Vi - Hello Poetry

Aug 2023

John Prophet

Layers2

Layers.
Epochs.
Layers
of time.
Existence.
Sedimentary.
One
on top
of the
next.
Building,
evolving.
Inhabited
layers.
Cut off.
One from
the other.
Striations
of time.
Unique.
Locked in.
Inhabitants
confined.
Behave
as such.
Layer
after
layer.
Trapped
within.
Exist
as is.
Behave
as is.
Layer
defined.
Trapped
in time
and
space.

Vi Aug 2023

You are the beloved child of the wild

Sometimes,
it’s like the wind in the swaying trees is whispering
Singing
Howling:
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You are forgiven
You are loved
You are a part of us
You belong
You are the beloved child of the wild

Partly inspired by She Told Me the Earth Loves Us by Anne Haven McDonnell. Mostly inspired by the woods and the wind in Barre Massachusetts.

Vi Aug 2023

Forest Refuge, Summer, 2023

Sometimes it's like a drum in this deep deep tummy place
Always rhythm always pulsing away
Like waves rippling out
Over and over
Very very gently rocking
Like an undertone
Drumming through

Sometimes it's like sickly sweet sap deep in my throat
Achy
Coating everything
Oozy
Liquid
Tarry
Burning acid around the edges

Sometimes it's like a huge trampoline
Everything moving
Up and down
In slow motion
Breaking up on impact
In my heart
Disintegrating
A bit at a time

Sometimes it’s like sand
Falling through clenched fists
Slowly caressing them to open
Relax
Just a little bit
Compelling them to yield to the constant motion
To the gentle gentle cascade
So gentle I can’t stand it
So gentle I actually can’t stand

Sometimes it’s like a slap bracelet
A moment of contact
And instantly
Wrapped all around
Totally gripped
Coming to on a bathroom floor
Bells and dishes clanking in the background

Sometimes it’s like nerve endings
A young fern
Unfurling
Cautiously
Recoiling easily
Healing
Raw and delicate

Sometimes it’s like the wind in the swaying trees is whispering
Singing
Howling:
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You are forgiven
You are loved
You are a part of us
You belong
You are a beloved child of the wild

Sometimes it’s like confusion
Marshy
Organic
Alive
Decomposing
Dark
Trusting the process
Trusting life

Often it’s like ungraspability
Trying, failing, words
Loving eyes
Comforting faces
Guiding hands
Achy knees
Bright sun
A heart

It’s just like becoming alive

Written while on silent retreat

#meditation #healing #nature

Vi Apr 2023

Time spools

Noticing a lot more slack around the edges of the narratives I weave
And a looser weave too
Though often still very beautiful or intricate, interconnected or intriguing or/and also abstract or detailed

And an openness to the unraveling
A delight even
In the unraveling

And still patches
Threaded tightly
Painful, densely stitched
Band-aiding, unsuccessfully, deeper wounds

And of course this narrative too
Held in open palms
Well worn hands

And the Weaver herself
Fraying
In the middle
At the edges

Vi Aug 2022

Self Censoring

What's the fear that feeds the ink?

Who holds the censor pen?

Blacking out lines before they're uttered?

It's my dad, calling my mom "dramatic".

It's my mom, hurt in her eyes, saying "how could you". When I didn't mean to, or I didn't know, or I didn't properly gauge her reaction in advance.

It's online misunderstandings, always assuming the worst intentions: that I'm bad, or bigoted

That I'm dumb, uneducated or boring, redundant or mean.

It's previous partners and broken hearts

When what I couldn't give was mistaken with cold-heartedness, or stinginess or uncaring.

The good news

The truly good news

Is that I am non of those things

And I'm watching, as I speak

I'm watching that pen run out of ink

#self #censorship #critique #inner #healing