The one way ticket
The broken cocoon
The hung up phone
The crying loon
The losses from gain
The strength of cotton
The shallow grave
The vacant rock-bottom
The dissolution of rest
The combination of fates
The sunken boat
The bone-filled crates
The unaligned ranks
The prayer of confession
The misguided belief
The unanswered question
The white washed skull
The ostrich-headed sin
The ill-fitting shoes
The enemy within
When thunder rolls across the sky
and the wind whips up your hair,
When lightning flashes in stormy skies,
And electricity charges the air
I am there.
When the waves rise up in fearful walls
and the howl of the wind crashes loud
When the sound of your fear is all you have
When you see nothing but the shroud
I am there.
When all seems lost and pain abounds
When no words can ease your pain
When hearts hurt so badly that it surrounds
When death is your shadows bane
I am there.
I shelter and comfort you, hold you close
I wipe away tears that fill you the most
I offer you haven in the holy ghost
I am your protector, I love you most.
I see you every once in a while in the Otherwhere.
The place that isn’t here or there or somewhere or anywhere.
It’s just Other.
Soul pictures
It has the pres(c)ents of Christmas trees and home cooked feasts.
It smells of beloved familial hugs, pas-s-s-sionately presented embraces
It laughs a babbling brook of foolish happiness punctuated with excitement marks!!!!
It offers kaleidoscopic shows of vernacular laced paragraphs with buntings of (these)
Still, sometimes, I know (though I don’t know), I see both you and me.
Not in the way that makes you triple check your doors; throwing the deadbolt
Not in the way that keeps you window to window pacing floors; with naked paranoia
but in the way that allows the meditation of the forest to seep into the spirit of indulging ideas
reaping benefits of beauty as only gypsy tribe of poets can explore it.
I see you every once in a while in the Otherwhere.
(inspired by: http://urbanpoetrees.com/2014/12/31/disciple-less-prophets/ )
You should click the link and explore this piece. It’s brilliant.
It wasn’t the blur of her leopard print skirt
Or the lower East side blaring taxi yellow sweater,
I was crucified by the intensity of her regal features
As they nailed me with their direct stare
Through chocolate colored eyes that blinked
Like hammers
Their inquisitive, yet dismissive, questions
Unanswered.
I looked away, ashamed to have imposed on her space.
Marbles
If I could be a marble in a bag around a child’s waist
propounding challenge to my peers like an alchemist
whose recipe for destruction lay in my bulging satchel
filled with conquests found in the sandpit battlefield
of my childhood playground, dominated by concentrated
versions of precisely aimed shots using one inch of glass
and stick drawn circles of boundaries no other should cross.
If I were a marble in a sack around my childhood waist
I would be a peerie of blue green that made them lose
as they wondered at my ocean colors splashing their spirits free
through the distractions of the wildly colored cat’s eyes
that stared back at them with deadened stares emptied
of life, unlike me, who shined and waved like the open sea
And they would avoid hitting me with their knocker’s sin
because who doesn’t want Mother Ocean to win?
This is not my work, but it struck me so I’m sharing. This is captured just right. I should remember this day…Isn’t that how it is? Just an ordinary day when an ordinary person sits up and realizes that today, like every other day, is the only day and this is the only moment.
This sings not with a note but with a melody. It dances on the staff of life and truth as it always has. Thank you for reminding me that today my job, like every other day, is to sit up and remember that today is the day. Now is the moment.
i should remember
today
like i should recall each day.
as the day,
i changed a little,
i learned a little,
and got my soul
to being a little more whole,
not even concerned
with being holier,
as long as i learn, expand, develop and GROW
like the plants in our garden.
from beginning to the end
to be a part of the message
that’s going to change the world.
i should recall today
as not just any other day,
as how i should perceive each and every day
like the day, i chose to change the way
i saw everything and learned to finally
see everything.
02.15.11.
He speaks his own language
one filled with nonsense
and fanciful words like “fisticuffs”
He speaks through snippets
short jokes with punctuation
obvious as a war zone
He speaks in varying voices
that change with the characters
telling the story of his truth
He speaks with the stones
but he doesn’t trust them
Their wisdom lost to self-doubt
He speaks with the voice of Kings
ruling the alleyways wearing
tin-foil crowns that are often trampled
secret messages passed through his paranoia
clipping words like newspaper headlines
He speaks of dreams imposed
impressed, imbibed, truly intimate
flourishing in friendly fanatacism
He speaks in questions queried
in response to what he requests
Directness skitters him on a hot skillet
running like a cockroach from the light
He speaks in the symbols of aliens
collected in straight line rainbows
elaborately and tediously assembled
He speaks through the silence of the unforgiven
lost to the world of good will and hope
to the world of dark despair disguised as survival
the foundations built on lies he tells himself
to secure the warmth of a lost memory
that never existed.
I hate that the wound I thought was scarred was torn open with Christmas glee
while his wreck of appearance desecrated my safe haven, my holy place, my privacy.
He pulled up a truck to my front windows and loaded it with trash from their home
While I made sure not to move the blinds but with caution because I’m alone.
Seeing him made my heart crumple up like worthless discarded paper
at least as far as he’s concerned,
All I wanted to be for him was a guide as his empowered future shaper.
I wanted to be a guardian of the light I saw within him,
but from his mind, and through his eyes, his light is just too dim.
And so I sit crying while he drives off across the grass of my house
with another bag of garbage leaving wisdom non-espoused.
Come join in the dance of the Firewalkers
Come join in the song of the giving
Come join in the joy of the fearless talkers
Come join your hearts of the living
Once they were lost in pain and sorrow
Once they denied it, no joy to borrow
Once they’d forgotten who they were
Once they left for freedom unsure
Once they were nothing but frightened
Once they were hurting and raw
Once they were banished by self-induced exile
Once they were blind to what they saw
Once they rejected a healing touch
Once they gave in to what seemed too much
Once they refused of life to play a part
Once they closely guarded their jaded hearts.
We sing:
Come join in the dance of the Firewalkers
Come join in the song of the giving
Come join in the joy of the fearless talkers
Come join your hearts of the living
Once they were left broken and crying
Once they were deluged with the lying
Once they felt left out in the cold
Once they were rejected for being so bold
Once they were chastised for their thinking
Once they were left to their addictions and drinking
Once they refused the hand that was offered
Once they had drained all of false-love’s coffers
Once they’d gotten lost in the days
Once they felt overcharged and way underpaid
Once they found comfort in self destructive ways
Once they refused to kneel and pray.
Now they sing:
Come join in the dance of the Firewalkers
Come join in the song of the giving
Come join in the joy of the fearless talkers
Come join your hearts of the living
Now that freedom is here with you
Now we can help release pain from you
Come join in the dance of the Firewalkers
Come join in the song of the giving
Come join in the joy of the fearless talkers
Come join your hearts of the living
An Independent Nondiscriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations - FOUNDED 2014
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Hosanna High Community Burial Project
True wealth is the wealth of the soul
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Life as an American poet of excellence
Epic fantasy & military sci-fi author.
Love Letters to the Tar Pit
Making Space for Dreams
binge thinking and other things in life
Mare Martell 