Poets Like Me..

Suspended at portals of rigid
and well-defined
thought reclines most whimsy,
which poets like me
welcome and use to un-stick
rusted up vision.
Freeing the mind we care not
where reality ends.
Wonder notices even the tiny
and gasps at gross,
the newly dry gossamer wing
seen as fillagreed
diamonds with eyesight, night
versed with ghostly
metaphor, the tides as emotion.
Humanized nature
allures the inventive in scribes
bent on perception
where real meets make-believe.
Awe, understood
as a lever appeals to romantics
like me addicted
to all ethereal's seducing fancy.
Idealized love
presents realms of impassioned
expression, themes,
versing spirit personified holds
complusion, creative
vision awakens to other worlds
where, finally winning
utopia becomes no mere illusion.
What feels real merges
and mixes with linguistic flights
of beguiling imagery.
Life through the eyes of all poets
like me changes
at will from the galling mundane
to that which excites
inspiration for evocative writing.

I was never the type
of child that obeyed
much  of anything;
not even the many
times  I was told
not to stare into
the evening sun
when I felt
alone.

I walk around this house
with its half rebuilt body
and battered soul,
calling it my home.

Can't quite tell
what it's hiding,
If you don't look carefully.

but if you do
you might feel
resilience and fortitude
coursing through its bones,
entering through its broken
magic door.

12 long years now
since that act of
divine madness,
staged within these walls,
changed
Everything.


- ~

You took your beautiful life,
on an otherwise ordinary
Saturday eve
while the summer sun
hung high
above the moody waters of the lake
and rays of light,
I imagine,
flickered through
the basement window

I was on the phone
with you..
not knowing
till later,
the immensity of what was created
in that moment.

the one that blew me apart forever,
the one that hurls me toward infinite still,
like a dying star seeking a galaxy.

You stayed with me
in silence
until death gently choked you,
then kissed your hands.

You stayed with me
until in lifelessness you dropped the phone,
privileging me with your last moment
honouring me with your last breath.

a thin rusting frame
is held up against broken glass,
frosted over by years of
sea salt

thick to breathe as snow,
South-easterly tangles my hair,
glosses my cheeks a cold rose

I cannot see myself
anywhere

There is a kinetic  c e l e b r a t i o n
throughout the entire universe--
both known and unknown;
  each molecule a universe to itself-

a world interconnected;
of sub-atomic celebrators
filling all time and space
perpetually valuing value itself

Value--
who, at its prime core
is in itself
the self-celebration
of hope/value= Love- (tagline) #healing

    and it is everywhere.
                  Yet, we.. are unaware.

Loving words
  (all that is real)
align with the celebration-
   of the kinetic-heal

and they pick up the magic
(the receivable rendition)
allowed into the receiver
through the act of volition

and suddenly we become aware.

••••


I am  melting  into   you--

and in the blend   of us
I am finding   the
c l a r i fi c ation      of me--  a
process  until today

I never believed in.

Once rolling alone
I am finding
the word  h o m e
in everything  
    that     you do

    e v er y- t h i n g.
          
                              -by paulSN

And the heaviness
of my soul
lies with yours
in communion
in the darkest
passages of
the still crystal black
nighttime prayers
thrown out
             to the wind
as I reach out in
the most tender
              of frequencies
tendrils of purest love
to envelope you
what might
be unraveling
but hopefully not
and know
that I need you
like stones need
                  solid ground
like this pillar of strength
              needs her lifeline
not to be rescued
just to be loved
and seen with
the precious
luster
of your
very
      eyes

Clumsy dismount
  down from the scrutiny of
  cross cut shredder victimisation
A shamefaced, self-actualising whingebag
  My name is Daughter
  My name is Employee
  My name is Passenger. Payee.
Belonging at an irreduceable remove from
  A heart, childishly pasted
  in a carapace of postage stamps.
  Once kept in albums of purposeful art.
  The role is guilt ridden recipient
  more often than sender.
Reassembly will be
  an inexpert labour of love
  But not that kind, amigo
  But not that kind
  I'm to be my own pet.
I can see that once I was off
  I was always off.
  All of us who have lived
  this close to the end of England
  are forever leaving the sea
I am leaving the sea
  and everything i've ever dumped in it
  Cold chips. Warm eyes, busted loves
  It's all now bound behind me.
  For the continent For the sea.
Weeping now
  and fielding concerned looks
  not for me but for the balance
  I'm so relieved
I'm so free I could bite something hard
  and break my teeth.