April Poem

I climbed up to where their eyes couldn’t see
A secret ledge on which to perch
Built into mud and over hung with rock
A cliff face to which I clung with care
One misstep and I’d be toast
But that did not deter me in the slightest
As I scrambled up the hill,
Building my muscles
with each push of my leg
and pull of my arm.
My abdomen activating
In support of my system.
I felt energized and exhausted
Confident and terrified
Thinking only of where
To put my foot next.
Thinking of the plan
Not the consequence.

And so here I sit,
With an eye on much of the forest below
The air is cooling get as the sky darkens
And winter chilled water drops slowly
Upon me from the river carved rock
There is so much sound around me
But it signals life and strength and courage
In the spite of all our ignorance and idiocy
Selfishness and greed.
The forest stands apart, even still,
Even after the atrocious rape we have
Committed and continue to commit.
Here I sit, apart and embraced from and by
Our odd world with its mysteries of
Meaning and or lack thereof.
Pondering and wondering and hoping and fearing. 

There are piles of scat all around me.
I think maybe a raccoon frequents here.
The raccoon has now appeared to me many times.
Along with the deer. And the red backed salamander. 
And I sit with the scat not wanting to leave.
For one, I fear that I may slip and fall to my death.
For another I fear I will have to go back to a regular dull life, unmagical existence enshrined within four walls with an agenda and a Neverending stream of tasks requiring the participation  in a society I wish to withdraw from.

Even here I am sure that the red jacket and blue jacket on the ground across the creek were watching my ascent and even Pondering how to do it themselves. Go away, I thought, annoyed that anyone should be privy to my adventurous (foolish) courage that led me to my vantage point.  But then there it is. Sometimes to go after what you want you must become vulnerable, exposed. Is it worth the risk? Are you more apt to slip? Clearly I perform well under the pressure.  But my real desire is to escape it all.

And so I return to my high volume quiet.
I dare not stay much longer as I start to feel the cold gnawing back into my bones and I know it will be still a climb to get out of here.
So I enjoy a few more moments of stillness
as I sit, an observer
Transparent eye in the forest
Withdraw from participation
And count the thoughts that bubble up
On a calm formless ocean
And disappear once more
Only an imprint left on a
Very subtle mind
Essentially forgotten
Until connection with the divine
Awakens your senses once more

This is the sublime. 

As water falls

Moments like these
teetering on the edge,
nearest to death
we feel most alive.
So easy to slip makes
our grip that much tighter
when hours ago, I could see
no point in carrying on
a powerful awakening
of all senses through
nature grounds me to
the here and now.
If I could live like this forever
I would not know sorrow,
only joy and nostalgia for
the sublime.
This feeling pressing upon my
chest, sending chills down
my sweaty spine
lends me a euphoria
no drug can mimic.
Let me lay my head near
the running river so I
may rest, alive, in peace.

Please explicate

Confusing thoughts
back and forth in my brain
but to you I can’t explain
to you I can’t explain
can’t explain
I can’t explain

A tongue-tied picture
I can’t paint
Out of character
and seeming staged
a player’s stage
we’re all but players
the world’s a stage
world’s my stage
a stage

Am I the Queen of Disks
passed through an arid stretch?
Can I give myself loving attention
gift of energy, joy in living and health?
What is joy in living?
Have you been sleepwalking this life?
Are not the sweetest realities
but thoughts and dreams?
stars and dreams
Happiness is a dream

I held a small and fragile thing
in my hand
but it fell apart like sand
slipped away like sand
or I crushed it like
castles made of sand
never last
can’t last
present past

A liminal space
to hang my coat
a doorway, elevator, beach
or twilight zone
I can’t stay afloat
holes purposely drilled
in this wooden boat
carrying fortune and pearls
losing fortune and pearls
losing purity, hope
boys and girls
boys and girls

A change is in the air
in the wind, through the trees
I hear it at night
in my bed, in my dreams
I wander off, in waking life
by the river, by the lake
lulled by the waves, and pulled
by the tide
having waded in the tide
nearly drowned in caves
where I’ve tried to hide,
burying past lives,
burying treasure, stories, lies
fiction is a lie
living a lie
I can’t lie

Confusing thoughts
back and forth in my mind
but to you I am inclined
to you I am inclined
so inclined
to redefine
prudence and rationality
for who needs a sound mind
I am not of sound mind
redefine
hollow mind

I will never be a strawman
dead man
hollow man
opaque and empty
lazy and deluded
I am disillusioned, not enchanted
not enchanting
how many times can you be labelled
a downer before
you realize you’re not a realist
but a pessimistic cynic
tired of life’s gimmick
never one to mimic
the hollow man
the stuffed man
exploring the dead land
under fading star
realizing we’ve not come far
travelled far
not very far

As I spew a poison
As I snare a hare
As I cough up venomous tongues
I cannot help but care
Though I try and plan escape
my feet stay rooted here
and so I feel conflicted
I still remain in sight
while longing to disappear
I’ll fade away
under fading star
starlight, star bright
star I haven’t seen tonight
come back tonight
tonight

Confusing thoughts
back and forth in my brain
but to you I can’t explain
to you I can’t explain
can’t explain
I can’t explain

Pronoun

No singularity defines her and she is bound by no laws.

She dances to the wind with the grasses and trees.

She is starlight and nothing physical or meta will bind her. She is not a chocolate to be unwrapped, a body to be undressed. She is sunshine and unspoken words. Nameless as a breath, but just as vital.

