Mining the underside

I'm re-evaluating my footing, and the shoreline on which I stand,
watching waves slide in and slide out,
slide in and slide out
over my imprint that changes in the shifting sand.
I collect all the shells that are strewn on the path,
empty of life but beautiful to look at,
beautiful to remember, to smile, and to laugh...
and I am aware of what I have become.

I'm as frightened as I ever was, and as confident...
my failures persist on impromptu visits,
as if I needed a reminder, and my heart repents
for beating in strange rhythms like this.

But I must dig into the walls of this cavern,
and the collapsing sand that fills in the hole,
because the tide is coming in again,
as it always washes in again.

Life, Death, and Everything in Between

Born on a Monday night, died on a Wednesday morn.
Reincarnated with every breath, each release,
Every transition a person can make at warp speed.
Done once, twice – fine for a while, but then
A third, fourth, fifth – accelerating, spinning
Sixth, seventh time – to realize it’s only the start
Of this cyclical pattern of self-resurrection.

Met on a Friday night. Dined on a Saturday.
Roses ensued, as did wine and pet name for me.
Conversations swirl about in non-sequitor interests.
My heart overflowing with the sea, lips turned from the river.
Your eyes covered from the sting of the coming eclipse.
We flutter like locusts on a field of ourselves,
Doing more harm with our song than hanging silence.

Fell in a Tuesday room. Left in a Thursday box.
Wrapped hastily to give to any begging hand
But then stop and wait, burning time like a match
Blow and it’s gone that quickly. It weighs down
After a while on these limbs, these bones, this heart
Only to discover a force within to spark light
To engulf this box, this room, this frame, this clock.

Born in a fever’s grip. Died when my hands stole its breath
Fought for sophomoric gambles, like my wager first time around
All for survival to see if the late show is better,
Yet Darwin never vouched for his neighbor’s estate.
It’s all a game to test one’s will and strength.
Go over the bridge, slide under the poles and plunge
Deep into the streams that only empty in the sea.

Of God and Man

Illumination, but not enlightenment,
from such brilliance hailed in dark hours -
Sophomoric assumptions of thoughts well-spent,
but conclusion in controversy sours.
Technical mind, commissioned cogs and wheels,
serving progress like an avenger
of the archaic mills and faith that steals
common sense, so say the faithless defender.
And if God be real, where were our hours spent?
Would He mind that the illusion was thought grandeur?
Science has overthrown that Intelligent
Design; still - what proof have they to be sure?

(inspired by the recent auction of Einstein's "God" letter)

The Trouble with Bleeding

We purge ourselves of sinful indulgence,
Of heartache, neglect and regrets we’ve not welcomed.
Flash in a dream what we were in a past life;
The heaviness weighs like an impending sentence.
To all that we’ve seen through the eyes of the Devil,
And all that we’ve done in this life we’ve unravelled,
There’s some spark of light if we’ve known love’s existence,
There’s truth in the heart that no man’s mind creates.
Spirits entwine playfully in the absence
Of rules and constructions of other men’s games.
We bleed ourselves trying to live for tomorrow,
To survive and to find the labyrinth’s gate.
Innocence lost like spoiled confections
Years long ago at the least chosen moment.
All these things rush like blood to the membrane,
All of these things I cared not to say,
Washing me clean to myself as I once knew.
Let it rush through now – I’m calm and awake.

Sit Down

This song sums up how I feel on most days, and I'm having one of those days today. Instead of posting a mediocre poem, I'm going to post the lyrics to this song. Check out a live performance of the song.


Artist(Band): James

I sing myself to sleep
A song from the darkest hour
Secrets I can’t keep
Inside of the day
Swing from high to deep
Extremes of sweet and sour
Hope that God exists
I hope I pray

Drawn by the undertow
My life is out of control
I believe this wave will bear my weight
So let it flow

Oh sit down, Oh sit down, Oh sit down
Sit down next to me
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, down
In sympathy

Now I’m relieved to hear
That you’ve been to some far out places
It’s hard to carry on
When you feel all alone
Now I’ve swung back down again
It’s worse than it was before
If I hadn’t seen such riches
I could live with being poor

Oh sit down, Oh sit down, Oh sit down
Sit down next to me
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, down
In sympathy

Those who feel the breath of sadness
Sit down next to me
Those who find they’re touched by madness
Sit down next to me
Those who find themselves ridiculous
Sit down next to me
In love, in fear, in hate, in tears
In love, in fear, in hate, in tears
In love, in fear, in hate, in tears
In love, in fear, in hate
Down
Down
Oh sit down, Oh sit down, Oh sit down
Sit down next to me
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, down
In sympathy
Oh sit down, Oh sit down, Oh sit down
Sit down next to me
Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down, down
In sympathy
Down

Anniversary

I try to think of something clever to say,
to embellish the emotions
and dress the ordinary routine
we have grown accustomed to.
This wasn't me or you just a few years ago,
and it may not be red-carpet glamour,
but it shines, and I am reminded in your smile
how you showed me it was safe to love
and be loved.
And you still do.

