A transparent melody paints the walls
in the coloured scent of fresh linen.
The changing of sheets in the morning air
can not erase our dance from evening last.
Outside a late spring asleep too long
with no blooms until June, awakens.
Fully opened September flowers
perfume late night conversations.
Looking outside reveals
only one set of footsteps in both directions.
The days when I would watch you walk,
lagging behind with a smile.
The moss grows wild in the forest...
trees surrounded by families of mushrooms.
The word "family"
An I for an I
and soon the whole world will be in love.
How I long your hug,
your body encompassing mine.
no greater proof...
With a single tear I
lay flowers where you bloom...and I
i think of you.
March 20 2015
I could have cried like a bride at a funeral
Bled out, dry. I could have but I was already
i think of you
I wish someone could turn the
moon back on, turn the dimmer back up
on the stars. I can't stand these dark
black nights void of even one tiny ray
of light. I am tired of walking blind through
the evenings of my everyday life...I
i think of you
Yesterday I dreamt the night sky exploded.
Bright white pinholes of light appeared .
It was as if an invisible hand was holding a huge
Fourth of July sparkler against a waterfall of black gold.
I watched the oil well blaze. The whole Earth was on fire.
The world was burning hot. Without fear I walked through
the flames warm, comforted as if I was being held in his light...I
i think of you
Still in the grip of my sleep suddenly an ocean appears.
its water rises and shapes itself like the head of a dragon.
Its neck is shaped like a Chinese silk fan. At the same time
it is just a huge wave. The kind surfers expect to find in heaven.
There is nothing threatening about this apparition.
Quite the opposite like the fire it feels as if it is a part of me...I
i think of you
Do I miss you?
Miss you? I died with you!
There's a knock at my door but I'm not here.
Life's going to have to wait. I'm in hiding.
I feel safe inside my walls. In reality my bedroom light
is all the outdoors I need. It is my Sun. I hate here without you.
So I lie in my bed motionless starring into my nothingness and I...
i think of you
As time passes...introspective...I begin to understand.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water all the elementals are him.
(I begin to thaw!)
He is with me even in my ignorance he has never left me.
You can take the lord into your heart without a word by accepting his light.
A deeper, purer understanding. A trust that rejects the dark no
matter how black. I am a part of all, a part of one as you are. A part of me.
I open my curtains...watch the dark exit
hurried as love rushes in. Firmly in his hold...I
I think of you...
Once again with you.
Fully! We...the power of one...I
I think of us.
March 25 2015
I Think Of You - Ground Zero (Part 1)
Leaving under a blood moon
in a jet plane rising
los angeles falls behind me
to the song of the spiders.
Latent sun rays fall on me like rain...I
...They say third time's the charm.
On planes again.
A sky...endless... and then finally
from the other end of the world to here.
A continent, an island,
an australian flower drunk on wine.
Her...uniqueness lends to her beauty.
A fourth night.
A church spire at sunset.
At a distance bats fill the sky,
resemble a smoke plume.
I plead the fifth.
It's all these moons.
Tonight a hunter's moon.
She's unable to hide
even with her bowl of clouds.
It's no help.
She has no spoon.
Her luminous rays give her up.
Moonshine in the moonlight over the sea.
six...on the beach.
A purple nightshade,
a sand flower,
Irish eyes speak uniquely to me.
you can't roll a seven with one die.
Back on a plane.
A snow fog blinding.
From my window seat a one of a kind view.
I eight...ate...need to eat.
A plant chloroform green
has holes like cheese.
A large swiss leaf.
I laugh and I...I distract myself.
A stitch in time beats nine.
Back in North America.
A dilapidated fortress stares down
an overwhelming thunderhead.
I camp out.
It requires a tenth...tent.
An Eagle never blinks.
No eye lids.
An unimpeded view.
...but I...I surrender.
There is no place in the world
I can escape.
i think of you.
You are living art.
What I perceive
is what I live.
I perceive us.
I can picture you.
I am photography,
the camera, the lens.
I absorb your image,
A form of plagiarism
I didn't borrow.
