skipped, hopped over
eight years gone missing
the quiet of forest -misleading
as the twisted twigs show
the contortion of thought
you had every reason to believe
the smile, wink and nod of moonlit glow
was your savior unknown.
I have been hard pressed- trying to be my best. And in the process, lost all rest.
Broken, storms erect a wall. Weak, utterly confused. Silent. The drums ever louder, marching to the beats, painful echoes I repeat. What is heard?
Look up! vultures. Masses circle, tease desires. Grotesque in cue. Addressed invitations to the vile.
Quiet! Please be still, my heart. Stop and play with me?
No, sings the chorus. Feeling satisfaction, cloaked with power. Cuts deep. Power turns me on my head. Destroys what life remains, up ahead. Drains the blood.
The world drives me insane. I attempt to love it back. Erect it, place it back in orbit. Black. Not one person hears. Silently whispering. We fade.
I told my daughter, today, she was a tornado. And she answered. Your worse.
Yes. You. Your a hurricane, tsunami, earthquake, all rolled into one. One some thing. A thunderstorm that never ends.
Life on Monhegan
just a taste … brought us, me, back to life.
The cold breath
of wintering hearts. Over.
I miss Monhegan Island. If I could fly, sewn feathers -tightly worn…
Instead, I sit
I did not meet Judith Pontura. Her book, stacked on a store shelf. The lady, behind the register, well, I asked her, had Judith signed any books? She had. A signature tucked away, book behind the counter. I bought it. I like to see the handwriting on the wall.
I opened the pages -again this morning. And an address, a P.O. Box with 04852 zip code. A name attached. Judith. Now Weber. Was this her? Had the cash-register lady given me her address? How, days pass. We forget the impact, never notice an island sprawled all over the desk. Mapped out-meticulously.
You remind me. Smell.
Monhegan May 2016
Courage does not look at the past to justify a hateful heart today. Vile and ugly thought spoken in the public arena is not conducive to bringing brotherly peace. What is needed? I believe inward introspection focused on changing individual hearts. We all should face the world confidently with a smile, being brave not in vengeance but in healing and love. Perhaps we need a Gandhi or Nelson Mandela running for office.
An eye for eye only ends up making the whole world blind. — Gandhi
If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner. — Nelson Mandela
For me that means getting on my knees and praying for myself. Praying for those who hate me. Praying for a time of peace, knowing full well that may never be, but I will be satisfied I did my part.
the thoughts in my mind
that follow my legs
to a different time
when flowers were blooming
and the rains were sweet.
The tempest hollows at my feet.
around in my head
the voices and visions
that block the view
of majesty, glory and all that’s new.
The magic stands alone.
I run ahead.
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” William Shakespeare
Today may just be the day! Today! Celebrate that you have survived and made it through the storm. The winds still blow. The sun still sets. The sun also rises. It gives us courage to keep on breathing. I will!
“We run… because we enjoy it. The more restricted our society and work become, the more necessary it will be to find some outlet for this craving for freedom. The human spirit is indomitable.” -Sir Roger Bannister, first runner to run a sub-4 minute mile
God, I have run to the cross and I have sprinted away from your arms. I have walked the edge and planted my feet securely on the ground. I will continue to wrestle with myself and make peace with others. I will continue to grow and accept today. I believe! Amen.
“Keep your face to the sunshine
and you cannot see the shadows.
It’s what the sunflowers do.”
Poets as society’s conscious. This is what I was thinking while driving my son to pick up his prescription. I kept the words to myself, eager to get home, and do a quote search to see if anyone has ever thought a similar sentiment. Here is what I found:
Sigmund Freud said, from The Interpretation of Dreams (1899),
“The poets and philosophers before me discovered the unconscious; what I discovered was the scientific method by which the unconscious can be studied.”
To a point I understand Freud’s idea that poets and philosophers can sound the alert to what we experience, that is repressed and buried, to keep the status quo from erupting. I also see that at the same exact time, once society’s unconscious is uncovered, it is no longer hidden but a part of our conscious and from that there is no where to hide.
Theodor Adorno said “Writing poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.”
Is it grace that pardons us from society or is it society that strips us of our grace? Collectively, we each should examine our motives and individually we should push forward with a smile. Tears inevitably are shed. Smiles must be consciously given.