Poem: Walls


Behind a wall

are sounds I do not

always know

The green trees

I see

hide voices rising loud

above souped up

cars

it sounds like shots

into the crowds

the wall

hides it all

Some walls

stand by

silently

in between

those wanting to come near

and cross beyond

while others wait

to make sure they can’t

while creating waves of fear

And some walls

make people

cry

and pray

and touch

their mourning souls

while their hands

slide upon its

limestone sands

We hold walls

inside our

complex selves

to play

hide and seek

from

real life beasts

who have come

to reside within

and we crawl inside

a darkened

crack

laying still

hoping it will not

find us

Walls

keep in

and

keep out

yet

quiet stones standing

as humans fall

fall

fall

 

 

 

 

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Facing The Monster


Accusers and accused. There are many of these both in the news lately. Whose stories are true? What side do we choose to believe? And why do the stories seem to play out the same way each time?

At least that how it seems to me, but could we change the ending somehow? A woman comes forward to accuse a man of some kind of sexual assault from their past. The man is a high-profile figure so the story hits the news, but we all know that these stories have struck a chord because so many women have had similar experiences in their lives (including me).

Once the man stands accused, he usually claims he didn’t do it–in a very loud voice–until it turns out that we learn he did because other women come forward, or investigation into his past concludes it was true. So why then do these men say they didn’t do it?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, especially with the most recent allegations which are particularly disturbing to me, and I came up with this conclusion.

Many of us hold parts of our past we would rather forget (me included); ones that when we dare look back on them produce feelings of shame and regret. So rather than look at them, we compartmentalize them or even pretend they didn’t happen. We may actually believe they didn’t. Some folks are particularly good at this skill and humans are quite resilient and can learn to adapt to their dirty deeds and go on quite well.

What happens, though, when someone comes along and opens the door to the shame that has been hidden away and it shows its nasty head. The obvious reaction would be to say: no, no–of course I didn’t do that thing! It wasn’t me. That beast has been hiding so long it has become unfamiliar, a part of ourselves we have chosen to forget.

But, as this creature stands before us a while, I feel it should begin to take shape and start to become more visible. Letting it out of the box to stand out in the open and taking a good look at it instead of denying it, can actually help defuse its power. Because ultimately it is a part of us, no matter how bad it was, it was something we did. The first part of letting go is admitting to something.

At this point, if the accused could then face the accuser and simply say: yes, I did it, it was bad and I’m sorry I hurt you–how would that change the story? Would we all feel differently? Could then the accuser introduce forgiveness into the equation? Maybe. Hopefully.

And then maybe the healing could really begin: for everyone.

 

Poem: Changeling


Positive magnetic brightness

a gravitational force

changing energy

Scraping off the

layers and layers

of ingrown dirt

making way for the

bursting shine

Come into the circle

and expand

Drink in the effervescent dreams

Then walk upon

moss-covered fields

into the world of

love

 

 

 

Poem: Until


Days

where my skin rubs against

the surrounding particles

of the long dead others

and also

silent trapped thoughts

running fingers down

my nakedness

They absorb

into my open pores

and seep into the recesses

those closed in spaces

in between the cells

and shackled together

by this fleshy scarred coat

It chills

and pulls taut

over bones and blood

stretched to breaking

by times passing

This living hull

scratched and worn

Home

until the day

it joins

the earth

 

 

Poem: Billions


In a billion years

the sun will burn hot bright

Giant red star

from afar

A pinpoint light

yet earth so near

Its searing heat

shall render cinders

the planet blue

once so sweet

And waters now dry

long before life will flash

The living planet

will blacken and die

A star was born

and so is cursed

The question is

will man kill earth first

 

 

 

 

 

Poem: The Waiting Room


What if we all were caught

together in a place

You with the purple legs

falling fast asleep between

the snorts and sniffy drool

and the woman who talks endlessly

on a phone she cannot use

While the rest of us

quietly swim in our own small worlds

Or watch the woman just over there

who cooks the arroz con pollo

and fills the air with popcorn smells

that settle in the memory

with salty buttery moments

While piped in eighties music

seeps in our private bubbles

(one guy’s foot is tapping as he tries to read

his book)

While a little white dog

trots by masquerading as a therapist

for the human

we all know is as crazy as us all

Yet no-one looks up

or at each other

or pretends to be nice

Still the employees walk by in their

black and white garb

wishing it was 5

while we hope we’re called next

But…what if

this was an Island

in the middle of the sea

where we all were lost

and survivors of a wreck

Then how would we be

Would you catch my eye

or walk with me to the edge of the sand

and look toward the horizon

searching for distant hope

Because now we are comrades

awake

to each others light

in this hidden land

 

Poem: Awakening


I wait for you

in the deep of the night

laying silent

corpse pose

or a sleeping beauty

with sealed lips and racing thoughts

Where have you been

these many years

as the snows fluttered past

and sun burned this tomb

I wait

in quiet repose

for you to hear my call

and walk between

the tangled trees

out from wherever you may be

into this barren glade

Step in

and whisper in my wanting ear

the words I need to hear

Pass softly upon the downy moss

entwined together our lovers hands

for now we shall make a life

far far away

in another land

 

Poem: Lying Down


Once young

peeking to see

wispy seeds blow

close-up on

green tufts of hair

while frantic

insects buzz

in summers air

While watching

big blue windy white

marching puffy shapes

swim, float and fly

slowly by

Peering through finger blinds

sun shadow so cool

paints silhouettes

then splits its billow

making miniscule

circle spot dots

to dance blind before

shuttered thoughts

In pastures tiny forest

looking up

with loving eyes

adore

****

Now old

graying curls tossed light

upon pillowed crib

Staring up

at cryptic crack

its hieroglyph speaking truth

of lost and boundless youth

Lying still

now here inside

blocked against wheat

and birds

the sky is covered

with plastered paint

spine pressed upon

the bed

But in the mind

the world is there

floating overhead

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem: Missing


Home

Warm safety soft sweet

quiet click door

snap lock complete

stone wall fortress

round belly womb

float free

peace  security

 

Outside world

harsh human walk

shout stab lie stalk

pass eyes blind

crowd crazy

torn mind

man sick sad

gone bad

 

Run home

hide dance dream

dark night no light

tuck head lay low

sleep silent deep

inside under away

out there no way

 

Stop stay

here dear abode

far far

alone

dead end road