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Heidi Coon Poem
In the wink the suns rays turn black to silver
In molten precision
He leaps; hopping
A mystic dance around his meal
Cloaked in glistening pitch
The whisper of each immaculate feather
brushing against the others
No more a flawless symphony could nature compose
than the sounds of a raven, being
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2019
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Heidi Coon Poem
Long ago, before she was ever hunted by the beast,
She had only drank from the cool river of freedom.
One fateful day it happened; she was caught
unaware. Her body, suddenly foreign, to move was a struggle.
The harsh truth, lesions, white, many, & irreparable.
Multiple sclerosis. Many losses, her heart was shattered in sorrow.
Her mind, now pregnant, birthed new sorrow.
She felt herself collapsing beneath the weight of the beast.
She no longer knew who she was. She was broken, irreparable.
Drowning in a tumultuous salty sea, she forgot the taste of freedom.
There wasn’t a single second, of a single day that she did not struggle.
In woeful fugue, she set snares for herself, long after she’d been caught.
Her once fluid thoughts, now marred and muddied having been caught.
Perpetual physical lockdown had swelled an ocean of sorrow.
I became unclear to her if it was even worth the struggle
Held by the omnipresent weight, and the unrelenting grip of the beast.
Had she not had a taste for it, she wondered, would she even crave freedom
Who she once was, was she still there, or was the damage irreparable.
Pessimist by nature, she felt this chronic was irreparable.
She blamed herself, a guilt-trap set SNAP again she was caught.
She hated that she felt helpless, she lamented her freedom.
Down she sunk until she could not breath, suffocating sorrow.
You thief of everything, you scarring, numbing, painful BEAST
She cried, she screamed but she never gave up though she ceased to struggle.
It was a futile endeavor to waste her precious energy to struggle.
Her clarity, her emotional health, those were not irreparable.
It occurred to her, while deep inside, to explore the belly of the beast.
She happened upon elusive pieces of herself that hadn’t been caught,
One by one, laboriously she freed them from beneath thickened sorrow
The bits of herself, now back in place, she inhaled deep fragrant freedom.
Her new self, while not her old self, was a self freed from struggle.
She wove thick ropes to climb across bridges she once thought were irreparable.
A testament to her strength as she stared, unwaveringly at the beast,
She defiantly held her middle finger up, refusing to be caught,
In the doldrums of such a weakened state of sorrow.
The taste, imprinted in her mind, she could now replicate freedom.
A state of mind, freedom is never lost or irreparable.
If a snare is set, and you struggle wildly when you’re caught,
Always remember to never forget sorrow is sustenance to the voracious beast.
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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Heidi Coon Poem
Possessed of grace
You delight & enchant
Awe-inspiring
Elephant
with your elegance
supreme sentient
For you, we hymn & marvel
at your superior intelligence
Yet, it is evident
& in direct reference
to our negligence
Our decadence
sets precedence
Our dollars fund your terrorists
Exploited elephant
beast of burden, bated
Your magnificence
Your splendor
…attenuated
Tourist degenerates
…terror
…torment
All for our arrogance
& irreverence
Our all encompassing wretchedness
To hold captive such gloriousness
To enslave your majesty
your excellence
Your nobility stolen by our hideousness
Lament
The elephant
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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Heidi Coon Poem
A mountain formed deep inside of my soul
The summit, high, cradles my heavy heart
Deep crevices of beauty in my mind
It is darkness that shows light in my mind
Thunder crackles, echoing through my soul
The storm pours heavily, soaking my heart
The rain ebbs, and sunshine warms up my heart
Brightness now conceals shadows in my mind
A golden warmth shines, calming my soul
Mountain, my soul and heart at peace with my mind
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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Heidi Coon Poem
She whispers, ‘just breathe’
The only way out, is through
Should you fall beneath
Truth laid bare for you
The only way out is through
Weighted pain pulls you under
Truth laid bare for you
Ire turned surrender
Weighted pain pulls you under
The solace of nothingness
Ire turned surrender
Lungs filled with emptiness
The solace of nothingness
How easy to just let go
Lungs filled with emptiness
No grievance toward the throe
Your pain, your grief, your sorrow
Should you fall beneath
Today renders tomorrow
She whispers, ‘just breathe’
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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Heidi Coon Poem
Something had to give
Or, it was going to break
…shatter
…explode into fragments so sharp they could sever gravity
The machine had been running on vapors for far too long
Nothing oiled
Nothing lubed
Everything got too hot too quickly
Everything groaned, screeched, & whined as it threatened to seize
Irreparable
Each piece, to the tiniest, was twisted, and skewed six ways from Sunday
It was so many things…
The one thing it wasn’t….
