I find it hard to believe that it's me,
Progressing with empty steps in this way;
And yet when it changes, no one can say.
Be it family or society,
My costs are for someone else to defray.
To be sure I'm the lesser moiety
Progressing with empty steps in this way.
A mystery moment I hope to see:
Elusive success of my own to pay,
And an opportunity that I may.
I find it hard to believe that it's me,
Progressing with empty steps in this way;
And yet when it changes, no one can say.
Tag: growth
My sheer house
My sheer house is miniscule,
But here and now a lyric
Could take sublime molecules,
Make time's victory pyrrhic.
I give you this offering:
How I lived, a wish afloat
On songs of hope, softening
The wrongs which our scopes promote.
My dream to be feminine,
To see myself seem pretty,
A princess with eminence;
Pinced instead: what a pity.
I grew into depression,
My true self refused, repressed.
Desire became obsession;
To my shame I was possessed.
My own eating disorder
Bound up a need for starving,
Alcohol, and discordant,
Maladaptive wrist carving.
Death was posing constantly,
Its threshold closing around
Each moment of wantingly
Reaching, alone and unfound.
But I'm alive, shockingly,
I survived at rock bottom.
He found me worth pocketing,
Crowned my cursed head with autumn.
Before I was untethered,
Poured my puzzled blood weeping;
When he brought us together,
He bent thoughts that lie creeping.
A half-dozen medicines,
A path that wasn't direct
At last mounted reticence,
Perhaps found something correct.
We shacked up through manifold
Setbacks, yet we grew happy
Trusting plucky animals,
Our muscovy ducks' flapping.
There's still the same confusion.
Will you blame that I re-slept
My years' yearning delusion?
I've merely learned to accept.
I've lost and gained employment,
I've tossed the rains from islands
To focus love's enjoyment;
A voice spoke above violence.
I'll never be omniscient;
So I must weather demons,
Though I fear I'm deficient.
I know my sincere reasons.
I'm not very capable
But caught a merry lifeline.
If even I'm shapeable,
Could seasons prime our lifetimes?
To mention that important
Question: what matters really?
Is self-knowledge supporting
My shelf of solid feeling?
Am I truly self-aware,
Can I duly note defects
In myself that interfere
With my health's tender reflex?
Have I built my quality
Which sadness wilted above;
Deeply lies my policy:
To keep those I call beloved.
Peace
Peace is knowing unease Recedes; and woe, once the wave Which swallowed old continents, Shall fall for the bold and brave. Strength is trust in loving's Length, justice, and equipoise. Ridges rise as miracles Bridge islands and wrecks rejoice. Virtue waits in patience, Hurts abate and sorrows cease. Souls of mercy float, finding Mirth extolled by prophet peace.
Our Best Friends
Percy and Franklin,
I still think about you two.
May we meet again.
Talk to me Norman.
Any whisper you breathe
Makes my soul lighter.
Oh my darling George,
I'll never forget seeing
You in the preserve
Next door, (far from home to me.)
You came back with love's ascent.
Steve, what a blessing
To see you running to me
With warmest welcome.
Little striped ducky,
What is your name I wonder,
Our friend Zebra's child.
Zebra moved along
With a few of her ducklings;
We'll always love her.
Wonderful Helmet,
You most amazing mother,
Your little white head
Reminds me of the Mama's
Before who mothered our friends.
Edgar's soft whirring,
A duckling nipping the air:
Little things they do
That remind me of Granite.
How he loved his blueberries.
Cities/Languages
Cities built upon
Cities, and languages built
Upon languages.
In our world gone mad
In our world gone mad,
We have the thief in the night
Out in broad daylight
While we buy and sell, stealing
Away from calm and from sense.
There once was a man
From an island, it doesn't
Matter which. This tongue
Is the sole silhouette Time
Bequeathed to him for his trip.
The name of the place
From twenty-five years ago;
A memory's lane;
Psychoactivity's seeds
Referenced throughout childhood, why?
