Category Archives: Poetry

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.

I can’t but I can

I can’t tell you where to find your peace of mind

or to hear the voice of the Universe coursing with power

or to notice the song of the world’s orchestra as it plays

or even to taste the brisk of sharpened words.

I can’t show you the color of your balanced spirit

or tell you the tale of your sacred birth

or cherish the moment of truth you witnessed

or embrace the love you so rightfully deserve

I can’t marry you to your passion for life

or point you in the direction most profound

or take away anything you’ve learned

or dictate your growth rate in any form

Loving you Always

Loving you Always

What I can do is:

hug you

reassure you

encourage you

believe in you

support you

hear you

see you

love you

Dark Moon Reflections

Night time is a go

Night time is a go

The midnight air is clamorous as crinkling cellophane.
The cranky crickets tick-tock in the grass with leggy chants.
The zz-zzt of the cicadas clamor boldly in jumbling rants.
The nearby expressway donates the rumble of trucks in lanes
trumpeting progress of deliveries unmet.
A flash of light shifts the shadows in the next room
as a car passes like a shooting star at the crossroad.
I open the door to feel the whispering kisses of the cooling air,
opened the windows to let in the songs of what’s out there.
The scent-dripping lilies stain the night

with mortuary perfume visited too often eons ago.

The click-clack of puppy toes traipsing laminate floor in the tone of wood
reinvent the solo of a long-hauler’s jake-brake slowing progress’ brood.
Barely audible, the neighbor’s open windows
bail laughter out in rapid chortles blended with giggles.
I smile as the humidity of their family
adds to the breath of life I’m inhaling with my senses.

Serenade of the trees

Wedgewood Park Afternoon

Wedgewood Park Afternoon

Through all my youth I didn’t learn the language of the trees

I couldn’t hear the words to the poetic songs they would sing for me

When I became still enough to listen to the music of the earth

I learned of transformation, regeneration, and rebirth.

What I didn’t know, while true to my childish indiscretions,

were the many truths I’d learned from them, the many rough hewn lessons.

My roots ran deeply through rocky soil, building bridges of emotional gaps

My branches raised up high with deep green leaves fed by spirit’s sap

I was taught the ancient tongues of the oak, elm, maple, birch,

embraced in laughing drumming beats the circumference of my worth

I am a child of the forests, although youth I can no longer claim

I will honor my tree kin’s body; their face; until the earth embraces me again.

Peaceful Depths

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I was asked to explain “Be at peace with your depths.” My interpretation of it may differ from how you take it, but I explained it as this:
“Your depths are your darkest parts. They’re there under all the fluff and brightness. If you’re at peace with them, it doesn’t matter if they bubble to the surface because you can flow through them.”
I received an enthusiastic response followed by: “They are abubbling and I be a troublin over them. I do understand that I must contend with the dark and negitive BUT me no like it one bit.”
“Nobody LIKES negative thoughts, but if you deny them, then you deny a part of who you are. It’s okay to have them. It’s okay to feel them. It’s not okay to dwell there. I’ve suffered from PTSD. I understand the anger, the frustrations, the mood swings. To maintain what I have right now, I use a lot of meditation, breathing, grounding, shielding, and visual aids to relieve the symptoms.”
Feel free to share your interpretations of this in the comments. Be Love