"updraft" poems
Give them to me.
All the pieces of your broken heart.
Give them to me.
I'll take them.
All the rough-hewn misshapen bits of your shattered dreams.
Give them to me.
I will take them.
Give them to me.
They are wanted here.
All the parts of your misspent childhood. All the regrets of ticking seconds behind you.
Give them to me.
And we will build a cathedral. A stained glass window of who we are as tall and as beautiful as it should be.
Let me have them.
And we will make a mosaic that stretches as wide as the sky. Showing every color your heart gained from the bits and pieces left on the ground.
I will take them.
And forge a sculpture of how beautiful the ideas are that we cast out in our failings and we will cast it in our failings.
Let me have them.
And we will ***** a monument of all the small things in the shape that you remember them.
Towering. Looming. Striking. Beautiful.
Let me have them so we might bind the words said and regretted, (or worse) left unsaid in leather and call it scripture.
Our Psalms. Our Proverbs:
*“The tip of my finger dangles like my tongue. Wanting to touch something beautiful.”
“If it were not for him, it would have been us.”
“You were all my brightest colors.”
“I wish I were more like you.”
“I wish I were less like me.”
“I am sped.”*
And we will read them at dawn like litany.
Stretching our voices to the corners of the universe. Asking for the wishes you make when you are scared. Or alone. Or both.
That we may take them.
And make a blanket.
A blanket to cover our childhood and let it rest at last.
I will take them.
All the parts you no longer want.
Give them to me.
Because they are what make us beautiful.
Give them to me.
That I may forge them into pitch and feathers and craft mighty wings.
That I may take flight from your worry. And soar on the updraft of your misconception.
Give them to me.
I will take them.
Because I would rather burn like Icarus than to have never dared to fly.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
Not everyone flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall onto your knees,
you launch and take flight.
An updraft catches your wings
and you're airborne.
And when you eventually land
you see that you've got
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a flyer.
Not every line flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall,
your thoughts take flight.
An updraft catches your wings
and you're airborne.
And when you eventually land
you see that you've got
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a poet.
Not every prayer flies.
You land hard a lot.
Then just as you think
it's time for a new direction,
just as you think
it's not worth another stumble,
a fresh fall onto your knees,
your prayer takes flight.
Your spirit resonates with His
and you see His face.
And when you get to your 'Amen',
you see that you've got
somewhere new,
a whole new perspective.
That's when you know you're a pray-er.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 5:45 AM UTC
Raven crosses the threshold
Hawk, a protector and a visionary . . . stands watch
Together: a great change is gonna come
Raven sculpts the formless into shape, awakening
Hawk to an inspirational message
Together: a pathway to higher consciousness
Raven mines the darkness
For facets of light, where our true self is found
Eyes wide shut, eventually leads to our souls purpose
Hawk surfs the primordial forces of life and
Can't see so catches an updraft for improved perspective
Eyes wide shut, eventually leads to our souls purpose
Raven brings the ghost
Hawk brings the quill
Together: Turtle Island medicine
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
dancing calling flight of the Seagulls
cuts through the blowing of the wind
as fast as fighter jets dipping dives
and reeling upwards into the distance
freedom wild as freedom was always
from the dawning of the feathered
sailing now on wings strong honed
masters of air currents and updraft
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
Whirlwinding into a
warm, sudden updraft
last, pink, pale petals
find each other, swirling....
Blushing once,
they flutter down,
brushing the earth,
nesting back into gravity.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
A pelican glides by
Making a long, lazy slice through the air.
The look of an ungainly and awkward bird
But a more graceful glide and flight
You will not find.
Catching the updraft right off the surface
And that pelican rides along
With barely a movement.
It is effortless.
Inches from the blue-grey waters.
It pulls up and lands on a rock outcrop
To watch as a lonely boat cuts
The water of the harbor
Heading out to sea.
Five knots in the entrance channel.
Soon it will gear up and find cruising speed
En route to who knows where
In this weather.
I hope they get there before
Those rains on the horizon arrive.
