unworthy feet to touch Golgotha
Unworthy feet to dangle on the tree before me

Cleanse my feet!

Grace of God,
Your example crucified
The indwelling of light on my soul.

I am not capable of forgiveness
My compassion does not endure
Humility and broken humanness collide

I am grounded to shadow
Holy Spirit be my strength
Without it I have no capacity to forgive.

Only to rage on
And it's so ******* hard
Because I am human
Philip Salt Sep 28
Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I'm afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.
My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,
and I know it.
That is, if it's followed by acceptance,
if it's followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers I so painstakingly *****.
It's the only thing that will assure me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,
will not be followed by love.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh, and your laugh would **** me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,
with a facade of assurance without
and a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say.

I don't like hiding.
I don't like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings--
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

Charles C. Finn
September 1966
Not sure about the copyrights here but I wanted to start to share Poems that amaze me written by the best
Philip Salt Sep 24
Puddles are
Flat, they shine, they reflect the sky.
Morning basins over nadirs of imperfection.
Orange and Blue mirrored coverings,
atop pavement depressions.

Puddles are
Built, ponds become reservoirs,
Reservoirs become lakes.
Their faults are fast filling in a downpour.
They are whats left.
The parts that well up inside.
Pools that fail to drain

Puddles are
Wide, water features.
Pushing their natural boundaries.
Drawing attention to the flaws in the bedrock.
Like blisters over asphalt wounds

Puddles are
Deep, crevasses that force channels to erode.
A trickle unchecked will eventually overfill them.
Floods exceed their capacity to keep pace.
Water flows from them

Puddles are
Empty, outflows carving muddy arroyos.
They become eager chaotic rapids.
Worthwhile destructive attempts to drain away water.
To shrink the footprint of their expanse.
To draw attention away from the defects below.

Puddles are
Remnants, each existing atop its own blemish
The Sun rises and greets them
Gradually offering more and more of it's warmth and care
Heat comes to water and water joins the air
Slowly they fade away

Puddles are
Dry, spots in an alleyway.
They disappear and remain safely hidden.
Until the next rainfall tries to convince them that they are just water coloured damaged road
But the sun continues to shine down on them
Renewal begins
I have not stuck the ending on this one yet
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