|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
I don't
So you won't
I don't
Get me
I don't
So you won't
Understand me
It sounds unfair
Just wait
You'll see
You won't,
You can't
Understand me
I don't
So you won't
I don't
See me,
Nor will you truly
Get me
But I won't let you because I can't let me.
How can one see if they don't understand what there is to behold?
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
From an old live action memory, we first start to see your vibrant spirit
Rambunctious, exuberant and decided; RED
Breathtaking, beautiful eyes from the genes of a father
Like the baby blue shallows of the ocean
Past the calm, lies crashing waves of wild energy, and an irrepressible excitement for life, through the endless experiments it offers
An unwavering flame of determination and strength
Shining from the inside out, a love of sequined shirts and blinding sparkly silver hats
Reaching for the stars with a dream to be an electrical engineer
Small in stature but equipped with the roar of a thousand lions,
She’ll change the world
Tough, tireless, tenderhearted tendencies
Strength of character, amid affliction, and despite the odds
Creativity, unimaginably limitless like the vastness of space
Crafted concoctions of sweet smelling, pink strawberry delight
Our fiery carrot top, she’ll change the world.
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
Is there room to care for the penultimate?
Can't decide if the space can satisfy two collard greens.
One oblivious cabbage... one who has desperately tried to expand the space, to save the others, who understands bobbing in the excluded oceans surrounding the islands of Oceania.
3, 68, 229, 345, 600, 892... not... quite...there, a goal, a dying wish, origami.
No heart, soiled by the fitted bubble of the inconsequential, Cetaphil.
Can't see past the blemishes, what about the cabbage losing leaves, poisoned, vomiting, now there are no leaves, vulnerability.
Don't worry, the spaces are occupied by vulnerability.
No room for judgement, or thoughts of the penultimate.
Even on the bottom, there is always something lower, trying to climb up on bubbles of Cetaphil.
A struggle, its true, but we can develop ours, at least we started with one, unlike collard greens.
The intricate folds, and beautiful paper, not always recognizable, not always attainable, origami.
Not everyone sees it but its there, hidden, but known like the islands of Oceania.
Not everything is complete. Not everything is as dependable as the vastness of Oceania,
There are fissures and cracks in more than just sidewalks, the weathering of these cracks lie in years, peoples vulnerability.
Red hot, blue... no black as the depths, bitter jealousy, the man behind the handcrafted heart mask, origami.
Second to last, started first, how is that? Penultimate.
Shes kind. A cabbage with something else to give, the other had so many more leaves of memory, but the man sought a different collard.
We long for the beginning, when things were beautiful, filled with patience because of the newness. Can't love persist through the weathered face, seemingly in need of Cetaphil?
Positive they say, it can be good for you, they claim, cleansing like Cetaphil.
No, not really, more like an unexpected attack from the depths of Oceania.
Avoidable they counter, get out of the self inflicted ocean, stop bobbing, break the cycle of the idle collards.
Impossible, can't escape, human vulnerability...
You'll regret it, they say, you'll be the penultimate.
That's okay. Life's hard, we've already fallen apart, like wet paper, origami.
Hold on, with time comes patience for the fragile paper projects that seem to fill our portfolio... weathered origami.
The collection of dreams grow impatient, longing to be polished and beautiful, the mind failing in its obligation as Cetaphil.
Longing to shatter the sky, to pass through its broken remains and soar with whatever lies outside its vast, restrictive blueness. Flying... to high above to be categorized as the penultimate,
Into the space opened by the shattered sky, the ocean of the earth we longed to escape, now pales in insignificance to the depths of life beyond the sky, beyond the misnomer of Oceania.
But how long will the waves continue to capsize? How long will the mind stand to be weathered by vulnerability?
Its up to the owner of the mind, we possess a heart and the drive, unlike collards.
Outside the bubble there are other collard greens,
Outside there is rain and sun, good and bad, failures and success like the breathtakingly intricate crane or the misshapen simple boats of life... origami,
Outside the bubble there are lives to be mended, if sights will be set past self vulnerability,
Outside there are others to be noticed, others who understand the irritating need and constant use of Cetaphil,
Outside our bubble, there is life worth living, vast possibilities and wide expanses of unexplored dreams, be brave, sail the seas of Oceania.
But first, acknowledge the bubbles which bind us, only then will there be room to care for the penultimate.
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
The heart expects promise
Disappointment awaits the frail
The mind forgets
Born to learn love, quick to forget that others feel the same
Internal battles, unseen desires wishing to be unveiled
The heart expects promise
Childlike envisioning of a possible flame
In another world that prevails
The mind forgets
Unnoticed help, unfixed blame
Friends, friends, friendship run off the rails
The heart expects promise
Unanswered, awaited, sought after, misnamed
No one listens to the dreams of the young
The mind forgets
Who remembers my name
You, her, over there, pale
The heart expects promise
The mind forgets
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
Allow me to dream, please?
BFF’s…? No. Oh ok, I'm sorry I asked again,
Can’t we just… NO, oh ok..ok, but you said someday when I found someone else, you said so… NO... you did though, hey no yelling, you promised you would stop yelling at me...
Don't you remember? They tell me to accept you, but I’m not sure they see how you treat me.
Eventually… that’s funny, be patient, ha, love her, haha thats impossible,
find her potential, see her strengths, focus on the positive,
glory in her successes and
hide how she really makes you feel, ...wait what? Shh, find someone she says, but there's no one, you’re not trying.
I keep telling you I am and that's the problem! Why can’t our friendship be good enough,why...
just keep looking… we are not enough...i know... ok I’ll
Keep looking, but it hurts and you don't seem to care, it hurts
like fire, scorching hope after dream after hope.