Because alone at sea in a boat
Is no way to ride out a storm.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
It looks like I’m soaring
Riding the updraft of traffic below
Never going up..just incrementally gliding down
But I’m in a slow-motion flat-spin
The only control coming from gravity and momentum
I’m not scared or frantic
Just observing, knowing I should be feeling more
I am trying to live with my faith
Not gone and not here
I long for passion that would force me from my trance
Of swirling
The passion of a fierce fight
Of hungry ***
Of unexpected joy
But there is no color or music
There is no scent; floral or putrid
I miss the smell of God
My God
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
An altitude of ale
A barometer of beer
A circulation of champagne
A depression of damassine
An equilibrium of eau de vie
A fractus of fenny
A gust of grappa
A hail of horilka
An isotherm of icewine
A jet stream of jenever
A kilopascal of kirsch
A layer of limoncello
A metamorphism of mead
A nocturnal of nuvo
An overcast of ouzo
A persistence of porter
A reaction of rakia
A storm of sake
A torrent of tequila
An updraft of unicum
A vortex of *****
A winter of whiskey
A disaster of drink
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 10:10 AM UTC
Glacier National Park, Lower Quartz Lake
Wednesday August 12, 2015 Day 1 of the backpacking trek.
Our tent next to the still waters.
Eventide respite.
Deborah reflecting in solitude at sunset.
Quiet with a gentle breath of mountain air.
Without an updraft to soar and glide upon, the eagle, nesting in the range of the watershed, has retired for the day.
A pair of Common Loons and four Hooded Merganser prepare for the nights cooling, moving in the glossy water toward their rest, gentle lines tracing as the water crests and falls behind.
Black swifts emerge from the shadows, dancing near the lake to feed on twilight insects.
The orange sky and red orb of Sol are a prelude to a multitude of stars as the world turns into darkness.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
Think about it,
She off-handedly remarks:
Formality is separateness
Lost in one of the nebulous folds
Of my cerebellum
I acknowledge her comment with a thousand yard stare
Eagle eyed, I surf a warm updraft
To rise above it all
But I can't slip the prison of pre-conception
Amuse me, she says.
Whisper me your pretty little lyrics,
Sing me your song
You have one of the most interesting faces I’ve ever met
I brazenly tell her, and
My minds eye is full of anticipation
I know it’s pedantic
I am not so romantic
Maybe we should not peel back the veneer, but
A peak
It’s inexplicable
Naive and unassuming, with
Bashful sincerity, and
An enduring patience
Awaken: open your eyes
The serpent goddess counsels
And you will find your way
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
I open my eyes to the green valley below, filled with light.
I am at the peak of the mountain,
I feel a strong, warm updraft under my, now outstretched wings.
I feel light and so I jump,
Soaring into the sky...
Or so I thought...
The air suddenly turns harsh and cold...
As I fall through.
"This can't be happening" I think
But I continue to fall.
I expect to fly at the last moment, or
get caught by someone, or
At least wake up...
But it doesn't happen.
The ground accelerates towards me...
and I hit it.
I feel everything,
Every ounce of pain.
I realise then...
I have broken my wings...
I wake in pain...
On the floor in my room,
gasping for the breath that falling out of bed has knocked out of me...
Dreams... sometimes I'm too scared to fall asleep because of what I may dream of...
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Do you know the bird?
Of course not. each
updraft a soaring appreciation for
worldly things, textbook happiness
drowning distraction in a pond plump with water
lilies and tadpoles, sinking down to the
dirt, belly raw on dizzy ground, feet
scrabbling for a safe touchdown, sure this day there
must be a rock or a tree trunk, some natural end to the in-
between where a bitter desperate aftertaste singes the mouth, certain
nothing else will be known, that this sour tang is only to
remain on this tongue forever, no
asking you if you can relate is like expecting the sun to
rain down and openly weep itself out, quite
impossible, come on - remember, you
must see clearly - here
comes the lift again, fondest flying above, fully
forgotten panic until winds falter once more
I know the bird.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
even on gloomy
days, the sparrow's song –
warmth of her smile
--
cumulus –
a hawk spirals down
the updraft
--
ancient pine –
the sun climbing
limb by limb
.
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
Pits and pockmarks
flit and dart
across an infinite ceiling.