Wax and Wane

Here we go kids, put your nickels down
Down here, place your bets wisely.
The joker’s gonna come, come down
And spin that wheel of fortune –
Spin it; see the colors twirl, twirl
Like kaleidoscopes, like Colecovision.
They say that there’s no Fate,
But we dined just last evening – dined
On raspberries and wine,
Dined until our mouths bled.
It’s rushing now, down like avalanches,
Quickly,
It’s rushing down here, down
Until the valley breaks its fall.
Can someone explain how we come down,
Down fast in a rush like snow tumbles down
In a heap on the valley
When our flags wave from the top?
Mine still waves from the top
Of Mount Washington, I see it bend
In the breeze. See it bend? It’s still there.
So, if there’s no Fate,
I must have dined here alone, dined
In the comforts of home, neigh,
Under quicksand and stone.
But Potential will visit me, visit
This Saturday night, to dine –
Find a breakpoint and dine
On the rest of those berries and wine.

Inside These Spheres

Dust. Particles. Bits. Halves.
Wholes divided. Widened.
A seed. Embryonic
Ideas. Still. Wet.
Shaped. Into
lifeforms. Centrifuge.
Rotating
Two. Four. Eight parts
Overlap. Faster.
Fractions split
To enhance. Spheres
Not aligned. But on one
Axis. Diagonal.
For each group.
Different parts
for each part
Of each day.
Different sounds.
Different forms.
In the form
Of circles. Rounds.
Overhead. Around. Through
Each other. Not
Together. But all one.
Eventually.
When still.
Particles. Form. Wholes.
Inside. These Spheres.

Writer's Block

Where are my words? All the well-behaved nouns and verbs,
All the descriptive metaphors and rhyming scores, no more...
and it's not for impassive thought, but worse - I'm brought
into a playpen of bouncing sounds that consistently abound
every waking hour, on the tip of my pen or parched lip.
On "adjusting to marriage": all is fine; still - in my mind
I'm frustrated; nothing's mine, not even this time I take to write
because it brings us back to the half life - a crime.
On my "job" (which is a job, not a career): I stay clear
of getting sucked deeper. From the bottom, steeper
The ascension to achieve as much as you.
On the spirling "family" ball - stones to haul
and they pile on from day to day; there's no escape
from obligations and new regressions.
On the wars and world - political pearls
like grenades and spades that tout; innocence fades...
there's no peace
no peace
no peace
no peace
and I sit on this weathered night, weary of violet light
because it will all start again the morning, then
where will I be? Still looking for my words to embody these things.

As We are So General

I don't know your language or cliches you toss about the mouth that tangles, touching something that doesn't taste as good just now.

I love how we're so general, the way we weave into a world of words so meaningless, generic limits that we can endow.

I'm just the girl in the hallway, hair pulled back and no distinguished features to imprint on you, and you're the same.

We'll say hello in passing and talk about the weather and the cold and complain about the inertia of the day.

In the evening when we leave we barely utter anything and act unknown to the face before, but say "good night"

Maybe that's just how I am and I don't want to be your friend as if you even cared; I know I don't and never might.

But it's just the game we toss about our mouths like cotton on the teeth or chalkboards drawn by dirty nails.

I give you nothing here that you can grasp and possibly ever carry back and in that, I don't see I've failed.

I love how we're so general, the way we weave into a world of universal glances, insignificance on an empty hand.

I don't know you're language or cliches that tangle and relentlessly get pushed out by your own command.

Gush

One word dangles and falls from my lip
Spit up from a vile of feverish blood
Another drips slowly to add to the waste,
Shooting from left to right from my hip.

A third slams together the letters I know
And forces its way from the walls through a hole.
A sentence starts forming before I can stop it,
Linking the verbs in no certain flow.

Now, to compensate for the lack of much sense,
Or to caulk the space between ceiling and floor,
I squeeze from my tongue another straight line
That curls up around my flat confidence.

So here I stand naked while your fully dressed
And my pantyhose drop from my fingertips
You grab for your coat and you glance at your watch
You make me feel sinful for what I’ve confessed.

Yet your door is frozen by ages of rust
So instead you look down where my bare feet stand
And wonder how far I can walk without shoes.
I wonder how far you carried my trust.

One word pushed up and choked by my lip
Spit up from a vile of feverish blood
There’s none left, I feel, to add to the waste,
As I slide my pantyhose back on my hip.