this oriental rose textured with occidental precision desperately seeks perfection in all things worldly
nature’s true signature wreaks havoc instead: in the rocks of the grand canyon in a mole on a cheek in the dried but fallen leaves of autumn even in the scribbling of our children
embrace wabi-sabi where wafting moments of melancholy transform to sheer joy in the subtle realization that coexistence with incompleteness the proven path to release one from the chaining bonds of perfection
“You are treading on thin ice” the impatient tones of my father arrive at my ear as glistening I liberate my treasure prized away from the dark-cold pond, the ice raised distorts my sight to comprehend an impatient God
“Look boys, this is the land of God” you praise the valley carved from glacial ice you are filled with the beauty of the sight four sons in crescent around their Father breaths misting the air, turn away along the ridge above the fields, which are glistening
Are memories always like this? Glistening where everything is theatre and God? Now I feel the urge to look away there is truth in the distorting ice Father which held tightly fractures, to reveal you in plain sight
That day you praised the sight with prayers not glistening but all sour odour and “our Father” If you conceived a greater God you never told him to the boy who lifted the ice- to those who raised their arms in prayer you looked away
We are left to find a way in life, there is no seer and no foresight only earth and dirt and ice but in this barren tundra glistening scraped out with our bare hands is God God the Father
Now I stand at that same pond a father my son treads its edge and turns away I am no longer in his world, but looking over it his God And what of my sight? Is it glistening? I feel an unease as he raises his own comprehending ice
To all Fathers with their fading sight- Don’t turn away from all that’s glistening An impatient God turns to ice
They call you judgmental yet frown upon you when you are not exactly like them They try to pick apart any possible reason for an action you take, a mistake that you make Then boil it down to their own perfect little answer Their expectations they hold for others can be grueling with how many hurricanes run through your head, though they claim not to ask for much To act as if they can see right through you can sometimes be their favorite way to pass time, though of course they don’t know half of it The strong vibes of arrogance and judging glances they shoot behind your back are enough to suffocate you, but you choose to hold it together with a smile Until the weakness returns, where you break down and shake You try to place words together in your mouth, your poems, in your eyes, your soul, anything.. but the largest part of you screaming out remains silent To expect to be fully understood by another is foolish For their selfishness and their narrow way of thinking are evidently highly prominent And far too many complications are forever involved The attempts to silent your mind unfortunately prove to be futile A cigarette, one drink after the other take away the gnawing pain that will eternally make its presence known Moments of happiness turn dark as ash ever so quickly To laugh at oneself, to lose one’s mind is hauntingly easy enough In a world where no one truly knows your name.
Every year the lilies are so perfect I can hardly believe
their lapped light crowding the black, mid-summer ponds. Nobody could count all of them -
the muskrats swimming among the pads and the grasses can reach out their muscular arms and touch
only so many, they are that rife and wild. But what in this world is perfect?
I bend closer and see how this one is clearly lopsided - and that one wears an orange blight - and this one is a glossy cheek
half nibbled away - and that one is a slumped purse full of its own unstoppable decay.
Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled - to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world. I want to believe I am looking
into the white fire of a great mystery. I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing - that the light is everything - that it is more than the sum of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.
It's harder for my lungs to open up to new air when you're here than when you're not
After all your presence takes all the space I used to shape to fit my own self my own taste
Instead you force me into a mold you've created Force my body to fit my mind to submit my patience to coexist with things I never wanted A life not made for me
I'm just one of your mannequins to pass the time when people disappoint you life doesn't go your way your choices don't matter so that you can shape me into your own frustrations and smother my essence
I'm just one of your mannequins and now that you've left I don't fit in myself.
I was in love with a girl once who didn't love me back. She made me feel inadequate but also the best, most unrealistic version of myself
Those crescent moon on your cheeks Framing your gorgeous smile What? You said that's imperfection? Then... why dimples make you so perfect... I hope you can confidently smile again Even moon is blessing you That crescent smile