Midnight, past one, it’s 2:28 in the morning, let me sleep! Please,
NO, we are not enough, fill the void that Your burning heart has left in our chest,
open your mouth and try, but they don’t see!
Please listen to me…,
it hurts every time they look through me, every time they look over me, everytime they assume;
quit trying to tape something that needs to be healed.
Please
realize that we must
see, and then they might...ok,
Try it, but it won’t work. Give me the key, I’ll
unlock the positive, happy, optimistic thoughts you keep from me, and then we’ll see.
Verging on the unknown, the untried territory of you believing in me,
Why did I believe that our
X-rays showed a mistake when they show a miracle? All these years, for so long,
you hurt me, with crippling words, NO more. I am leaving your circle, your
zone of hate, but I forgive you, please… accept the new me.
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
I am from modest trailer park play
From dandelion picking in the neighbors field of yellow weeds, to building snow caves in the yard
I am from a short drive to Grandma's’ house,
A place of domino games and shortbread cookie making
I am from long nights of monopoly and
tears shed
Over the loss of yet another game to an elder sibling.
I’m from a change of heart,
Two fell in love and one found the other’s source of peace and truth
I’m from calm, serious personalities,
and the outgoing, energetic opposites
from “I call shotgun!” and “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
I’m from the yearly viewing of It’s a Wonderful Life
And watching tears flow down the cheeks of a strong Father, as the end credits start to play,
From coming to understand the importance of your impact on the people around you.
I’m from a love of nature and genetic food expertise
Shaped by outdoor adventures, and a seemingly inherited trait of mad baking skills
From enjoying steaming hot chocolate in grandpa's tiny camper,
To canning in the midst of generations of knowledgeable hands.
My church, my town, my family and my scars
A tiny town which will always be home, a base of unquestionable love through the fear of surgery
From the belief of a seed, to the revealed knowledge of a stalwart tree.
I am from those precious moments of everyday life, faith, support and conquered fear
And this is merely the beginning.
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
You're on a boat
Far
Away
Past the water flowing beneath, and its constant companion, the grandeur of the surrounding canyon
Past the beautiful lands, towns, warmth and
People
Past the vastness of both star and ocean, home and way of life.
They say,
Distance makes the heart grow fonder
I disagree.
Far
Away
Past remembrance of a moment and the capacity of the mind
The mind forgets...
Past the ability of human connection sparked through the power of a smile
Far
Away
Distance makes the heart grow stronger, they say
How is that so when there will be no way or time for it to grow?
Stuck, kept, to hold only the snow
Not enough time...
I wish to understand, to know who you are, to grow a connection through the spark of our smiles and laughter, to...
But you're on a boat
Far.
Far.
Away...
3/20/19
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
Rain,
Partial transcendence though a small sliver of heaven on earth.
Condensed droplets of dew,
Crystal gold, diamond refraction.
Needs no help, accomplishes purity by merely being,
Transcends touch,
Refreshing rivers rush over red eyes,
purity melds with the impure offering as rain spills in, pools, and tries to barricade, to engulf the openings in a bubble of condensed drops, to muffle the shrill words flowing from the adjacent opening,
block out the noise, the screeching metal on metal, voice on voice against glass eardrums and a weathered heart...
The pure proceeds along its fall, down the hanging, lifeless strands and drip... no longer gracing us with its connection, its rivers run on, off to greater depths, drip... past the melancholy
Where hands cant stretch, where hands cant see, where hands cant reach what they cannot destroy
Realizing our place, hovering on borrowed bunches of feathers, yet unearned, above and below the dewdrops of heaven
A luminescent army showers the undeserving with their warriors,
Into the ultimate collection of knickknacks, jump through a mind,
Peer into the cavern at her center,
They watch, and wait through her eyes...
Complete transcendence...
Mended gateways to the soul emit sparks of crystal gold light,
A rare crescent moon tugs at the opening emitting nothing but breath and an unearthly noise,
by the soft touch of healing drops...
Responses of unhindered impulse,
Feel the bubbling, benevolent sensations bursting out in sweet melodies
The drops flung in every direction, tendrils of absorption bracing for the impact as her limbs spin, listening to the pull of her internal orchestra
Healed, held, harmonizing with the dewdrops from heaven
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
Replay the conversation...take a walk
and keep walking,
Down the street, past the silence signs,
Up a couple of mountains, farther away until there are no more rivers to be shed.
Into a valley where the sunrise sheds light on understanding and compromise, to a place where light Emanates from the words, "I'm sorry..." and "I didn't mean it..."
To a place of shared excitement, to a place where the hike you accomplished is enough.
Just keep walking until you find a trail that leads to what you meant to say,
Not what was said.
Maybe one day... the walk won't have to be so long.
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Kyla Bressler Poem
I wish I were a mind reader,
A mind reader of the heart,
To see into its complex caverns
I wish I were a heart reader,
A heart reader able to understand,
Able to see past the outside portrayal of the mind and into what's behind the cordial smile
To see what they really think,
What they don't say,
To protect myself...
I wish I were a mind reader...
A mind reader of the heart,
To keep myself from jumping for a nonexistent rope
To be a heart reader...
To know when you're not wanted
To know when not to attempt the climb
To know when not to commit to hope, of something unattainable,
To let go before you hold on,
To save my fragile heart...
I wish I were a mind reader,
I could protect myself,
I could save my fragile heart from the pain cultivated through the possibility, and not knowing
To be a heart reader,
One step ahead.
Avoiding that indescribable feeling of a heart set on something it can't have...
Something it doesn't really understand,
because I'm not a mind reader,
Nor am I a mind reader of the heart...
Copyright © Kyla Bressler | Year Posted 2019
|
|