My hands search the Sun -
Your hands reclaim the Oceans.

My feet flee fear -
Your feet finds freedom.

My eyes pursue intricate; marble sculptures in ruin on the eighth floor
Your eyes a fluttering motion of wonder; belonging to all.

My tongue so wants to serenade your soul to sleep, though I cannot sing very well; so sometimes I try to make words dance for you-
Your tongue! mellifluous, soft eloquence whispered, like the hymn of the wind, and intricate - too fractured in places; ineffable. (I will wait)

Four parts of the body, which
Most people have -
Surrendering self-consciousness of by-standing witnesses,
I am waiting for these four parts of you
To teach, tender and passionate.

Being is not singular, nor hateful in permanence,
Much to the dismay of popular press -
It is not only a face with some red patches,
A chipped tooth or non-proportional nose.

It is not past misgivings, even if you have repented when they were cruel.
It is not false pretensions, for we see the sadness in your bones.
It is not even wealth, the fabric wrapped around your ribs
or hips.
It is not ecstasy and it is not sorrow and it is not black despair.
Serendipity

Humility taught through serendipity - sly salvaging of strength.  
Glorious gains, grateful for hindsight now placing a delicate kiss on the forehead of foresight.
And doesn't this help us to repair?

I know we are only mortals.
And you know now I am waiting for you, fellow being.

I feel empty
Like I have no purpose.

I feel like an ancient god or maybe even an elemental who sees that the earth is functioning well without him
Who notices that the skies are no longer starving the earth of their sweet moisture.

I feel like a boy trapped inside a brick house
He looks out of his sheltered home
and longs for the feeling of the cool breeze on his face.

I feel like a rotting tree
Nothing good on the inside while the outside looks almost normal, maybe even stoic and well kept from a distance.

Please
someone
anyone
give me purpose.

Some days the wind blows
and bends yonder willow
  Its roots hold sway
  perched high upon
  steep sea cliff walls
No gale could affix
a bow to such a limber
heartwood backbone
  Wind arched echoes
  undulate to and fro
  alike a gentle restoration;
  a resilience unrenowned

It looks as if it takes
the skies weight so lightly,
while the rising waves
gather an unhallowed chill
fomenting untamed
at the heart of the prevailing
       westerly swell

A human tends to lean rigidity
right up to the yonder most edge,
a thin line threshold
        a step away  ―
pushed by a moment's gravity;
a blind jump over a cliff
into an unfathomable deep ocean
       far beyond
       a forgiving
       willow's bend


Jesse Stillwater ... 09  May  2018

From the cracks in the sidewalks
of old weather beaten tracks
With gravel roads full of grime and dust
Near dilapidated walls
Where days old refuse has accumulated
And the air lacks it's unique fresh scent
You find a way to thrive and shine
And your smile grows wide
As the sun sails by
Even though you won't be able to change your spot
This forgotten decrepit place
Will be your home throughout your life
Yet you don't seem to mind at all
For you've carved your happiness here
A happiness that seems to last
Even when you're surrounded by grey crumbling life
Day in and day out
You've found a reason to breathe and boom
you're unperturbed by what's around
And that's the reason your beauty sparkles
Way more than those who grow in perfectly manicured lawns

I hope you find your place in the world some day little guy.

You're going to make it through all of this.

I know you are scared, I know you are tired of fighting.

I watched you cry for help for months and nobody heard you.

I'm so sorry I couldn't get you the help you needed sooner.

You have taught me so much little man.

You resemble true resilience.

It's going to be okay now.

You're safe now.

They can't hurt you now.

I wish I could have protected you from everything.

My heart broke watching yours break day in and day out.

We all failed you and you didn't deserve that.

But you're going to get better.

You're going to make it out of this alive and you're going to come back stronger.

We're all thinking of you. We're praying for you and your family.

Well be here for you when you get better.

You have a place in this world and you belong.

I hope you start to see that.

More importantly I hope you start to feel it too.

I will always remember you.

My little ray of hope.

You'll make it through this.

You always do.

The fear-mongers face bears the worry he sells
That assures him his place between heaven and hell
You could wear through your knees tryna pray through the fear
Or cry a stunted glass full of tactical tears
But no, you shake off his fables gingerly
Like the ache off a drunken injury
Cos it’s terribly hard to retain a lesson
When you can’t remember asking the question

The chat show host affects an air of caring and concern
And stares so intense and stern that you can smell his lashes burn
As if the sword of Damocles is hanging from a rafter, spurn
The shitlords for their apathy and watch the tide of laughter turn
A voice that cheats the door jamb like a winters draft
That’s been greasing the palms of every splinter and crack
You shiver, he laughs and ominously wraps
His hands ‘round your waist and whispers “relax”

To whom do we owe the smoke and prayers?
And will heaven hold my place if I pay in arrears?

Six more suns from Sunday and you don’t have the time
To pray for each mundane exploding land-mine
Or every drug mule with a wrap in his cavity
You play to the rules, and they’re silent on apathy
You say “freedoms as much use to you as it is-to
The liquid that leaps from a lanced blister
With a full-time family and a part-time girl
Why not check in on them before saving the world”

To whom do we owe the smoke and prayers?
And will heaven hold my place if I pay in arrears?

the sound of
    scritching and
                 scratching
  creaking and cracking
                          hounds me
                   even if it is merely
                          echoes of thought
                      in the examination hall
where you promised that I would not
                                                                ­ fal
                                                             ­       ter

the sound of
  squeaking and
               scratching
  clicking and clacking
                    surrounds me
                   even if it is surely
                     bellows of ambition
                    between the office walls
where you promised that I would not
                                                                ­fal
                                                             ­      ter


                                                           ­        as I
                                                               stand
                                                      at the edge
             where the whistling wind beckons
                   me to the chattering city below
                        I promise you that I will not

                                                            ­               fall