Category Archives: poem

A study of breath

Wishflowers

Wishflowers

The breath I breathe was never mine

It’s but a reminder of the passing time

The rise and fall of conquering nations

The atomic reaction of cosmic sensation

The intimate sigh of the living world

The refreshing gust of faith unfurled

The revelation of the stormy night

The passion sighed in lover’s delight

The whisper of a birthday wish

An aged dandelion in a child’s fist

The breath I breathe was never mine

It’s merely a reminder of borrowed time.

A-Cross Borne

As I released her hand, my heart bled tears of peace

As I released her hand, my heart bled tears of peace

She once was my holiest of Saviors

begging my life of me as a personal favor

when that night sailed away with the moon.

If not for the promise I gave her

from my ugliest desperate behavior

I’d have deserted the weeping stars too soon.

Now the full moon rises stark

bringing forth what won from dark

as the stars witness my release

I emancipate her hand, relinquish her heart

Another path taken on this journey I embark

To her I offer a blessing of light, love and peace

Polka Dot Salmon (Fish Ladder Blues)

Fishing the Grand River

I was born in your arms

cradled but not protected

shunned, rejected, refused

a starving babe to river’s teat.

I cried colic at your shores;

survived despite your abuse.

Like a battered lover, I, escaped

ONLY

to believe your honeyed promises

to desire your rushing waters

to climb above my station against odds

to find my true love begetting fruition

to linger too long where love dies

I avoided your calls

I dodged your temptations

I surpassed any lack you created

I became, am becoming; power

Infuse me at my request

with the Grand Rapids river’s ravishing rush

pour your shores to return my blood

reunite my spirit with yours

Let’s embrace intimately

passionate with endearing lust

so we may fall in love, again

on my terms.

Commemoration

It seems so long ago since yesterday

when you grabbed your toast,

shined your sunshine smile through the clouds

and scooted out the door because you were late.

I followed you, halting at the doorway

You dropped your toast on the sidewalk

You cussed, waved, shouted “I love you”

got in your car and vanished.

I didn’t have police officers showing up at my door.

I didn’t have alarms screaming

I sat on the back porch watching the sunrise

with a hot cup of coffee in my hand

your words warming my heart.

“Hey, doesn’t he work at the Towers?”

called the neighbor over the fence.

I didn’t even realize they’d been talking to me.

“What? Oh, yes.”

“Why aren’t you watching the news?”

I didn’t understand. I thought it odd.

I waved with a friendly wrist making my way to

nothing

Cold pillow. Cold toast. Crystal blue sky.

gone

Gutting of commerce, ashes of hope, lost

It’s years later and it still seems so long ago since yesterday

But I’ve never forgotten your last words to me

Every morning I walk out to lay toast on the sidewalk

Every morning I sit on the back porch and drink coffee

Every morning I watch the news

Everything a sacrament commemorating your unintentional sacrifice.

Not as it appears

Peace on Earth Love Thy Neighbor

Peace on Earth
Love Thy Neighbor

You are merely a distraction

meant as a detraction

from the deep dissatisfaction

of a dying way of life.

The marionette strings you’re dancing

are pulled by those amassing

obscene amounts of financing

with your divisive strife

You are the sleight of hand

given up as sacrificial lamb

with back-room deals grandstand

back-stabbed by Judas’ knife

I am not to judge your place

or spit into your unwitting face

as you spout you’re in god’s holy grace

while playing at Lot’s wife

I hope that what you’re saved from

in total and in sum

bring you to a better place to rest your bum

with a small bit of advice

Matthew 22:36-40,

and although it may feel a tad bit warty,

is what Jesus said while commandment sortie,

Commanded not once, but twice.

Inspired by Joel

I’m sure you’ve read some authors that really stick in your craw. Artists of the written word that cause you to think, cause you to get pissed, cause you, most of all, to feel that sense of uncomfortable that comes from a raw, exposed nerve. There are several of these talented people that float through my reader. Some I am avid fans of, others I take out in the dark of the moon and peruse with witchy thoughts abiding because they require, by default a place where the blood of their story can mingle with mine.

