Paper pen thought
Thought pen paper
Paper thought pen
Pen paper thought
Pen thought paper
Thought paper pen

I who ponder my own guilt,
am ecstatic when I am uncertain,
Euphoria brings a sense of discomfort,
so up until now,
I made excuses not to feel it.

Discomfort of creative freedom will become comfort if it has a purpose,
I've got so used to feeling nothing,
my heart beating so energetically seems like an illusion.

A change of heart is what frightens me,
how will I overcome the elimination of stillness in my days,
Time will pass,
and I mustn't regret anything,
Soenjoy the blessings given by the present moment.

I’m tired
my body seems to be telling me
to go to bed and sleep
but I know I couldn’t,
for this poem is lurking inside
and won’t be denied
as much as I try.

Can poems be found in the tired
in the brain of one who’s wired
to look here and there and everywhere
like the bird perched atop the chair
in the backyard, its head swiveling to and fro
watching for cats or humans or hawks flying low?

I guess I shall see if there is a poem taking flight
here and now teasing twilight
will it swoop and settle in my mind
will my muse become archly inclined?
Or maybe I’ll dwell on that attentive bird
and in that dwelling find the words
and take a lesson from the throat of its being
breaking forth in its flight or its singing.

Is there a verse down there I’ve been saving
while the sapling Tallow is waving
saying goodbye to the dying day
dancing the wind in ***** ballet.
Is there a line
in the recesses of time
between vital concerns
and issues that burn?

I hear the cello’s refrain
playing nearby in mournful bane
it takes me back to practicing Strauss
on the piano, filling our house
with dissonance and verve
getting on my mom’s last nerve.
But oh how music flourished and reigned -
the joy in my soul could not be contained.

Thinking of what music has meant to me
and composed in me a sweet symphony
brings me alive here in this sacred space
replaces fatigue with energy and grace.
I stayed here long enough to find
these wisps of memory and rhyme
that so often provide the spark
to lift and fly me out of the dark.