The fluidity of words
Consecrating more than
A simple idea
Has slipped away
And what’s left are
Empty hands and
Void of sophistication
I was seduced
in Barnes & Noble,
lured to the poetry section
next to coffee and pastries
I touched her Blue Iris,
fondled her Red Bird
and recounted why
she wakes to watch
the early sunrise
She looked better than I remembered
in a brown jacket
with a striking
emblem of a bear
on the front
She took me to her tent
and told me of turtles, toads,
and her fear
of ridding her garden
of a small harmless snake
I spill my passion
on the beach’s sand — our bed for now
Under her cover
she shares phrases,
of sweet new perceptions
We are intimate beyond belief
through her verbal kisses
which bring sweat to my palms
I’m high, hallucinating
my drug of choice
I’m having an affair
with Mary Oliver
I am re-posting this in light of the recent death of Mary Oliver. I miss her
Time floats away but there’s no regret
I’ve read verses of trees, of hope, of contentment
I shed a tear, or more, words can have that effect
I am blessed with your gift of words
You were granted death
My thoughts are sad but light, you lived a full and grateful life
Your departing year matched my arrival
I hope for your future, spread on wings
And you feel light breeze among those beloved trees
For Mary Oliver
"The Spirit Likes to Dress Up...
...to be understood,
to be more than pure light
where no one is —
so it enters us —"
I think God feels the same way. So do I.
She understood the glories of physical life.
I miss your kitchen window view
The effect I had on you
Your voice is lost in static waves
Erased by every day
I still watch the daisies you planted me
Every now and then I sit out side my window
After the rain I like to view the muddy soil
Your foot steps still echo through the walls
I’m writing this as I paint your portrait
I’m stressed and I must accept that I need to get over it. It’s been eight months now.
I have not always been good.
I have been punished for the smallest mistake
and shown more forgiveness than I deserve.
I have been softer and more vulnerable
than I have been in a very long time
and had my heart ripped out because of it.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the purest water trickles
from a Highland stream and into a tap, far away,
and where I am not.
You are right; I am lonely.
It enfolds me like a cloak, billowing in the wind.
Meanwhile the wild geese are beginning to fly south
and I must head for the north.
When we pass each other, in our flight,
I will smile and nod to them on their way.
They have all that they need
and I am still searching.
A response to one of my favourite ever poems, Wild Geese by Mary Oliver. It's about living the city I called my home for five years and moving on, not knowing what to do, but trying to take the advice she gives in her poem.
You're the reason I am
The reason the clouds no longer cover the sun inside me
The reason the frost doesn't bite
The reason every nerve in my body is alive with sensation
You're the reason for the change of season in my soul
The reason winter feels as much like summer as summer does
The reason the trees in the grove of my mind still stand even after their leaves have fallen
The reason the solstice in my eyes eclipses my troubled thoughts
You're the reason we are
The reason you can chip away my walls like the bark of a Grand Oak
The reason for the no longer desolate look in the windows to my soul
The reason for my every painful exchange of breath
So I'm sorry
That I have to leave
Someone once asked me
To describe you
They wanted an answer immediately
And they wanted a detailed one too
I attempted to find a way
To summarise your existence
And I asked them for another day
But they lack not persistence
Eventually they granted me
A minute amount of lenience
But quite frankly their request was preposterous
And a huge inconvenience
How do I describe someone
So full and complete
Yet so barren and cold
Someone without a heartbeat
I tried to tell them
I tried to tell them who you were
But my words tripped over my tongue
And their interest didn't stir
I played them some of your favourite music
Songs that meant something to you
But I must say they were quite choosy
They hated all the artists you knew
Perhaps they would appreciate a visual
Something to display your personality
You're such a colourful individual
I simply couldn't convey my thoughts ; they didn't see what I see
I gave up
No one understood
They didn't know you like I did, dear
They didn't know they should
How could they have known
What they'd be missing out on
And now I'm out here on my own
Still cheering you on
And so I gave them a conclusion
In exchange for my release
"He's ripped at every edge
But he's a masterpiece"
No they didn't get it
How could they ?
Did they ever ?
All I think about now
Is how to capture your essence
How to describe how wonderful it was
In your presence
We always did live in our own world, dear
And I know we saw it as our one
But sometimes I wonder what would've happened
If we let them in on the fun
You left me behind
Like something old replaced with something new
And now I'm left wondering
How to capture you