Joys of Joel is one of those artists for me. Joel lives in the Philippines. I’ve never met the person, but when I read the words, like those of Shawn L. Bird, E.I. Wong (really funny in a twisted way HAHA!), and UP!:::urban po’E.Tree(s), I am moved to places I’ve visited but, perhaps, took for granted.

In the latest poem (at this writing) by Joys of Joel, they write: Don’t wait for me; Ours is not a love story. (Find it HERE), I am compelled to remember lost loves of my own. I am to take that path rarely traveled. I mean, what’s done is done, right? Or what’s over is completed. But. It reminded me of a poem I wrote a while back which also reflected on a powerful moment in my life when I realized I’d just made a massive mistake. I knew I’d never again see that person though I treasured every moment I spent with them. It was my fault.

I’m re-sharing this “These Are My People” poem because of that line. You can find it here: The End.

The Conquering Spirit

Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Spirit

Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Spirit

I heard the winds of petitioning change howling ‘cross my floor

With courage bound beneath my wings, I opened up my door

The zephyr stole the tendril rooted as a graft for something more

Then whispered inspirations of hope to lift me up to soar

The torch of passion lit a match within my questing flame

to engulf the hearts of lovers true so they would know my name

The fuel that sparked me from the hearth that offered me fair game

has rallied blazing scars of power, on which to stake my claim

I felt the waves of transitional change sprinkling on my skin

The enterprise crashed over me, before I knew to swim

The tidal pools they pull me down beneath the spiraling spin

But the riptide it allows me surf; to shore it brings me in

My feet were planted firmly down beneath the molding clay

which were planted in the sanctioned soil that sent me on my way

The rocks beneath my nomadic feet gather no moss today

The earthen field I stand upon gives gardens of rosy bouquets

Acroamatic

They leave offerings at her altar, never seeing past her face

They vie shamefully for her affections; peacocking their disgrace

Like a Mother Mary statue she abides their adoration

They, the faithful worshipers, fall scantily in prostration

She rarely extends her fruitful bliss, suffering their confusion,

When they realize her trinity is akin to holy communion

Through the gate

A bunny in a garden

A bunny in a garden

The military straight fence posts stand sentinel against wildlife.

It amuses me when the rabbits squeak through to indulge in

the abundance of ripened fruit dripping from the vines

Ripe tomato juices blooding the hand-crafted stairs with their offerings

while the green beans are green together, envious of size

The wind sculpture shifts in time to the darkened rolling clouds

it startles the rabbits back through the gate to another buffet

I wonder if this is what beauty looks like when it is no longer imaginary.

I wonder why the voice I spoke to every day feels absent.

I wonder if I remembered to pack it or if someone else did it for me.

I wonder if it will return with barrels blazing with razzle-dazzle or

if it will slip in quietly through the gate to show me a different way to be.

Are you in there?

The price is higher than its worth

The price is higher than its worth

I am the dirty little secret; the gate-keeper of his justice

Cloaked in the farthest back corner of his closet of emotional ruckus

Sometimes doctors visited. Some would prod around the rubbish

But they could never find me because they didn’t have the compass

They’d take turns trying to discover where my true self thrived

by poking me with invisible sticks, wondering if I were still alive.

Oh! I am still alive. I am very, very much alive.

When I became the forgery demonstrating his famine-lies

I became the masquerade a dancing puppet super-sized

Nobody could hear my darkness under shrouds of harm

Nobody could tell me anything without red flag waving alarm

I got along with nobody, because we were the same

Nobody was the better of us, better at shirking shame.

I made nobody up so I wouldn’t feel so alone

because Everybody kept feasting on my well-gnawed bones.

I escaped from my slumber when the trash was taken out

I opened my three eyes, discovered peace of mind devout

I shed the garbage like a snake sheds its skin

I discovered my diamond, my value, his sin

I grew formidable cloaked in starlight; causing a dither

while he suffocated himself, decayed and withered.

I am the dirty little secret, but my truth is being bold

I’ll be the beacon for those lost in darkest treachery told:

You have no worth. You have no a beloved’s face.

I offer a flashlight towards the egress of freedom’s fair grace.