Jeffrey

Jeffrey Jul 2020

Untitled

This was your plan; never mine
to leave me here in my divine so
sure that I would find my own way out

You waited though, at your own peril,
till I proved to be sure footed and fastly stead

Though I missed more than I could bear
I find you still now everywhere

Jeffrey May 2020

recognition

This, once again, is that moment
Whence so many times before
my shadowed self, so cleverly disguised
sets fire to progress
Preferring to feed at the trough of repression
Than to unwind the painful nature of the past

Afraid to see myself,

unfiltered

In the unyielding light of the day

and instead, choosing to destroy lest I take honest inventory

Yet, this IS that moment, delightfully so
For somehow, by mere recognition
it is my shadow that is no longer disguised,

but instead,

laid bare

By the light of the day,

and I, struck by the contrast,
put down the match
and stand comfortably beside myself
ready to build a bridge, rather than
burn one down

Jeffrey Oct 2019

Today is your last

Act Accordingly

Forget that which was said

and that which was done

by whom for what and why

and perhaps embrace

even  within yourself

that which you have not loved

squeeze,

      from every last second

a joy that drips

                 down your hands

as it over flows

                     your cup

because with so little time

left

there is no concern of tomorrow

or yesterday

what freedom you now have

Today is your last

act accordingly

(even if it isn't)

Jeffrey Sep 2019

Disappearing Act

then there was this moment I realized
I no longer knew what you would have said
given the situation

what expression would have donned your cheeks,
what tone your voice would have taken

and being neither happy or sad about it
(for it is hard to say which would have been appropriate)

I focused more intently on the sound of my own voice
and was pleased to find I had much to say in your absence

Jeffrey Aug 2018

***** faced angel

I grew up sweaty all year 'round,
except maybe on Sundays when I had
to clean up my act and sit in quiet eternity on an oak pew,
fidgeting with the screws in the wood,
sometimes breathing out of my mouth on account
of how bad old people smell
which always made me wonder
what age the smelling starts

I split my fingernails because maybe the screws
I was fidgeting with held the whole thing together
and if I could turn just one rusty head, I could
collapse the seat, maybe even the whole building

It was a always itchy hot, and babies were forever crying in the back
I used to think that they had babies crying in the back
to make us think it was baby Jesus crying for our sins
until one day I realized they were just babies,
and they were hot and fidgety too

I was clean on the inside,
sweaty outside
but clean on the inside and no one else knew it but me
and maybe my little sister,
and she secretly hoped I was right

One time she brought a nail file she’d hidden in her
jumbled nest of a hair-do and slipped it into my hand
making my face look confused

“For the ***** silly, “ she whispered,
dinosaur voice and slight lisp
“make it turn, maybe you can make it turn with that”

She was sweaty too, crusted syrup on her bottom lip,
feet dangling far above the squeaky floor
but as far as I was concerned,
she was the most beautiful
sweaty little angel in the world

Jeffrey Aug 2018

Most die as caterpillars

Most die as caterpillars, their stiff long carcass left hanging somewhere precariously, a ridge they attempted to climb that proved too much in the end for them to struggle through – incarnate no longer

Most die as caterpillars, a shadow of their possibility, many legged creature that could not find a way, even with so many legs, to overcome the most brutal of obstacles, the self from which they run, walk, and crawl

Most die as caterpillars, round, crusted, unyielding to those around them, determined instead to bowl ahead with their own agenda, lost to the possibilities not only around them, but inside them, for the greatest mystery of all was still inside them when they died

Most die as caterpillars, the undiscovered country of themselves left behind, and having lived a life whereby the greatest annoyance were the unusual creatures that occasionally fluttered by, golden wings and unstoppable spirit that soared to heights that even so many legs could not reach

Jeffrey Jul 2018

The indefatigable beauty of the human heart

And then one morning you we’re gone…

No scent
No stitch
No remnant or sound
No thoughts of you demanding the attention of my emotional landscape
No empty feeling left in my chest
No bill come due

Nothing left but the warmth,
the beauty of what we shared
nestled deeply enough within me as if to say,

‘Now you’re free to hold on to that which you needed to experience,
without burning your hands on the memories’

your heart expanded,
your lessons learned
all accounts are settled

It was morning
and I was alone
with nothing,
nothing but the shimmering bloom
of a brand new day