Blue jay, hi! Blue jay, ho!
Blue jay, hi! Blue jay, ho!
Springing from each angled bough,
Fluttering aground,
Pulled aloft like a puppet
Back up to the browned
Bower barely above it.
Blue jay high, blue jay low!
One goodbye, one hello;
Wondering time, watch its tow.
See it standing still?
On the first of diversions
Seasons start to spill;
Lead our lovely excursions
Blue jay, hi! Blue jay, ho!
Blue I sigh, feeling slow
And inert. How to go
Where I want to be,
(And where is that exactly?)
More than merely me,
Maybe. It depends on who's asking—
Then at once: blue jay, yo!
Every day marvels show
Beauty's spark flash in both
Beings grandiose
And the commonplace creatures;
Perhaps I learn the most
From these humblest of teachers.
I get high, I lay low.
You, my love, you are so
Blue, but know that although
Sometimes we must lay
In the valleys and doldrums,
Always comes the day.
Who knows when we'll behold some
Blue jay high, blue jay low!
Don’t you like to smile?
Don't you like to smile?
You know sometimes it is warranted,
Those times when we can laze a while,
Forget the world's exorbitant
Amount of stresses and their warring bid
For domination of our psyches.
Slap some nonsense news on my dormant lid,
Tell me a joke to strike ease
Lightly on matchbox nights like these.
Tie a ring of embers around my tongue.
If we're laughing we're using the right keys;
Laughter is how the spirit stays young.
Then, even when we're old, your eyes and lips
Will never cease to make my heart do flips.
Prisoners
It's hard to love a prisoner, I know,
I too was locked away before we met.
The flower shut in a box will still grow,
But not to bloom: its fruit is regret.
I know you can find your freedom yet;
You don't have to change yourself quite so much.
Only give yourself the courage to bet
On your desires without needing to clutch
Expectations of them. Our kind are such
That define and find our passions in pains
And restrictions; I admit there's a touch
Of attraction to lows, a kink for chains.
If you tie me up, I'll free you for fun.
We're prisoners of what we haven't done.
Cadmeian Dream
Cadmeian dream where do you hide,
dream of founding conquerors?
Novel ideas glinting beside
innovative conjurers;
Narrative man, marionette,
dance a jig we haven't seen.
Reveal things we'll never forget
when their forms in shadows lean.
Discovery bright magnetize
kindred soldiers to a fate
Inspired, driven to strategize
campaigns toward something great.
Where's the ancient magic now,
once from caves of numinous
Mystique? What are we to allow
prophecies so ruinous?
Almost everything is given,
leading us, fascinated
To the hollow shells we live in:
blank slates, deracinated.
Almost everything we're burning,
and we know the fuel won't last.
We're capable of discerning
danger but speeding too fast.
What have we left now that we've thrown
it all in for knowledge? We
Toil to relearn what we've disowned
pursuing technology.
Technology is not what matures
insights, compassion, or trust;
Rather it's a pipeline for tours
of infrastructural rust.
Culture is gone America,
schizophrenia and ads:
Our tradition generica
of attention-seeking fads.
Recognition at any price;
everything exists to sell
Cult-of-personality heists,
hallmark of our living hell.
What's authentic and what is not,
and more importantly—who?
This pre-apocalyptic spot:
nothing revealed, all on view.
Systems and secrets, sabotage
lurking at the rainbow's end
Sculpt from the mists a drab mirage,
and the powers play pretend.
Or are we the real pretenders,
gaming life to build a sense
Of importance? We upenders
who'd shake up our portents' fence?
Flattened, diluted, left to run
aimlessly, as in a dream
Whose conditions are cunningly spun
for a big business's scheme.
So what are we, and who am I,
what makes of me a Cadmus?
Why should people rally to my
ideas of joy and sadness?
Yet Cadmus did know who he was,
let his nation come from fate;
Clearing my own self-concept's fuzz
is enough to contemplate.
A place for my poems 