It wasn’t good
So far removed from good that it was miserable
A junk pile of outdated parts
A wretched heap of uselessness
The rub?
…it wasn’t always in such disrepair
When it was in its prime, it ran like a syrupy dream
A dream that promised an eternity
Absolute
Always
Now, that dream was pregnant with sorrow, & about to birth a bitter end
It promised nothing more
The tank long emptied
It promised nothing more than
The lengthy, messy, harrowing task of dismantling the machine
Piece by piece
Each stamped with painful memory
…a reminder of what it used to be.
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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Heidi Coon Poem
Because you craved a diminutive dream
For what was so seemingly extraordinary
Especially for you
You awarded it with a false ideal of
Forever
And, you now know that forever isn’t any more true
For a rock, or an ocean, or, you
Especially, you
[when change comes, breathing new life, beautiful estuaries replace barren slopes]
Yet, deep inside the comforts of static
You held a glimmer of hope in your hands
A glimmer that turned into a sun
Which burned too hot to touch
Scalding
You had to let it go
But that sun didn’t generate its own energy,
It didn’t burn from within its core
And that, especially for you,
Is why it now no longer shines
Forever is too long for anything
Especially, for you
Be the sky, not the mountain
Be everything, not one thing
Be all encompassing, not fixed
All of the times you have been afraid of floating
...of movement
...of change
Now know, this is where you belong
This is where Fire can burn brighter than any sun
Especially for you
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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Heidi Coon Poem
She was having a certain level of difficulty discerning the exact moment it had started. She knew it started somewhere…everything else did. Maybe it had been during the summer that she could not smile. Not even if she had wanted to. Everyone smiles every now and then- she didn’t…not for a year. If she had, I think her face would have cracked like a hunk of dried clay turned brittle. Heavy & cumbersome- it fit her well in her perdition.
Clay hell.
It wouldn’t even be a blessing in disguise as I might have hoped for had I cared enough. No. It would just have broken apart and revealed nothing. Who builds clay masks for faceless people?
I think she did that summer.
Part of the reason she could not pin point when it started was this: she could not keep track of days.
Her days were like water and they blended into one another the way that fluids do.
She had no land mass chunks of her life she could use to coordinate her position.
Her Tuesday was the same as her Saturday and she was reliant upon the weather to separate the days.
If she looked outside in the morning and bits of snow were falling from the sky she knew that it was winter and that it was snowing. On Saturday she would remember it snowed.
She always drove me nuts with her superfluous moods. She had told me once that she felt like a piece of lint floating, and that you can only notice it when it passed through rays of sunshine from a window.
But I knew she wasn’t weightless. No. She was this densely weighted thing that just was sort of there. She couldn’t have been anymore there unless she gave birth to herself…over & over for infinity.
During one of her flinty moods, she kept bringing things in and leaving them there. I couldn’t tell you why, as it wasn’t really like her. Still, when she was in this mood, she would. I guess I just assumed she was trying to fill all of this empty space up.
Maybe she felt empty? Anyway, it rubbed me raw. It has become my life mission to make this piece of moody lint happy. Even if she never smiles.
She painted & she said that it made her happy. This isn’t what she told me, not to my face anyway, because I rarely looked at her. I wanted to wring her neck when I did, so I avoided it. I saw her paintings and saw how she filled all of the space. She would apply a lot of paint to the brushes & spread it this way and that over the canvas. She painted over painted canvases. I think she does it to build up a thick crust of paint. A buffer zone. Something to protect & cushion the blows.
You can always tell the spots on the canvas that she paid the most attention to. It was an unrecognizable color…her nameless hue.
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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Heidi Coon Poem
Immolation of the soul
Inside, she was burning
To destroy herself
was the only way
She would be freed
Her soul burned so intensely
That with each step she took
She melted ice
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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Heidi Coon Poem
Spring reveals each of winters secrets
Kept hidden, beneath beads of frozen rain
Freed from nether melting crystals of winter tears
The ground weeps as it is touched by the spring sun
Copyright © Heidi Coon | Year Posted 2018
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