Inhaled you but
...i think of you.
March 11 2015
A reflection of the coloured pencil drawn sky
skates on the glass smooth surface below it.
While a rebellious group of shades take their positions
on a glorious stage to express themselves artistically and
i think of you
Wisps of clouds shaped like a palm leaf
fan the winds that stoke the fire
of a randomly sketched sunset.
i think of you
The cool of an ocean breeze
travels the shadows of this low lit evening.
Caresses my skin like the essence of romance.
Enthralled by the allure of a candle lit sky,
i think of you...
Our French Bakery early mornings.
Café au lait and croissants.
Our freesia soaked baths.
Your mink soft body.
Its milk and honey scent.
As I fall off
the edge of the world,
i think of you.
March 19 2015
The rain outside plays games with the webs that cloud my mind,
I think I hear a tune. A drum solo that heralds memories buried deep
and sealed in concrete. Even the locked safe with five feet deep of steel
can not resist the lightning strike of the Goddess of Thunderstorms...I
...i think of you.
A pain from yesteryears thought dead rises from the ashes...
No! I will fight this.
Forget when I flew too close to the sun
my feathered wings singed.
I fight...I do...I try...I do...but I...
i think of you...
your fresh baked sugar cookie scent,
your China Doll moonlight white complexion.
I think of you...and I...I weep
I on the mountain, exposed
as vultures tear at my flesh.
Devour my organs like so much fodder
and everyday whole again...
the creatures hover to start anew.
In my sorrow,
in my physical pain
I attempt to resist...but I...
i think of you.
Iodine flows through my veins.
My screams echo.
My blood drenched tears
flow like a mountain stream
and i pray
and i whisper the word "mercy"
i think of you.
March 16 2015
Frothy waves stretch to kiss toes
Hikers plodding sandy coasts
Leaving imprints on the shore
Who journeyed here, perhaps this morn
As the orange orb created dawn
Summoning sun worshipers
Footprints far too large to fill
Descended down the shell-strewn hill
Then hugged the waves’ low tide
The retirement community
Sends scouts here daily just to see
If the sands of time still wait
Alas, they do, imprints remain
Sacrificed to sea when evening tide returns again
Their legacies erased each day
Another scout, another age
Will surely cast its prints anew
Passing through framed windows like ours,
I recall your tales of reckless war and lost friends
that burned your innocence at 21... and though
you claimed flashes of courage, moist eyes
poured vulnerability looking calm, undaunted.
We both searched deeply into our souls
as a father is to his young daughter, that I wanted
to let you know, it was alright;
but that mound of shoulders turned away.
Down the years as officer and gentleman,
Time stole long weeks, absent from your dining chair,
leaving me resentful and bitter on hardened sills
until you arrive under crawling dock of stars.
But in free moments, how you cherished
me so; waking my cheeks at 3 am to race the winds,
to fly with a shooting neon, laughing with a blue moon.
You spoke of faith and honor if life dared a shame, oh
mild scent of your arms cuddling my girlish dreams...
until off you rode suddenly on heaven’s wheel.
I see you through all framed windows like ours,
that even if my iced breaths needed you more
as small flowers thirsted for rain, my anger was a cry
for love’s company... “ I have adored you
in moments of distance and nearness, if not
always, then for all eternity.”
Have I forgotten to open this, my soft, broken sigh?
Dad, everything is all right.
The Confessional Contest
I Think Of You - A Horrendous Night (Part 0)
I open my window
the dark is blinding.
It is a severe cold outside
a stream of freezing air seeps in.
Two fifteen a.m....
I open my window another crack,
struggling to sleep...!
I count from one thousand to one
it might as well be ten thousand.
Still not use to a lonely bed
six of my senses explode like
a dandelion globe in a tornado...I
i think of you.
Raise the white flag,
wait the sunrise.
Wasn't it an eon ago
I drank the sunset?
It's never lost on me
I always ingest miracles slowly.
It's freezing cold now in my room...I think!
I feel everything...I feel nothing.
