Best Reconnection Poems
You take me back in time
to a boy I used to know
and nothing has changed
Nights like these
make me realize what I miss
All of my best friends
A few of many
that make everything feel right again
and how they changed my life
So am I on a mission for reconnection?
It's worth a try
a songbird beloved who moves with intention
will find themselves in times of trouble
mother mary on their bustier—
a sight for those with the privilege to see.
stands on a paddleboard oaring towards me.
embodies a world full of pain in their bones
and their muscles and mind—
the will of some force that’s beyond understanding
waiting for a note to attune to and decides
while they wait they will sing anyway;
it helps them to be.
i hope you never stop singing, my sweet bumblebee.
i enter the conversation with gentle movements
loving sweet nothings sweet somethings substantial
i love them i love them so radiant gentle
no one could deserve them as they sing determinedly.
we sit on the dock by the lake and share stories and
secrets and heartwants and troubles
and worries and stressors and loves
from the six years or three years or
too many seconds since we last communed with the
spirits of nature or aliens telling us
to save the planet and stop making bombs can’t we
all love each other we hold hands and
cry when we need to and lie on the ground and do
stretches and quietly sing and make tea.
we have faith the ginger and turmeric lemon and leaves will help
soothe the hum in the background of long covid—the chronic
experience—life in and out of high levels of pain
we’ve adjusted to, sleeping and stretching
a cascade of moves through the hours to assuage the
pain we express and choose not to repress
we decenter we manage we bargain with, converse with—
that we embody.
we choose to live life melodiously.
A year ago I couldn’t bear to see your face
Now I wait to pick you up from your place
Take you to dinner and smile the whole time
As if neither of us committed our crime
I sit and think of all the times we shared
it makes me feel warm knowing you cared
A laugh that makes butterflies fly inside
We sit and hold hands going for a ride
The way you smell, laugh, and even breathe
Sets everything in my world at perfect ease
I feel everything for you I did back then
I know now how bad I want you again
I cherish everything you are now and in memories
impossible to think recently we were enemies
So I extend this second chance
in hopes our hearts again will dance
like Icarus choking on his wing’s wax
Phoenix too laden with ashes to rise
Sisyphus stoned by rock bottom
an Angel suffocating on its halo
the witch seeks to be a Fairy Queen
assembles the mirror of Self and
seeks solace in prayer and meditation
one cannot give what has not been received
Janus will have to gather a third face for the present
looking backward and forward does not suffice
to overcome the deluded nature of an illusion
the only permanent matter is impermanence
either one honestly grasps nascent reality
or corporeality strangles immanent awakening
the Buddha can transcend without fig tree or rice bowl
not every robe has to shine in bright orange
and yet a rainbow needs sunshine as well as dark clouds
tantra means woven together and providence
patchwork for the mosaic and tapestry of life
no more threadbare rags nor shards of broken magic
in wonder and marvel lie imagination and miracles
wisdom is knowing what can and cannot be changed
humility and serenity require arduous work
to achieve some degree of spiritual connection
Rekindled, our bond,
Years lost, now paths interlace,
Laughter blooms anew,
Memories, like stars, align,
Warmth in the cold space between.
In dust-laden silence, past the reach of day,
The mansion's library whispered of forgotten tales,
Its heartbeat echoed in the books arrayed.
Time's soft touch graced each spine and page,
Among them, Dickens stood with solemn grace,
Austen's wit lingered, untouched by age.
Balzac's illusions, faded, not effaced,
Eliot's Floss, its flow stilled in place,
Whitman’s grass, in tranquil state embraced.
Whitaker's knowledge, a temporal space,
Housed where the light through curtain's veil,
Spoke volumes of a world so interlaced.
The round table, center of this literary grail,
Vase barren of bloom, yet filled with long-gone blooms,
Oxford's rust, a testament to detail.
The Davenport, proud despite its failing,
A chair's broken leg, strength still prevailing,
In the corner, history's desk, inviting, waiting.
The hearth, with ash of fires long quelled,
Storied reminders of warmth once felt,
Stone and log, in quiet remembrance dwelled.
Adventures found in the stillness of decay,
An exploration of souls in silent ballet,
An inexplicable reunion with an unknown yesterday.
Here, in this grand sepulcher of intellect,
A young explorer's heart would intersect
With times gone, yet alive, in dust-specked respect.
Reconnection
I want to be part of nature.
I want my flesh to turn into a tree.
I want the fresh oxygen to flow into my lungs.
I want to grow out of my fingers and toes.
I want my only scars to be from last year’s leaves.
I want to change from bright hues to calm tones
To symbolize when it is time for me to rest.
I want to carry sweet sugars through my veins
Instead of my poisonous blood that hates itself.
I want to be able to cut myself in half
And instead of people being scared
They see my history displayed in rings of many sizes.
I want the wind to move me.
To shake my roots.
To tickle my branches.
To scratch my bark.
I want people to use me as a canvas
And etch their lovers into my skin.
I want to stand tall with my siblings, parents, and children nearby.
Only as far as my longest branch can drop a seed.
I want to give all who pass, my nutrients.
Fruit, sweet with nectar.
I want to only have responsibility to stand still
And go dormant when the breeze chills.
I need to be part of nature.
But being nature brings death.
Poison in my roots.
Smog in my leaves.
Fire up my trunk.
Until all that is left is my stump.
A remnant of my height.
I want to be part of nature.
I want my flesh to burn like a tree.
I want poisoned oxygen to fill my lungs.
I want to grow.
I want my only scars to be from metal axes.
I want to change from bright hues to rotten leaves
To symbolize my final rest.
For my rest is coming soon.
As it is for my siblings, parents, and children,
Only as far as my longest branch can reach.