Posts for 2020 (page 40)

When this all began—the quarantine, the spiritual journeys, the experimental cooking, the come-to-Jesus racial reckonings—I professed the desire to transcend, to find Truth and Light, to drift above like a cloud, touching those thinner membranes of the earth that easily burst into that easily obtained nirvana of peace, meditation, warm teas. Instead I see the cloud as a child’s lost balloon nearly popped, wild, confused, far from where it should be. And the balloon itself would be Light, and those thin membranes Light, and the currents of air Light, and child down below Light, and the earth and the honeysuckle and the lightning bugs and the barking dogs and the warped fences and the downtown squares and the empty pedestals and the mosquitos and the wood bees and the dancing elderly and the blooming lonesome tulips of the Arboretum—all Light, all beyond, all god. My leg is my leg, a part of me; when broken or in peak condition, it is still “Sean.” Everything is that Light we struggle to find, even when the shadows in our hearts make everything seem so dim. Looking outside yourself, outside the earth for Light is like turning away from the fire in search of heat. I am learning to kiss myself on the mouth instead, trying to let the Light transcend from my own throat.

does anyone still
rush out
in the early morning
dew clings to grass
birds sing the sun

reaching for a message 
delivered by hand
in the mailbox
on the front step
accidentally tangled in the hedge

who is still reading?

black ink on thin paper
black ink on fingers

misaligned color photographs
misaligned politic

shouldn’t we all still
seek daily education?

A cardinal stopped by with its video-game sounding call.

Legend says he is a visiting loved one who has passed on.

I cannot say who this one represents

But he has stayed long and has much to say.

If only I could understand the words.

As a child, I was told feathers are dirty
and to leave them where they lay.

I believed it.

Until I grew wings of my own
and learned to fly. 

split
            screen

flaming buildings
smoke and tear
gas
                     marching

bullhorns 
                          guns

march
shout chant
mask and no mask
the virus

marching
horses – riders – guns
smoke tear

gas guns
                 orange man stands in

front of a church a
Bible in his tiny hand photo
op

split 
                     screen

kneeling
                      breathing
                                            not breathing
split
                     screen

Mike Pence orders crops to be planted
in rows that curve like wings of birds
a child paints in the sky                    
                                            I explain
doing so won’t increase yield
will only complicate tilling                  
                                                 he gives me
a medieval frown:  

“Reason’s not sheriff in this little town and
truth is what’s seen by eyes of authority!”  

and the virus spreads, conjuring
a confounding god of egotism 
yearning for Babel and rubble.  

I have a tendency
to push myself too far
allow too much
march until I fall
tenacity is a positive until one realizes
I am not being the example I desire to be
I, at times, mock the self care enthusiasts
preferring to purchase a pair of shoes instead of hiding away
oh, I grab bits and pieces
hours here and there
but days, not so much
I cried this week at the self admittance
I struggle in not being perfectly capable of handling all things
yes, yes, I know
no one can
but life beckons and I hear the harmony
the voice singing underneath
lower and fuller and calling me to amplify by presence
join in, join in
and I realize
sometimes I cannot or rephrasing, should not
I don’t fall ill easily, except in my emotions
and today I am frail
weakened by more than I most likely realize
the world is screaming and so are the people I love, albeit they are quieter
I will relinquish, today
set time aside and go
release the realities I cannot control or need not
not comparing or punishing myself, only being true

Threat of morbid skies

Grey beast ails

Storm swells in the irises

of forgiving eyes

marked by tired begging

and chosen letting that

another day go by

without the gift of a

scarlet swept sunrise

For not misery

but a life led

by the beat of

empyrean’s drums

Great earth beneath

his sore calloused feet

the livelihood of generations

of sky watchers and seed sewers

devout to the uplifting of live things

Scarred as the scorched earth

by high noons of midsummer

Bogged as the furrows

that pool with a years rain

in three weeks

Still his heart is light

and head is clear

free from the burden of

sullen speculation

Somewhere between

triumph and disaster

he braces for the graceful wrath

the wake of a steely beast

I am fading here before you
Words like daggers pierce my skin
They say a thousand cuts can kill you
Well they’re right, and it’s a sin.
Placate me not with lamentation,
Do not sow your bitter seed
Just go on I will not blame
You didn’t know that I could bleed.