There should exist
A Word
Beyond choice
Before desperation
To encompass all
That love is
That duty does
That honour wields
So it might finally be but reasonable cost to both sides
Explaining that which defies explanation.
Tag: Poetry
Sweet and Sour
I pluck a shiny leaf or two beneath a shady tree
I cross over to the next flower
Human bee-ing; pollinating breed
These are tiny, red and fickle-stemmed
But that nectar, sweet and sour
And by the time plucked-stem-hits-tongue,
I’ve moved on to another bower
This one curls in a tight corner before
shooting towards the sky
And the hedges that surround it
Make good shelter by and by
Here, the sun can wane in full
Leaving Breeze to tempt night fires
And soon the moon is high above
The crickets chirp, ladybirds retire
And just when I rise, sated by these hours
Here comes the Queen of the Night, a scent that overpowers
Misplaced Purpose
Resenting things to which you would devote your life and death
That, perhaps,
The reason for the resentment.
Building’s Edge
I have jumped off the building to fly
Yet I am falling
Wrench me free as I drown
Pummeled beneath the waves of these downdrafts
Stalling
The inevitability of a paved grave;
Dawning
Who is out here in this busy expanse of nothing
to save the unintentional dive-drown victim?
It is only once we no longer have the net beneath that we recognize
the weight, our manacled feet; the poison festering in our minds.
When you jumped did you consider the downside?
Surely if you did not sail you could not survive
And what if I released this weight — mislabeled pragmatism,
brittle expectations of achievement — freed myself from comparison?
Would the vessel remain, substantiated enough to float?
Or would the remains be paper thin, spiraling in a whirlpool towards an underground moat.
Fairer waves to the same grave
Fear waxing in its dark cave. Stuffed full with dreams saved — paused
Avoiding oblivion
How do we make it back on to the ledge?
Is that to be a boundary or the world’s end?
There should be life beyond the dead
Drop
Perhaps we find it once the weight is no longer fed.
“How is one saved?” This chorus pounding in my head.
A chant taken up by the brave –
Who can ever be saved
from one’s self?
“Save me” (x3)
Fetch yourself from the well.
“Save me” (x2)
— Self to Self.
The But
Quel est le point?
Censée devenir… quoi?
On est sur la route, le but duquel est
d’Être
sans doute, plus humain.
Mais on
Est
déjà ce qu’on essaie d’atteindre.
Circle, moot. We’ve been set on a path
to discover what was core to the plant, the root.
But you are the tree and the fruit.
Quel est le but, alors?
Already both winner and warrior.
Comprehension
Walking the world with me while I walked it alone
In stride
Staying in the periphery when my tunnel vision kept me blind
Respecting all the boundaries but toeing, still,
The line
Keeping silent in the vacuum, acts-in-service – practiced mime
Stars are stars
always
steady,
twinkling, in the sky
Sweet serendipity, sweet universe, allowing ours
collide.
Society in Motion
Forgive them
Forgive us
Forgive the deep parts within you cannot trust
Time spent but never earned because this is a bus with no stops
The fog in the rear is not slipping into the exhaust
It is purged
We are running, leaving it behind.
We cannot earn because we cannot bind
We are dust waiting to return
We are rust waiting for the sun
To burnish us, turn us to bronze that flickers and wreathes like gold
The gold is nowhere but in our souls
The bronze is all that shows
And for what? For us to lose the precious little, trailing away like black smoke that unfolds,
pouring out the maw of a backside, not worth a gather
Not worth the sole you exhaust
Not worth the bronze you won’t buff
The rust that needs to wait for the sunrise to feel lust
Of self
None other than heavy mist beyond the veil
The dust and the fog and the time-shares of clutter
How you can breathe through the same pipes where all that sputter and gunk choke the inhale.
Choked
Unprovoked
Choke and roll over and sink down like the sun
Unable to purge through the rays the bronze run.
Unable to shine and burnish itself to a gold spun by society; to relive that choked one
You know the one
Life.
Let’s pick up the run.
Taste
Savor it sweet,
Sweetly
Savor it sweet,
Fleeting
As it comes
Savor it, savor it
Moment en moment
Changeling
It does not softly rain through the snow
It melts, it hardens
The layers beyond are brittle
Cracked with the slightest pressure
Flowered with fluff
Relying on roots that do not pierce
That which does not pierce cannot persevere
It does not softly rain through the snow
It cures, it mixes
the mulch and concrete, serving us
Dirt from the deep
Footsteps wound beneath
Donning unique rivulets to the crevices
Through which the mulch mix
Seeps
It does not softly rain through the snow
It alters,
Waters down many moons, in flow.
Exhale
Focus on your breathing or some shit
And let the fact that the scab is now a scar convince you that you are healing
(though, not quick)
The pangs will not always echo as long or flow as deep
The earth quaking in your chest cavity when you weep
will eventually not exhaust you
And the dark you so strongly want to deplete will recede
through the fault lines of your lips
Memories seeping towards release
Whispers in the mist –
Breathe, breathe, breathe
In-Threes 