A feeling
Is not about who is best
Art
Is not a contest
To insist on a victor
Is an ego that has broken
Showering hate upon the lives
Of hearts that are open*

What may or may not be poetry
Is instead the heart of our family
You commented rather pointedly
About your superior ability
And eloquent verbosity
Most likely derived from history
Of the friends of Neal Cassidy
And other written eccentricity
Yet you forgot your humanity
And instead introduced a monstrosity
An ego steeped in personal vanity
Insisting on being treated royally
Demanding your subjects bow immediately
As you crashed into the sea of tranquility
Planting your flag of superiority
And crushing our words spoken so plainly
But heartfully
Because the letters are unworthy
To one who is challenged emotionally
Unable to live peacefully
Amongst those who wish to learn gratefully
About a craft you have reserved selfishly
For yourself and those you deem to be equally
As adept as yourself in the vagary
Of references you declare to be wholly
Fresh and newly
Minted by your ability
To walk around the cliché so gracefully
While we repeatedly
Use words such as lovely
Or heavenly
Or tearfully
Or holy
So we beg you openly
To understand what is primary
In a place for the novice to publically
Air their emotions unapologetically
And speak candidly
And unconditionally
About how painfully
It is to live freely
In a place so worldly
Where men think judgmentally
******* the life from those who live meekly
And wish to exist thankfully
Amongst those who understand brotherly
Love and who affectionately
Praise those who tenderly
Open their hearts to humanity
Giving mercy
To those without the gifts you egotistically
Bludgeoned us with so artfully
But failing miserably
To impart insightfully
Your wisdom for those who willingly
Would receive daily
Your transcendently
And insightfully
Spoken songs of serenity
But instead you callously
Reminded us unfortunately
That mere man is weakly
Empowered to exist commonly
And instead arrogantly
Cuts the rose greedily
Leaving the thorns sadistically

The immediate introversion,
A safe solitude.
Alone and alive.
Lacking loneliness,
At this disturbing depth,
Unlike the saliently superficial.
The calming confusion
Relaxes and reassures.
Defiantly deliberate,
And thoroughly thoughtful.
Marvelously mesmerized
By my continuous contemplation.
Overtly observant,
And insightfully introspective.
Fiercely focused
On building and bettering.
I meticulously memorialize,
And succinctly summarize,
My lavish love,
For being
Alone and alive.

A reflection of spirit
warm benevolent embraces
flood my being
until at once
I am sprung full of holes
sprouting translucent
pools of love.

Never ashamed
timid or bothered
by this outpouring.

It is the purest and finest who care
in all these pursuits and endeavors
reaping the cascading benefits
of putting someone else
graciously above yourself.

Coming out of the circle
reaching the clouds
feeling full amidst the crowds
peaceful, gaiety, light
insightfully humble and happy.

I have been in flight
and heard the capacious call
of the mourning dove.

For one moment of my life
I want someone to care.
I want someone to look at me asking
'are you okay?' and really
want to know the true answer.

But people don't always get what they want,
life isn't fair?
Is that the excuse so you don't have to deal
with me?

Everyday is getting worse,
My head is in a dark place.
And no one wants to enlighten it.

I know that its not right to force it because its not natural or pure, the soil is poor, there’s a flaw, no flow, no place for it to go, led down a Cul-de-sac, off the beaten track to a sterile wilderness where there’s only the mundane, eating *******, talking, working, walking, friends faces, names, places and facts.
    Dry dusty facts, set in their mould, old facts, cold facts, aging hard, ready to crack and dissolve, slipping and draining away to the darker recesses that you've forgotten how to reach, or try only to find the minds too numb and bruised, too weary, abused and overused. Like the endless capillaries have gradually retreated from being mistreated, you know that they won’t re-grow and its accepted and its just another fact setting slowly in the mould until

SNAP!

You remember the name, the aim of the game, the shadows and stains the voices you retain in the dark recesses of the brain and its re-shelved in a safer place nearer the surface, grinding other facts into dust, now a few inches high, thick enough to stand on top of it, loose so that snaps of conversation and chilling grains that catch in your throat and make you choke and cold all over and weak at the knees are carried on the erratic breeze that whistles between the plural mes,
    Sometimes linear, progressing down a straight path, so direct that from A, Z can be seen and processed leaving the remaining 24 letters unnecessary circumlocution, sometimes ignored or stored to be thought again when bored, recycled, implying a mind of finite possibilities…yes, It is futile to exist, reminisce, kiss or think or resist the bland uniformity of experience: to stand out, shout, or doubt, think or drink or stagger, swagger or to conjure grand statements that somehow draw ultimate and above all illusionary conclusions about everything that are eyes aren’t designed to find; cos our bodies, too small for our minds are only built for the daily grind.

Round bricks that don’t fit our square shaped holes, objects too weighty for our inky fingers to lift and label and store away with the other facts, to rot until eventually freed, returning to a primary state of non-existence. Add Rhyme :lime, time, Thyme, mime, I’m, Grime, Chime, Chyme, then Simon Says add some clever mechanical clockwork metrical structures whilst speaking insightfully about abstract concepts in a witty and above all IMPRESSIVE manner. On your marks…

A hair full of honey,
Unruly and untamed;
A tangle of perfect beauty
That remains unnamed.

Brown doe-full eyes
With emerald specks aglow-
Eyelashes of satin
Frame them with the blackness of a crow.

Lips wryly perched
Like a bird upon a tree;
A hue of pearly rose
Insightfully buzzing like a bee.

A heart so untainted,
An opinion built on passion,
Her fierceness, others crave-
Emotions on her sleeve, she wears them like a fashion.

There is ice behind you’re eyes
I crave to entangle my coldness with yours
I want you deeply, I do not trust you.
You’re words are insightfully premeditated, ever changing and empty
I meet you’re gaze with anticipation of the sudden urgency too look away immediately, automatically and habitually
I must not love you, I must not love.

I think my heart is on the end of one string
guided much like a yo-yo toy, dangling.
Up and down that prevalent emotions bring,
Upward for passion, love, joy and affection
Downward in sadness, pity and compassion
insightfully, holds place if sensed doubt or fear.
True strings, the hearts tendons, ensure its function
where  muscle and valve labour through connection
keeping life's system robust, hearty and hale  
But the perceptive unseen strings, felt each day  
so often to be tugged, softened, snapped and played
best of all is when one, or several of mine
resonate in tune, when in concert with thine.

Heartstrings      Michael C Crowder @scorsby
10th February 2021