Random synchronicity
plays patter song
stupor and languidity
The orchestra conducting
purple and yellow
to a sparkling, a
crushing crescendo
falls like a wave on tastebuds, tempting.
She lingers like
fog on a pane of glass
A sharp signature
impaled on a pile
of dreaming dust.
Like a rushed column
updraft through a house
of leaves blank and staring.
A mark from the
back of your palms up.
Your fingers stuck signing
a language sang by the blind.
How did she stay so long
A force hidden in neuron canyons.
A Gypsy camp lodged
between cortexes
spinning silk into a
muffled gasp, a conspiratory shuffle.
She lingers like spines of glass
in nailbeds, planted sweetly,
with the best of care.
Laughter in an asylum
electroshock dreams soaked in sweat.
Grabbed my brain like a chemical symphony.
Painted pictures of pivotal seconds,
wrapped up and romanticized.
Dreamt about.
Your lilting language planted
little honeypots deep in my palms.
Sparked fire from entropy
lighting a city in my chest.
But now these buildings tower
like Goliath in David’s dreams.
I need to escape
I need to slide out of
this sleep you’ve monopolized.
******* dreams
like smokering fingerprints
left on the cleft of my conscience.
The old taqueria on Victory.
The Bourgeois Pig.
The bitter spice of winter
painted over the cracks
crumbling the walls.
These waking hallucinations
haunt my habits.
Still frequent the holeinthewall
dives in my heart.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 8:33 AM UTC
And then you say, "All we are is dust in the wind."
Little specks,
enumerable and miniscule,
grains of the infinitesimal,
listless,
pointless,
directionless,
fading dreams of nothing.
Well, I say "Thank God, I love the prospect,
there is freedom in being nothing."
Why are you so displeased with this conclusion?
Is it that the contention you wrought is dispersed by my contentment?
We'll let it drift then on the wings of some updraft on it's way to God.
invisible to the naked eye,
just as you and I shall drift thoughtlessly into the atmosphere.
Little particles of dust fading into nothing and immeasurably free.
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
She was a gamine,
an urchin and a recluse.
Tattered and waifish,
scrounging for some small morsel underneath a city bus.
Tarnished,
a lot like brass that's been exposed to water;
she's splotched.
Even whilst disenfranchised,
she carries some valiance hidden beneath her turncoat.
There is beauty in the loose pages she's giving to the wind.
She is,
and will forever be,
floating in the updraft of a sidewalk vent.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 7:58 AM UTC
I've been
up and down lately,
well..
more than lately,
kinda jumpy too
Y'know...
Figure if I jump high enough
with the earth spinning beneath me
the way it does
I'll see it all
for free...
Mostly I jump
waiting the next bus
on cemetery hill,
up and down and up again
watching burials
intermittently
over the wall,
my now you see me-
now you don't appearances
are part of the mourning process
in Selly Oak these days;
leaving folk in holes
with dirt on their faces,
their chests
and their feet
frightens me,
seems gravity's got
a hold on them
forever now,
so I'm glad for
the days when smoke
stacks exhale
and the wind
is filled with people,
I feel the bounce
in my sole remembered
and I know
sooner or later
I too will catch an updraft
and fly....
I've been
up and down lately..
well..
more than lately
I've been kinda jumpy too
Y'know ?
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
The reason I left was not of your being
It was that side of you kept well hidden, not for seeing
The preliminary basis of a concealed fact
A genuine warning sign maintained with tact
It restrains your hands and demeans your worth
While contemplating the test next time around that you'll see Earth
Slender body in my arms but your vision is crying
A feeling so horrible to give up trying
Dying each day to be born anew
With Depraved Heart sentience for filling that shoe
At first in your voice I heard inspirational phrases
Peering through the rain for better weather phases
Fighting and twisting to match their ennui
But you bounded through all the reciprocity
Catching the vapor updraft with that shy grin
Remembering the skin you're wearing is genuine
You march to that drum beat sounding the lightning storm
Of A cold heart blowing in the wind, unaware that it's warm
So in breaking your heart you'll hear love again and take flight
Prance with every step and paint a newly blank canvas full of fight
The part of you crying, "missing puzzle piece hidden in plain sight!"
Is the very same light within you I've seen shine so bright
And know I came to realize by the end of this night...