She is stormy, a fierce water wide and strong. She calls tempest or she calls calm.

She is purpose and purposeful.

She resides beside a hateful void of pitch and ire. She holds the key to Pandora’s box which was originally broke ope by Adam. She has condemned Adam.

She is judge, jury and life giver. Life bringer. She wields only arrows of Truth.

She plays and toys and laughs a tune. She takes it in stride. She calls Death to play the serious role and she chooses Life.

She is unearthly though of this earth. She is not the rose of June.

She is yearning. She is desire. She is in spite of man’s folly. She is in spite of disaster.

She is timeless and truth. Truth beauty.

Endless.

absent humanity

We plunder for pockets of warmth
in a frigid winter
while ignoring the most
vulnerable
Who stamp their feet
not to feel warmth
but to be heard
And still they remain
invisible
to us who have shut our eyes
Because we get goosebumps
when walking from our cars
to the mall
No spare time to spare
change
for the world, create
change
for your neighbour.

To have Christian values
is enough
And to talk about the weather
is enough
And to rub our own hands
together
is enough
To create the warmth we need
Others may burn or freeze
But we are the good and
faithful
Like witches who smoldered at
the stake
If they are innocent they will
be rewarded
In the ether.

They have enough
Because we have enough
and because they are
invisible to us
especially in a frigid
winter.

My Life as a Word

If my life is an ocean deep,
I cannot control the barrage of waves,
the frigid waters, nor the undertow
dragging me to the depths

If my life is a forest fire
I cannot control the wind fanning the flames,
save the woodland creatures fleeing in terror,
nor escape the scorching heat
threatening to turn me to ash

If my life is a vast, dry desert
I cannot command the rain to fall,
the drought to end, nor cast the sun from the sky
though it burns my skin

If my life is an afflicted plague
I cannot control its spread,
it’s path of destruction, or the numbers
it kills through perilous infection

If my life is a car without brakes
I cannot stop the fuel, slow the speed,
nor save all that lies in my path
though surely the wreckage is inevitable

If my life is me
All I have is me,
and what’s perhaps in my pocket –
not much, no ring of elven gold, but maybe
some chap stick and string –

All I control are these aching bones
attached to my withering limbs
and slackening skin

but also I command my language;
I have a ferocity with words
and often unleash them without thought,
they are my last defense.

I build a life raft of syllables uttered from these lips
I create a proverbial shield against the bombardment of fire
and run away on legs made from quick-witted phrases
I dig a hole with my spade of savvy repertoire, collecting
dew on a makeshift leaf of colloquium and self-talk
to filter tears of discourse to drinking water

I wear a murmuring mask articulating both the danger
and saving grace of infectious confabulation
I jump from moving vehicles with a parachute of parlance
and cushion my fall with doublespeak softness

There is redemption in language and controlling one’s own voice
There is power in joining your speech and your mind
to conquer villains of the world and of the imagination

If my life is a word
it is resilient. 

The Path of Enlightenment

I never used to whisper.
My voice was loud, up to a raucous disturbance in need of a “Shush!”
I never used to be quiet

I never used to hesitate.
Words and ideas would spill, tumbling out of my mind.
I was eager to share. I was most often right. I provided solutions.
I never used to keep silent.

I never used to sit still.
Desk work was never an option, only an afterthought.
I would run, move, jiggle, and squirm, hum and tap my foot to music.
Or no music. There was always something, a magical force unseen that drove movement.
I never used to be lethargic.

I never used to feel hopeless.
I believed that change was possible, and that we were drivers of it.
I watched Trews, true news, news you can trust, Russell Brand.
I read Jezebel and pushed articles on radical ideas of changing poverty, improving feminism.
I watched shows that made me laugh and dreamed of writing them.
I never used to despair.

I never used to be sad.
Sure, occasionally I was down, and then up and then down and then up.
I was happy when I watched stand up. I was happy at work and then at home.
It was said I was an optimist once – that I cannot believe.
I would read in escapism, a happy tale with a happy ending.
I was confident and assured which led to fun and adventure, endless.
I never used to cry.

I never used to
I never used to
I never used to
I never used to
I never used to
I never used to
I never used to
I never used to

I never used to feel trapped in a system, an endemic cage of systematic oppression and perjury, purging the weak and disadvantaged.

While I could see the terror, I was never close enough to feel the heat of its breath
and the anguish of inevitably, inescapable.
Now I am one with the poor, the oppressed, share that mindset, that destitution of the lonely, the hungry.
The axiom of detriment being you are not that way because you are deprived, but you are deprived because you are that way, born that way. The deserving sentence of punishment for a pre-crime caught by the pre-cog submitted in report, with no minority.

Witness the utmost veracity in the irrefutable fact of violence committed against those unworthy of their abuse.

I never used to wreak havoc with the system.
I never used to be a thorn in the side.
I never used to hold a candle to the dark.

Perfection is tedium. Consistency is lifeless. The path we are on anticipates the death of many. Mental, Physical and Spiritual Deaths.

And we are all constructing the path together, knowing it leads to the abyss of anguish, agonizing over how we place each brick but rushing the job so we can make the most profit before we perish, buried with avarice, a shovel, and some dirt. Back from what we came. Making each of these trivial pursuits and malicious stipends, ripped from the mouths of babes, useless.

I never used to be useless.