My face buried in both my hands...I
i think of you...
March 11 2015
Who I might become
If I wore another man's clothes
If I thought his thoughts
Dreamed his dreams
Lived his heartache
Felt his insanity
Walked along his razor's edge
Digest his pain
Rise above his circumstances
Would I realize how easy my own life has been
I could search through his pockets
Look for answers
Remove the tie from his neck that strangles
Rip off the clothes that make the man
Return his sanity
Free him from the labels sewn on yesterday's promises
Or I could walk
A bit longer
Search a bit deeper
Discard my own misconceptions
Feel his peace
Think different thoughts
For he is more and less than me
He has danced and loved in exceptional ways
And as I walk and wear his shoes
I hear the tapping of his soul
It is not him
That can save us
Yet we are changed
In inexplicable ways
Another man's clothes
I chose this one for your contest because I feel as
a poet I put myself in other people's clothes all the time.
I like the premise of this contest and I hope this gives you
a glimpse of who I am.
Submited December 20 2013
written in early December.
I count my walks through herbs and shells
never knowing how old bones can be fleshed
from a heart bound on scrolls of endings,
and here I am among rows of an orchard…
feet like dust sanded by twelve months
of famine and feast ; somehow the maple boughs
wither from the laundry of evenings’ regret.
Often times, like the gypsy rose,
I climb into the lattice of my family tree
smelling its tar and citrus that knit arms
glossed by twilight’s love,
then raked by froths of autumn’s debris.
Closing a fence as another year shuts off,
I am between silence and scream…
eyes groaning with the music
of an anonymous breeze sheltering
a collected beauty of tragedy and the comedy
of drama: trials pinned by veiled nights
when kinship endures the flood of weather's hands.
It is so, I mean, the certainty of taming
the last ride before new seeds from a new year
twirl upon unborn fruits…
I disrobe the old bones to greet the unknown.
"“In times of test, family is best.” – Burmese Proverb
Carol Eastman's Enter The Best of 2014 Contest
by nette onclaud
There was change, a new pulse, cadence, rhythm and tone,
where mother had been, the only place I had known
Where two maples stretched out, to cradle my dreams,
and shelter my life, in the house I called home
On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake,
Windows cracked open,
a wind coming in, ....
Intangible nights, in the familiar old room,
alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things...
There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on,
and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go
The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass,
was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense
And a place to fit in
My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride
in the same sacred bed, where my mother had died
And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room
where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon
I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained.
I was there at his side,
when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too
But, I was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings
Somehow, it's alright, now, where shadows are new.
As the sepia light, has changed and renewed
I am older, and stronger,
much older than then,...
still a moth seeking flame...
batting my wings,
resisting the change, ....again, and again
For Craig Cornish's Contest: "Chopped II"
As my thoughts shrink my mind expands
Growing into the spaces between my words
The words of others
Refreshed within the pauses
Dancing inside possibilities
Filling in the blanks
Within time and space
Connecting the random with the infinite
Flowing through in whispers
Reflecting eternal promises
Stepping stones along elastic highways
Breaths yet to be exhaled
Here I grasp for inked pleasure
My resting place
along inspiration's highway
My moments of calibration
Hallways leading to ancient corridors
The place where all artist meet
Each space, appears the same
To those unable to see
They can't feel the symphony
Yet, we who live, within the spaces
A world expanded from the small
An opening within word walls
Rising to float, upon the breeze
They lift our mind with subtle ease
Come and join me please
I have space
I have room
Within my spaces
majestic he seems, staring down at me
with provocative, charcoal cavern eyes
challenging me to forge upward
massive boulders, slippery streams and fallen trees
arduous obstacles he puts before me
shall I take his dare
perhaps ascending a few steps closer
to cerulean heaven
reach out to touch the kaleidoscope rainbow
an arc above this complex journey’s struggle
or is communing with the universal consciousness
will I step, slip, stumble and fall
if I climb, seeking to prove myself
finding visions of self awareness
as he urges me on
only to wonder why I see nothing but myself
in a shroud of misty grey loneliness at the peak
far easier it would be
to lay my head upon the verdant meadow’s grassy pillow
content to admire him from afar
rather than challenge myself to win his approval
gratify my ambitious nature
what satisfaction will come
if I remain complacent in my life’s lackluster station
never growing, never knowing
what might have been
if I’d listened to his provocative voice
*Written July 30, 2014
around the corner...just!