The next day and Tomorrow are yours to write
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
Power
i brandish it so beautifully
just as a name was bestowed upon by birth
this power was given to me by
my powerful grasp over this simple language
twisting definitions
into the churning souls
of my innermost thoughts
to unleash a potpourri of imagery
meant to dazzle and fluster ones mind
like water from a faucet
new uses for common words
run from my mind...
to my pen... to my paper
at a rate considered impossible
for even a supercomputer
can't comprehend things
at the rate
by which i create tem
my careening mind frame
caught in an updraft of simplistic thought
adapted and integrated
the simplicity of your worlds...
to create the complexity of mine!!
Sep 12, 2009
Sep 12, 2009 at 3:57 PM UTC
When the leafy mass of vegetation has filled in
All the corners of the northern world's frame
And we are hemmed into its cool fragrance
To which we thought no more could be added,
This evening adds itself to the completed sum.
And caught in the updraft,
We let time reveal its material;
And I am glad to let the mote of dust float across the warmth of the long shadows
And linger there in the afterglow.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
I love you
Like the early morning mists
Love to bask in the sunlight
Like a free flying eagle
Loves a warm updraft
On a long summer flight
I love you
Like the ocean loves the rivers
And the rivers love a stream
Like a lazy man loves his sleeping
And a sleeping man loves to dream
I love you
Like an energetic lion
Loves to run wide open
On the Serengeti plain
Like the trees in the rain forest
Love the gentle evening rain
I love you
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
Gliding just above the aspen thickets,
nearly scraping their golden canopies,
I cling to this exquisite dream hawk
for all it's worth. Dipping and hovering
as the hawk is prone to do, I am soaring
with the updraft to where the air grows
thin, I'm becoming faint, and the world below
is somehow irrelevant. I can even see my
disheveled bed below where I lie dreaming.
Gliding, soaring, hovering, in my dreams
of flying I soar tree-level and prefer gliding.
I fear falling at the upper heights, but
this time, in this dream, I am become brave,
choosing instead to challenge the cumulus
and with no fear loosen "the surly bonds".
--
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 9:25 AM UTC
Some fingers have this tendency
to crack, snag, and rip themselves
to shreds. A flurry of something like daisy
petals cling, infinite single cell threads
waiting for the right he loves me
not to fall apart.
Some fingers shed their tired
ridges in fluttering crescent smiles
peeling from the edges of soft pink nails.
They pull away like feathers ruffled
out of place in a sudden updraft,
bent at too-sharp angles.
Finger skin was always the strongest,
never flaking just because, but for the effort
of work and teeth. Those hangnails bleed
strength. They drip patience, hours
of work in restaurant sinks,
needlepoint and dresses.
They bleed music, lullabies.
A chorus of little sopranos sing
to tiny babies in cribs built
by driftwood scratched bone-smooth
and tough as chainmail.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Would you place my life in photographs on your mantlepieces
Show these pictures to your nephews and nieces?
I think not.
There are many amends to make..
..I have fallen into the fire..the grate is hot
The coals burn
The teacher of life and its lessons can be awfully stern.
As the smoke starts to rise..up the chimney and into the skies
As I meet my demise
I turn for one last loving look.
I should have shuffled the deck
Should have wound in my neck and not been so shortsighted
Would that these thoughts had alighted
When I was in the thick of the storm..
..these thoughts come fast
I am caught in the updraft and am swirling away.
This day would come..and for some sooner than that..
..now I chat to the birds
I am just..jest to their words..I am..
..Not quite sure now..I can't see myself..how could I tell?
I wonder if this is what people call hell.
Not seeing where you are..or where you've been..or is it in the unseeing..
..when you realise what kind of being..
..you were.
As I became once..or was I really there?
I share..but care not for this state..in the grate it's still hot
A little snapshot
Can you not
Spot
The loser.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
nothing to say kind-
ness full of getting better and
hidden out among going nowhere for
lack of a better desert to waste early pills in
feeling requisite and searing updraft setting
weaker weaker dear quiet desert dear
freedom downed glass of freedom
fitting room water room dear
don't wait for anyone to go
away early desert
better pills full
of getting quiet
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC