Poem: Broken


A bird sings

from stolen songs

alone

while unfocused clouds

drown out the mourning moon

Her voice breaks

the brittle dark

a hymn

for those who

need

to hear

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Poem: On Waking


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Pinned

a butterfly plucked

from flight by a

4-eyed entomologist

tacked and hung forever

frozen

Limbs

askew and filled with lead

pumped dry from

sleepless climbs through endless starts

with dry breath and thick lips

Eyes

swollen marbles unseeing

remembering lilting dreams

un-blinking

tears dried from cracked blinks

Deep

beneath fathoms of murky sea

bubbles squeezed nitrogen pop

as spiny creatures swim

too close

Heart

chipped down to pebbles

swallowed by a bird

it beating too fast

in her chest

Hammered

to the slab

by the nightly joy ride

that crashed upside down

leaving the driver

Pinned

with the seat belt

still on

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Ironic??


Is it ironic that I saw this Mockingbird perched upon the American flag  today: July 4th, 2017 given the state of our nation?

Maybe this bird understands something many folks seem to be missing these days….

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

The Bird And The Seed


The Bird had been looking a long time. It knew by now, that when satisfying hunger, one must not give up. There were many others that were hungry too, and not much to go around–that’s just the way it was sometimes, but the Bird didn’t complain. The Bird understood The Way of things, but it also made him strong, willing to keep going when others just gave up. Finding what you are looking for may not be easy, but when you do, it’s sweeter for the trying.

Finally, The Bird landed on a plant. It was a rather flimsy thing, which barely could hold him up. But he had noticed that there on the plant was what he had been searching for: The Seeds. There weren’t many and they were hanging off a thread like stem, one that would never hold his weight, this he knew as The Bird balanced precariously on a nearby leaf.

But the hunger burned in his belly. So close he was to his goal and his journey long. Quietly he sat and pondered his predicament. Every time he moved closer to The Seeds, the more they seemed to get away from him. He moved slowly, but would slip down into the swamp below. He would contort himself, but The Seeds would dip into the waters with every move.

After much time and many different attempts, The Bird was eventually able to manage to grasp hold of a small part of the plant! And now, carefully he drew it closer to his beak and plucked two small seeds to eat. He had partially satiated his hunger and yet…as he grabbed for more–

He slipped! Now he was in the water below and what he had been there for: gone. The Seeds had fallen and plunged into the depth of the marsh and were lost.

The Bird, being the creature he was, simply climbed back up…shook out his wings and contemplated. He did not fret or cry out. It was The Way, after all.

And now it was time to move on…


 

 

Poem: Illumina 


Sometimes it’s time 

to look around 

and quietly remember 

to be grateful 

 See the splendid glory

Outside the fortress 

of the  crumbling mind 

Hung in humbled awe

and drained of worldly worries 

The moon’s Illumina 

Darkened places glow

All moments belong 

To be cherished 

(Or overlooked) 

They fly by

Regardless 

Each one held

Precious and sweet 

May not last longer 

But will feel lighter

to hold 

Under Cover 


Sometimes I feel utterly exposed, as though I sit naked revealing parts of myself that are better left under cover. Although as I’ve gotten older these times have gotten fewer and seem to happen more when I am dreaming. Then things come to light that make me realize just how much is churning around in my psyche. Maybe that’s why my stomach feels full of a giant twisted rubber band lately. In the past everything just spewed forth so not much was left to stew inside like some over ripe batch of sourdough.

Now I’m often gripped with clutching need to stay hidden, camouflaged amidst my own natural habitat so no one can find me. There are moments of quiet anxiety of venturing forth, facing humanity and acting like one of them. Maybe I can stay hidden and pretend I’m not.

Either way, at some point I must go out. Stark naked or fully camouflaged, I eventually must take my fluttering heart to the streets. But what anyone sees will never be what is really before them, because I no longer know how to display my true plumage. So instead I will let them make their best guess at who I might be and continue to figure it out myself.