Poem: The Story


Some smattering thoughts

Bits and pieces of words come

to complete the whole

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Impurities


There are some things we have done in our lives that others may never understand.

In a dream last night, a person visited me, someone I spent time with in my past. No-one could understand why I would ever spend time with this person. No amount of explaining would help, in fact, it usually made everything sound more insignificant as though I was making excuses for our friendship.

Some things are best left undefined.

Maybe it takes years for us to understand some of the things we do. They may just feel right at the time, at a certain age or given circumstances. When one tries to corral something out of character, and treat it like an unwanted guest, a crack can form in the every day surface of our armor.

Who are we then really?

These oddities are maybe then part of the schema of life. The little impurities we swallow or wear, (that others can’t bear to endure), but that make us deeper and more magnificent.

So, we learn later, the scars are our beauty and our choices the strength.

And all shall be embraced in the end.

Poem: Upward


I transcend

breathing soft air

and ascend behind flashing eyelids

free now

from egos gravitational lure

Climbing over yesterdays clutter

a wraith rising

through the worldly walls

to wander upon higher plains

Weightless

drifting in dark spirals of space

tiny bits of astral dust

spinning

away away

I shine and hover

as humming of the cosmos

levitates me till

the end of time

 

Poem: Momentarily


Wind touches my face

Sun gently pushes my back

Sadness seeps away

 

Note: To rid ourselves of today’s sadness we must seek a moment here and there: in nature, with family and friends, with animals, within transcendence, inside ourselves, creating, in silence…however. Blessed be.

Poem: To Those I Know By Heart


People are songs

melodic magicians

who orchestrate the chorus

of our hymnal life

Some drift out

in random times

where their notes are left

to dissipate

within the holy air

Others repeat over and over

stuck in the groove

the turning wheel

of fate

which plays endlessly

on and on

And there are those that

blast

loudly around our bones

only to shake us down

to listen for them

alone

quietly in the descending night

But

the ones that hum within us

and weave gently around our key

are easy familiar tunes

we will always

know by heart

Poem: From Within


Skin

carrying scars

picked at by fretful fingers

The loss of heat

or

vacuum suck of cold

(interwoven at times)

left on integument ripples

trying desperately to hide

bone wrapped melodies

played on organs

finely tuned by fingers

fretful fingers

of the merry minutiae

on drifting cells as the float by

Song of the soul

Hum of the heart

Picking at a piece of the part

the smooth skinned shell

to hear the singing chorus

from within this finite enclosure

its voice secretly serenading:

I, too, am here

Poem Art: The Sentry


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Years of giving

torn from the skinned Birch

to carry others

across rushing waters

while naked the Tree remains

rooted

watching

as the world walks away

Not listening

to the endless clawing on Jesus arms

the sucking tendrils

that have grown up

twisting themselves around

the age-old rings of Her heart

Move on! Move on!

whispering through the thousand hands

waving goodbyes to those

that left her standing

still

and siphoning life from

dirty earth thrown down

around Her

Immobile

a sentry seasoned with sight

the beacon to set others

on their way

But forever bound and grounded

in the place she chose

to be born