light brilliant...trees freshly brushed...
a breeze meandering through the grass...
a baby blue sky, an occasional cloud shaped and reshaped,
...a waterfall roars like a lion...its spray soft as a lamb.
around the corner...Just
a lovers breath against my neck...a lover's lies,
an ego lift...a seat on that pedestal men dream of...
a bold kiss...an us in a crowd...a lazy summer day
outdoor chairs...an overhead fan, an open door
around the corner...Just,
rollerblades...a mountain bike, a jaunt in the park,
a movie house...a why not...an invigorate,
a swim in a freezing cold lake...
a restaurant night...an evening walk, a club...
dancing...karaoke...being a little wild...
so many images paint my mind...
...my thoughts march one by one
to want something so bad
to fear it at the same time
Just around the corner
I get back my life,
Around the corner
the loss of a life,
just around the corner...
yes I need to do that now,
yes I can wait longer yet...
responsible for her...
consumes the life I knew
the actors, the stage, the lights, the set, the techs,
a play, my life flow...directing stage.
Just around the corner my life waits for me
Just...! Around that same corner, death waits for her
Be careful what you wish for...
Around the corner...just around the corner
two tears wait for me
one joyous...one mournful
Around the corner I want to be
Around the corner wait for me
not yet, caring for my mother...still she lives,
I can wait,
I can wait...
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
Contest Name: Around the Corner ...
Sometimes, life has no reason unlike the seasons
It aimlessly drifts with the wind
We find ourselves in places of unfamiliar faces
Bathing in the shadows of sin
Our souls become lost up in the holocaust
That once was a beautiful life
Like a ship drifting upon the tide we bang and then we ride
The white horse straight into death
Into a giant black hole we dive in with our soul
Until we have nothing left
We then fall prey to our host who spreads butter on our toast
Our habits take over our lives
Everything we hold dear falls with one last tear
Into the darkness of night
Tired and defeated all our hope is depleted
Because we have nothing left to lose
Sometimes the storm passes as slow as molasses
Left frozen somewhere in the snow
Then our red eyes run dry with no tears left to cry
As we admit, I’d rather be dead
If you have a desire to live right, please take heed of my plight
And know that it’s never to late
Soon as you give it away find your knees and pray
You will find the comfort of home
And all of the disgrace will fall off of your face
Like the leaves that fall off the tree
And just like the bare tree soon you will see
Life is reborn in the spring
Like a warm days cool breeze, God fills us with his ease
And through him we find some peace
One day at time the trials all unwind
As the jigsaw falls into place
As everything gets better we become one with the weather
And the seasons suddenly become our friend
Our lives suddenly fly past, because we want to make them last
Like an ice-cream on a really hot day
We are overcome with the obligation to tell of our salvation
Remembering all of those left behind
Some will find their way, others all we can say
Is Lord, we truly did our best
Dear Lord we write for your glory, telling our stories
That we would rather keep hid on the shelf
Our desire is to aspire so we can rise ever higher
With the words that flow though our pen
Giving of ourselves becomes our greatest wealth
As our souls become one with the Son
No high could be higher than faith and desire
Knowing we have been born again
One day we will stand before the gates that shall open to our fate
As heaven welcomes us in
We will look down on this earth, spirits of a new birth
Watching over the seeds that we spread
Knowing their lives were made better, because we were able to weather
The storm that raged through night
Until the day I become shadows and dust I'll forever trust
The words that flow through my pen
She found herself
In the shards of who I am
The broken bits
The resurrection of yesterday's pauses
Was it the happy bits
The quiet contemplations
Or does she exist
Within the doubts
The abbreviated sentences
The opinions of her own imposters
Those who choose to see her with veiled perceptions
Is she who she wants to be
Or is she in a state of becoming
I try to see past my own limitations
I wade through my wheres
Trying to see where
Where she has been
Where is she now
Yes I wonder why
Why does she identify with me
I am left to ponder
Who is this woman
With sad happy eyes
Strong in a broken sorta way
Who visits me
On glowing paper
Graces me with kindness
Chooses to ponder herself
Within my spaces
I will seek her out
For she too
Sings her spirit
On pure white
Dedicated to Charmaine after she commented on my "I Am" poem.
