I have carried many versions of myself. One spoke softly because he feared being heard. Another laughed too loudly because he feared being forgotten. There was one who belonged to a village road, another to a crowded city bus, another to an airport departure gate illuminated at three in the morning.
Each believed he was the final version.
Each was mistaken.
The truth is that identity behaves less like a monument and more like a river. It collects tributaries. It accepts rain. It changes shape without surrendering its name.
I no longer ask where I belong.
Instead, I ask what I can carry forward.
A kindness learned from one place. A lesson learned from another. A memory from each.
And so I travel lightly, not because I possess little, but because I have discovered that home is not a location stamped into a passport.
It is what remains when every border has been crossed.
I lay down
the framework
of free verse
and a continuing
relationship
Rule one is set in granite:
dance like you are on fire
through the uncut lawn
of my forgotten backyard
and revel in your tripping
over the weeds and dandelions
Rule two is simpler:
laugh unfiltered;
no one special is listening,
after all
Rule three:
this isn't poetry,
this isn't a diary,
this isn't Druidism,
nor transcendentalism,
and my watercolor runs
its muddied rivers of mistakes
in truer tributaries
Be awake! Peter Pan
my flying dream,
my boy never stopped wishing
that the best is yet ahead!
.
mhmm
'tiz where mine
spillz 'pon slip
and
all thuh rest
wow'n mine
Yahweh's Bucolic
yet hern pretty
insists
'we trek that'
9hundred foot
hill
and mine duze
And back
such thuh wet
such thuh rise
such thuh spill'd
I canvas past thoughts
Audit each scattered experience
Life hacks spoken in full seriousness
Over dessert friendly nights
A 1v1 debate goes unsung
As I limp into the arena
Circling the same old argument
Before closing the door
To my small apartment
College tries and French fries
Off track on a non-traditional path
A shout rushing out of my mouth
Hear me out
Let synergy find its route
Tributaries wander unmarried
Lake effect snow drifts
Tumultuous winds blow
Across this desolate land
Yet it rests somehow
In the palm of my hand
Verbal
irrigation
streams
that rush and flow
Tributaries
far and wide
messages
in tow
Watering
the wasteland
Arid lulls
retreat
Freeing what
the silence hides
and reticence
— defeats
(Dreamsleep: April, 2025)
"Forget injuries, never forget kindnesses"
- Confucius
With the flowing stream of my being, tributaries join
Chrystal clear or coal like black, I embrace them all gladly.
Each atom of my existence has been the widow's coin.
I spent not in richness but to give my mite joyfully.
I carry each flower that falls. Do I leave any leaf?
An ant or an elephant—every one I reach their shore
Single-mindedness in joining the sea is my belief.
Unity in diversity is the faith of my core.
Amidst threatening birds and beasts, are the jungles frightened?
Has the universe, for the sake of strange stars, stopped its course?
How many blossoms adorn each little temple garland?
Shouldn't I, ultimately, go to my primary source?
I flow on, amalgamating within me one and all.
I do not know, lo, who on earth is great and who is small.
I love love!
I love how its boundaries are limitless.
I love how it always has more lessons to teach.
I love that no matter how much we love…
inside our hearts…there is always more love within reach.
I like to imagine there is this river of love flowing through us
carrying love on the grandest scale.
ready to ferry us wherever our love takes us…
waiting for us to set sail.
This river has endless tributaries…
infinite branches that never end’
carrying us to everyone and everything on Earth
beginning with our family and friends.
But its rivulets also extend to food and drink…
to books and movies
to music and dance and art…
It’s amazing when you think about it…
how much love is in our heart.
Since this river is never ending…
up ahead we’ll find new channels and creeks and streams.
We’ll meet new people and places and things to love
fueled by our hopes and our wishes and dreams.
Our boat is moored down by the river…
On it…everything we need to survive is stored….
riding our river of love is easy…
all you have to do…is climb aboard.
Close up, the lines appeared as a road map
for those seeking a route to their destination.
Igneous paths cut into the Earth's surface,
worn by centuries of wind, rain and asphalt.
Or meandering streams that are tributaries
to rivers searching for a means of escape
from levied boundaries into an open sea.
Observations of an analytical imagination.
Beneath the powerful lens of a microscope,
magnification indicated no vehicles traversing,
nor currents flowing within estuary banks.
Only striations archeologists find fascinating.
Smile, O spring, smile, upon crimson arc of morning
Grinning through willows filtering golden sunbeams,
Sparkling from eyes of dew, glinting realms pristine,
Reveling through prairies, giggling tenor of streams,
Glistening core of purple-iris, soul of flaxen-pansies.
