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clmathew Mar 2021
Glorious
written January 26th, 2021

Come here dearest
shy happy one
smile and light up my day
for you are glorious
a light in this dark world

Come here dearest
waiting eager to please one
sit here with me
for you are glorious
company in a lonely world

Come here dearest
laughing embodied ***** one
teach me how to love this body
for you are glorious
fireworks in the night sky

Come here dearest
scared hurt hiding one
you are safe in my arms
find comfort with me
for you are glorious
show me the world through new eyes

Come here dearest
organized empathetic care-taker one
rest for a moment in other's arms
for you are glorious
always with a brave face in this fierce world

Come here dearest
for you are glorious.
clmathew Mar 2021
Fishing for poems
written March 22nd 2021

I have a friend
who says he likes to fish
while his son
likes catching fish.

My friend's approach
always produces satisfaction
as he is happy just with fishing pole in hand,

while the other
leads to ecstasy or heartbreak
depending on if a satisfactory fish is caught.

I hope I can cultivate
a love of sitting here
my pen moving across the page
and when I have worn myself out
let me call this enough
and my day a success.
From Art and Fear, by David Bayles and Ted Orlando

"To all viewers but yourself, what matters is the product: the finished art work. To you, and you alone, what matters is the process: the experience of shaping that artwork."
clmathew Mar 2021
No more poems
written March 22nd 2021

This is it, I am quite sure
today is the day
there are no more poems

Inspiration is gone
not even a mirage of it
left in the desert of my mind

I will forever
read other people's poems
and there will be no spark in me

No answering yes Yes YES!
What a lovely word, idea, image
that makes me want to write

In the past inspiration was often my friend
lighting up my days and nights
but now no more mine

This is it, I am quite sure
today is the day
there are no more poems

But look! One just darted by
excuse me while I chase after
this one last poem.
I write this poem many days. It's never actually the last poem, but it does get me started. Another frequent poem is, "I don't want to".
clmathew Mar 2021
~A man travels
from Mindanao to Kyushu and says his inner geography
is enlarged by each new place.
Is it?
Might he not grow more by staring for twenty-four hours
at a single pine needle?

—Arthur Sze, "Parallax", Gift of Tongues

Trees!
written March 22nd, 2021

I know the answer
to the question posed above
is of course the single pine needle
but I am tired of this pine needle
day after day, year after year
this same pine needle.

I am sure if my heart opened enough
this pine needle would teach me the answer
to the question I can't think of
that would make everything ok
but I want to see other trees!

I want to see trees I never imagined
armies of them marching over hills
and also the lone banyan tree in the desert in India.

I want to see the first tree after crossing the ocean
and the last tree before the tundra.

I want to see the Tree of the Year!
every one that is still alive!
and mourn the ones that don't exist anymore.

I want to see the 5000 year old bristlecone pines in California
and visit the seedling I planted in grade school in our backyard.

I want to see the tree of life Yggdrasill
and Anne Frank's chestnut tree in Amsterdam.

I want to see every tree
growing along every fence-line
on every field men have ever plowed.

Only then, maybe, will I be satisfied to return to
this same pine needle.
I have a thing for trees! The European Tree of the Year is a real contest! There's a popularity contest I can get behind. Yggdrasil is a mythological tree, but that was sort of the point, to never get back to that same pine needle lol.

The banyan tree mentioned in the poem is a specific tree I remember seeing on a school grounds when I was an exchange student in India.

I grew up in the Midwestern United States, so those trees along fence lines are very familiar. Those are the trees I grew up with. Stubborn, sneaky trees placed just right to not be plowed under. And yes, I chose to have men plowing the fields. Historically that's how it was in my family and in families around us.

I obsess about punctuation, and ultimately just hope that people will read it in their own voice, taking breaks where make sense for them.
clmathew Mar 2021
~the wind feels the smallest birds
It's got.

—Primus St. John, "Biological Light", Gift of Tongues

The winds blow and gust
written March 19th, 2021

Today the winds blow and gust
bending but not breaking the boughs of the pine
sending the last of the fall leaves swirling
along labyrinth paths only the wind can see.
We who can take shelter
in constructs we have sweated and sacrificed for
built to withstand the winds that blow
so proud of ourselves,
while the smallest bird
without a straw to it's name
lets go and rides the wind
letting fate take it where it will.
clmathew Mar 2021
The haunted halls of my mind
written March 18th, 2021

Walking the not so empty halls of my mind
I watch the phantom echoes from the past
dart to and fro before my eyes
the past intruding on the present and the future
claiming space where it does not belong
refusing to be abandoned or laid to rest
I search amid the chaos for the key
that will bring these phantom echoes into the light
integrating them into my now so my waking days
are not filled with ghosts from the past
who roam the haunted halls of my mind
defying time and space
until all find some kind of peace.
This was written using words from a poem that a friend wrote. It was an interested exercise.
clmathew Mar 2021
I want poems
written March 15th, 2021

I want poems with roots that reach down underground
and are best friends with the earthworms

I want poems that reach up through the sky
covered in dewdrops that glisten from the light of distant stars

I want poems that are so dark
you walk by them and don't realize they are there until you brush up against them

I want poems that tickle and tease
leaving gales of laughter drifting on the breeze in their wake

I want poems that say *******
when you ask what meter they should be read in.
These are not that sort of poems and my poems are not for you.

I want poems that are too sad, too angry, too revealing
because other's expectations stifle and are not who we really are

I want poems that touch you
yes you, the one reading this right now

I want poems that are awkward and unfinished
wearing mismatched socks and tripping over their own feet
because it is not easy to be imperfect or even downright homely

I want poems that are the kid that sits at the back of class
wanting to disappear into the ground
but raises his hand to be called on anyway

I want poems that know the question, that find the answer
that finally figure out all that is in me

I want poems that are friends and lovers and strangers
whether they are 1 poem or many,
but oh how I long for someone that is many poems

I want as many poems as I can fit
into this life and this world we inhabit
for a period of only
a finite number of poems.
This was so much fun to write! It started off as a sad line about 1 poem relationships. I've had a few of those lately, and it turned into this! If you're thinking about doing something, start! You never know what will result.
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