Questions hang suspended like stalactites
Time, circumstance and elements contributing to its formation
(—then something else seeps in, pushing me to call it fate)
Questions that know not whether they should be voiced out and see light
...or remain hidden in caves, destined to be only heard
by the labyrinthine chambers of the heart
But yes, it is inevitable that these questions d
They drip, bit by bit, oozing with curiosity,
forming more queries, that turn into stalagmites—
Grounded questions to the suspended ones,
open-ended to the closed.
Sometimes meeting, creating columns,
melded complements of each other.
And then this makes me wonder—
When these questions meet,
do they ever find answers within themselves?
Will the truth ever be brave enough to come out of hiding?
This then makes me think of the words within souls,
how these souls are the questions, in search of answers.
...And of how your words, your thoughts, your feelings,
can drip into mine, feeding that inner glow
It then collects, forming this deluge,
flooring me as it creates a bond so powerful,
it seems to defy time and even reason.
A fascinating influx,
that makes me smile despite myself
Where sometimes I don’t know the beginning from the end—
where bliss swims freely there,
immersed in waves of laughter and ripples of tears.
This for me is the beauty of it all,
the search, the mystery...the discovery
That constant ebb and flow,
the give and take,
that push and pull
the flooding and trickling,
that hiding and seeking
Where one listens as the other speaks,
but ah, both feeding off each other—
hungry, thirsty, full, satiated yet craving for more.
It’s something akin to, but not quite to
how sunlight makes way for moon’s glow,
how thunder rolls after the lightning strikes,
coming hand in hand...yet both so defined.
Yes, the questions may still hang like stalactites,
and sometimes I do wonder if they will fall—
And if they do,
will they shatter,
piercing hearts as they do?
Or will their fates let them stay there,
melding with stalagmites,
standing the test of time,
June 17, 2012
Of being arrested
By the thought police
Their rules are many
Don't diverge from the normal
Stop playing on the street corner of tomorrow
Let sleeping dogs rest
Do not question
Do not burn on passionate bonfires
I watch as they ready their weapons
They display arresting warrants through clouded glass
Fifty shades of bland
Cuffs dangling from bulging belts
Bound in self rightous blunder
They wait outside my door
Screaming bull horns command me to exit my paper freedom
I am blinded by search lights, forced to use my third eye
Fearful of their uniformed presence
How long will they be held at bay?
I hold their preconceptions hostage
They cannot see beyond their script
Trained in the warfare of ignorance
They say "who are you, to question our authority?"
"I am the poet
The one who dreams beyond here and now
My words push through yesterday like a plow!
Yet I am gentle like the rain
Equal parts of pleasure and pain
A powerful detergent
I remove ancient stains
With my words I shake the ground
I will not be stopped by another's sound
Arrest me, yet you can't stop what I think
Within my mind I determine what I drink."
The thought police
Turn to another
The writings of our sisters and brothers
They wait, with cuffs in hand
Unable to understand
Who have joined hands
We take a stand
Inspired by Eileen Ghali's poem "The Hidden Woman"
Catie Lindsay's Heart of the matter contest.
Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.
Somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
Don't touch it. Don't say it. Don't do it. Don't doubt it. Don't think.
Somebody handcuffs my steps. Somebody determines my boundaries.
Before I fully understand free will, there is a slap on my head
and phosphenes like stars that command my orbit.