Waltz, O spring, waltz, shimmying blushing peonies,
Meandering with butterflies chasing nectar carefree,
Bouncing moods of bees from tree to flowering tree,
Elated strumming rhythms fluttering woody-foothills,
Grooving with meadows, humming lyrics of winds.
Sail, O spring, sail, rowing glee of seas-undulating,
Buoyant on spirits rushing from rivers, tributaries,
Traversing through terrains, once frigid, decaying,
Zealous now to venture, to rollicking side of being,
Surfing waves questing summer of sandy beaches.
Dream, O spring, dream, of mythical northern lights,
Glimpsed from garden of sumptuous white gardenias,
Through womb of dawn, hued in lavender of lilacs,
Preening beauty of flora, scintillating dawning aura,
As yonder of skies shimmers motifs of green aurora.
For years, I never realized that poetry could
be so vibrant and filled with so much life.
Like the Amazon, or the Mississippi, or
the Nile, poetry ever flows from a mighty
source, and like a river accepting many
tributaries, she provides life and
restoration to everything in her path.
Poetry. If she is in you, let her flow.
060523PS
“and the birds twitter like whispering violins”
Quote by – Constance La France
Whiffs of fragrant breeze propagate tranquility
Kissing delicate roses, blushing amber beauty,
Rustling leaves of willows, as if tenor of music,
Swaying blades of grass shimmying moods of winds,
Sounding lyrics esoteric echoing voice of spring;
Humming softly to rhythms of dancing daffodils,
Quivering golden rays peeking through trees,
Burbling on rivers, rippling giggling tributaries,
Fluttering in glee, whispering to sunlit prairies,
Swinging tender revelry lilting in shadows,
Thrilling meadows budding through wintry throes,
Reviving weary realms, thriving withered knolls;
Grinning from mountains, atop lush valleys,
From shores of Pacific to shores of Atlantic,
Through the mighty Rockies, across Great Plains,
Lyrical, jubilant, exuding aura of happiness,
Enchanted by sweet ballad of robins’ daydreams
Strumming melodies of mellifluous spring.
May 16, 2023
Placed 2nd: Writing Challenge A quotes – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Placed 8th: Brian Strand Premier Contest
Life is for the living
giving it our best
and sometimes less is
better: a mouthful, a
tree not fell, an extra
wife/husband
but hearts should give
their all, never doubting
tributaries of love
though often ponds on earth
are oceans up above
In retrospect you can never
make sense as to why it happens.
A minute late sets a sequence loose
towards some catastrophic event,
or if you miss a step taken to complete
a simple task, you'll begin
to fall apart. So much
seems to pivot on the perfect
execution of such trite things.
Nothing is exempt.
And then there is the countless
tributaries drawn to represent
each critical point along
the course of a single life,
or worse, the universe with its
almost infinite intersects of chance
webbed across time and space
back to its beginning. All appear
to be intricately linked, wired
into the locked rulebook
of a sinister, cosmic game.
Such thoughts overwhelm
and paralyze the brain.
Each movement made,
each calibrated ritual
bring into question just what's
at stake, what harm will be
unleashed if you get it wrong.
This is replayed again
and again as if to multiply the sum.
In the prison
of your regimented days,
you keep counting minutiae
and the spinning chamber
of an imaginary gun.
You just want a reset to zero.
Ancient river, passing song
always here forever gone
rippled by flirtatious winds
disappearing round its bends.
Crooked fingers drawing lines
tributaries, twisted tines
counting coup on drum roll stones
ancient rivers heading home.
John G. Lawless
©7/6/2022
Nestling in my realm, as you host a daydream,
Reveling in breeze of my splendor evergreen,
I welcome you to my domain of rhythmic trills
Where roam the blue jays, robins, and crossbills
Feeding on berries, frolicking with hatchlings,
Singing gaily, serenading benevolent sanctuary
Amid bears’ huff, growl, and foxes’ feral-howl
Sheltered amicably from dry heat and rainfall;
Where trees reduce pollution, boost air quality,
Emit oxygen you breathe, by photosynthesis,
Bear flowers, fruits, nurturing your well-being
Temper climate cheerily, swaying with winds,
Hold soil in place, reducing runoff to streams
Protecting elixir of life in rivers and tributaries;
While you find balance in sanctity and peace,
Enlightened by whispers rustling in harmony,
That warn of deforestation ruining ecosystem,
And callousness that torches wildlife and trees;
Yet, I rise from ashes sprouting earth’s tranquility
For I am the forest of goodwill and sublimity,
Adorning every season, standing for you firmly,
Hosting you as you rejoice in salutary daydream.
May 22, 2022
Poem of the day on May 24, 2022
Placed 1st: Wisdom From Trees Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
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