I have written poems about rising.
It’s a good subject for poets.
Isn’t a poem itself a rising?
We spend much time revising
what we write and what we do.

There are so many good words ending in izing.
I could write a whole poem
using words symbolizing
so much of life -
it’s absolutely tantalizing.

I watch and read about all the polarizing.
It is a cool oasis lingering here
synchronizing
my words with my feelings and thoughts
realizing the heart of who I really am
comprising ways of saying my truth
without moralizing.

At times it is agonizing -
all this analyzing
how I belong and how I don’t
if I’ll join others or if I won’t.

I look at that guy Jesus
and how so many obsess
about his blood and sacrifice
all the while not recognizing
it’s not so much about our sins
and his need to atone as it is
about the good he did
who he sat with and loved,
the seeds he sowed
who he stopped to touch
on the side of the road.

I find obsessions with power
really unappetizing.
I’d rather spend my time rising
from darkness into light
or embracing my sadness, exercising
and emphasizing what is energizing.  
When I do that, it is quite surprising
how creative my muse is helping ME
to also rise.

Mind travel

Are you willing to travel further than the end of your seat?
Then let us begin our journey into the unknown parts of your mind that words can repeat
I give to you a pebble to make it real for when you wake it will be in your hand to make this journey complete
You are on a hillside in a place where you have never been before but familiarity is in the mind to meet
You see long flowing grass and butterflies of all colours reflecting a rainbow in your blue eyes and a field of strawberries you can eat
Realise that this place is for you and forever you can come here to walk peacefully without the worries of normality of dullness and defeat
A windmill so large its sails are as big as a street
A robin red breast sits on your shoulder while you eat bread together on a bench whilst watching a monkey play the drums to a beat
Subtle colours become so bright your eyes are compelled to take them in as if to first greet
Is this the real life I want instead of living in a dimension meant for scholars who happily walk a road made of tar and concrete?
I can walk on rubber sausages in my slippers over mountains and collect some bananas from South America and go to the corner shop for some custard and sweets
I have shown you the door now all you need to do is relax on a white billowy cloud and rest your feet
Look and open your hand and you can still see the pebble but you must believe in your mind what is right and always listen to your heart because your soul is flying fleet