Before I can recognize differences, there is a slap on my hand
right hand, not left hand...never ambidextrous;
and time out is isolation without a trial...and I learn
the fear of wrongdoing
remote-controlling my existence,
conditional on demand, predesigned
An aborted freedom escaping into the sewer
trying not to get it on the seat
I'm the observer of other lives, not mine
tied up and chained, in captivity
attempting to prove an alibi
for being alive.
No one cares
not even myself
Somebody pulls on the rope to swing the bells
It's dirty. It's ugly. It's bad. It's poo. It's sin.
commitments, commandments... Commandments, Commitments
Sometimes deception makes them ring in a low tone. Sometimes
I do what they say, and not what they do, and not what I want, and not what I think.
Through fragments of this duplicity,
and this duplicity,
I would be able to rebuild myself,
and Myself, into another hypocritical being;
and the intentional perversion of the self proclaimed truth,
or the liar paradox,
will be sovereign
leading to the use of tricks and cotton swabs.
When the remorseless hours run counterclockwise,
I would be happy through imaginary experiences,
consistently believed to be true.
Would I dare to examine the society in which I've been educated and raised?
Would I dare rip my skin...my flesh off of my bones?
How could I blame them? How could I possibly judge them?
Order and obedience in confabulation...in conspiracy...in complicity
If somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
If I'm the only one guarding my own cell
If I'm the jailer, and the convict, and the crime.
You, who are so perfect in my eyes, so beautiful- adorable, and I, so flawed, ugly, damaged and crawling with defects; why do you enjoy my company?
You, who are so sleek and slender, humming with a quiet intellect and a serenity about you, and I, so grossly overweight and pretentiously boastful and nervous; how can you abide my company?
You, who are a paragon of patience, so understanding and self-assured, and I, so insanely impulsive, so myopic and brimming with self-doubt; how do you stand my company?
You, who are so sweet, so considerably kind, so thoughtful and generous, and I, so bitter, so selfish, so self-absorbed; why do you choose my company?
You, who are so self-composed, full of self-control, so sound and stable, and I, so very neurotic, so completely compulsive and verily volatile; how can you tolerate my company?
You, who are so diligent, so driven and ambitious, so achieving, and I, so lackadaisically lazy, so uninspired, so complacent; why do you settle for my company?
You, who are ethical, so moral, so very virtuous, and I, so corrupt, so unprincipled, so wholly wicked; how can you endure my company?
You, who are so normal, so well-adjusted, so conventional, and I, so maniacal, so unbalanced and irrational; why do you condone my company?
You, who are bubbling with charm, who loves unconditionally and is absolutely accepting, and I, boiling with rage, fueled by misanthropy and incredibly intolerant; how can you welcome my company?
That you love and accept me for who and what I am, is a treasure beyond measure. I cherish your company, but why you cherish mine is something I cannot fathom. All I know is that I love you, my dear, beloved friend.
**This was written for two very dear friends: Karen and Tommy :)
***I also love palindromes ;)
*****FREE VERSE OLD AND NEW ENTRY
Fluted hands angle on knees as glimpses
sort the knitted threads of a late afternoon
where gathering of blooms abide.
Almost friendless, a man inhabits his space
ready to inhale the waft of new dusk,
of how a world in his inner terrain mirrors
the ceremonials of a mindful passage
upon grasses and half-lit windows
outside the self.
And through a prayerful instance,
he connects with a god hushing the tempo
of sighs mixed with incense blowing, as if
to twirl in an air of breaths cleansing
the scabs of trespasses. Miles of babel words
turn into a different language: quite unknown
and understood only by him who finds
contentment in being unbound ,of gliding
above a haloed sky that reflects the movement
inside his awakened essence.
For the atonement of all misgivings,
he releases his pride in layers
of deep confession to pay for his karmic debt;
that in a warm communion with humility
he makes amends for life's consequences
as stillness becomes his friend.
Anthony Slausen's Karma
What powers held me in this tortured love
Shame and excitement danced around me
Grasped by the cunning illusions, deceiving
My void self image, coercing my
Vanities until I believed the insideous lies
You robbed my soul, knowing
Your presence was sealed with death's kiss
Tossing and turning in the night
I let you back in no matter the cost
Oh, and this is good -
I pretended not to be hostage to your
Cunning facade of empty promises
Even letting you linger in the presence
Of my most cherished posessions
As they also became sick in your stench
Finally, enough denial and nearly destroyed
Still strong enough to rid myself of you
I see you for what you really are, a drag
Killer of desire, coaxing many
Also blinded by your evil
In the last hours of whatever life I have left
And the coffin is near, I'll wonder
Why I let you hold me for so long
Still I wonder
Who I am
Am I who
Am I what
Am I where
Am I here
Yet I am not
My words travel beyond myself
I am made up of small and large
Sometimes broken discarded pieces
I am not
Who you think I am
I am one who lives between the spaces
Of those words you choose to describe me with
Through abbreviated sentences
Those moments I bored you with my existance
You were too busy being yourself
How could you ever know me
I am the one who can see
For I am a watcher
I am present in the silence
I am quiet
Do not confuse silence with weakness
I am who I choose to be
I am not a slave to the trivial
I am not one confined by convention
Those things I am supposed to strive for
They hold no allure for me
I am a free man
Free to think as I think
My thoughts remain my own
For your questions rarely greet my ears
When they do
I am willing
Yet you are unable to hear
For you think
You alone hold the answers
So I smile
For if nothing else
I am pleasant
I am polite
I am not thought of as bold
I am to you
Who you think I am
For a time
What I want to be
What is expected of me
What limits me
What I hope is good for me
I am selfish for generous reasons
I am willing to give lavishly
I am what and who I need to be
Today I am different than yesterday
Yet at my core
I am still me
I am where I've been placed
For the time I'm needed here
I am at the intersection of belonging and alone
I am temporary and eternal
I am living where angels fear to tread
For I am human
I am flawed
I am willfully questioning God
I am on the verge of disappearing
Only Jesus truly knows who I am
He knows where my thoughts travel
How I have used who I am
To coerece others
To see me
As different than I am
So I say
Here I am
Exposed to your elements
Willing to risk it all
Here and now
Will you look close
Ask me your questions
Reserve your judgement
I am meant to be
Here and now
For in knowing who I am
You can begin to discover
Who you are!
For Frank Herrera's " I Am" contest.
I cried the first time I listened to the words
whispered shouted snapping about
like flags in a brisk wind Words being shot
from open pink mouths in a staccato hail of bullets
slamming into my barriers Hairline cracks appearing
in my armor like spider webs meandering across
a bug splattered windshield
I cried even though I was not sure why
Who would have thought there was so much ammunition
being ratcheted from dry throats to be chambered
in mouths spewing forth in a fusillade of fire
So much raw emotion housed inside ordinary people
I found life
emotion feelings running rampant
bouncing off brick walls
echoing in my sluggish soul
wakening banked embers of a life
I remember this thing called poetry
it danced through the dreams of my youth
brought hesitantly to its feet when I read
Resume by Dorothy Parker
I dreamed that I could put words onto paper
and evoke emotion in another person
I dreamed and I played with the words
my new best friends and drank Orange Crush
spilling it on my early attempts
giving them the appearance of measles erupting
from the white parchment of youthful skin
But the words proved to be too much for me
too much me
Emotions I did not know I had locked inside me
Fear flowing unchecked in dark splotches
Sorrow ripping the page with blunt forceful strokes
of the pen I tried to use a pencil but the feelings
inside me were too strong to be erased so easily
Now the silence of my soul has been illuminated
by the sun the poets hold in their hands
I could have ignored soft moonlight ripples
across my mind but this sun snakes its way
into every crevice finding my imps and demons
standing mutely shadowed in gray
The homeless beggars on my street of lost memories
are rising up with pen in hand refusing
to be slapped into silent submission any longer
If we could peel back the blanket of earth
To expose the bones buried there
Mix them all up in a great big pile
To say they'd all look the same would be fair
The rich man, the poor, the blind and the weak
Each gender, religion and race
The short, the tall, the large and the small
And include every shape of the face
If we had to choose one bone at a time
Not knowing who's bones belonged to whom
To make ourselves over new again
I wonder how well we'd do
Not judging by color, size or shape
Or status of high IQ
The bones might fit together just fine
And stay together till the end of time
If only I can ask the world
To gather all the love
Each person has.
If only I can feel the love
Free of inhibitions in some extent
And share it with everyone.
If only I can be
With the love of yours
So that I can have my last wish.
If you permits me to live and die
Unconditionally with and without you
Oneness reflected indeed.
I am here but only briefly,
a believer in today, tomorrow
and ever after. I am a blustery wind
shaking the foundation and a gentle
breeze rustling the leaves.
I am an observer of the beautiful,
graceful, awkward and absurd,
feeling like a spy amongst
voices and visions, kinetic energy,
filling the spaces between footsteps
and the void between us.
I am an over thinker, one woman,
always wondering, waiting
for the rain on a sunny day.
I often remind myself:
I am not the center of this world or any other.
Still, I must find my place even when
circumstances change. I do not like change.
Like a sturdy oak, I am rooted and earthy,
but sometimes…I want to spread my wings
and land on a rugged mountaintop.
I am a rock star yearning to ramble
from city to city, finding solace
in a sea of faces. Oh, to just get lost in the
music and crowds would be sublime!
I am passionate on the inside,
reserved on the outside –
complex in all my contradictions -
a broken child with shattered dreams
yet I still find hope in each sunrise and
peace with each sunset.
I am always searching for more time,
just one stolen moment to take a deep breath.
I am forgiving and want to be forgiven.
I am a nurturing mother.
My sons are my reason to get out of bed
when I’d rather hideaway.
My sons are my joy (both scream
for me right now).
I am a juggler, trying to keep
all my balls in the air, and also
absentminded for obvious reasons.
I am a woman who loves to be loved –
complex in all my contradictions.
I am not that different than you.
We all just want to feel connected.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders for Frank Herrera’s I Am Contest, 11/5/14
The scurry and flurry of thoughts
so I seek comfort
in the ebb and flow...
I do not rush and dive in.
I let myself
easing myself carefully into
the saline calm
fingerlings of froth
licking my skin
Only my face,
save for my ears,
greet frigid air
All the rest of me
just wants to
It's not enough
to mute everything
I take that deep breath
and sink myself
The weight of the waves
bearing down on me
to the unruffled depths
I crave for breath
I welcome the cool liquid.
drinking me in
I wallow in it
as it swallows me in
I find out
That all along,
I was inside
March 18, 2012
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtpPcmLKRFU Dancing Bird
Yesterday, I saw a shadow dart across my keyboard.
When I turned to look outside the window,
I spied upon a sparrow playing in the sun.
He was dancing in dramatic fashion
Across the shrubbery that was his home.
I could tell it was a male by his markings.
He was busy with his boasting, and proud.
No longer a fledge, he fluffed his feathers
To parade his prowess to all that might adore him.
Then, he pivoted into a pirouette, and pranced
Most skillfully across the length of a branch
And launched himself into flight.
Today, the sounds of birds cackling and chirping
Inside the shrubbery drew me to the window.
I could see three sparrows engaging in some fun and frolic.
Perhaps it was some flirtatious mating ceremony.
While most sparrows do look alike,
I’m sure that one of them was the dancing bird
I’d seen the day before. I watched briefly and smiled,
Remembering my own courtship and rivals
Who would fancy my choice as their own.
I returned to the monitor and before I could begin
My work, there was a loud thud upon the glass.
I gazed outside and there upon the ground was a small hawk
Clutching the dancer in his talons.
Tomorrow, this bird will not dance.
He will not sing or court another.
And as sparrows are many,
I will no doubt find another to enjoy from this vantage.
I chide myself for failing to warn him of the danger.
I was too busy with my own enjoyment to notice.
Now, I close my eyes and reconstruct those moments
As I attempt to resurrect the dancing bird,
And preserve him....forever.