the truth
is always told
through poetry
there are words,
but then —-
there are words
that make images
come to life
and once liberated
these words sing
from the inside out
lift you, carry you
and show you
the universe
even though
just seconds ago
you were
stuck in the weeds
I live my life in couplets
betcha expected a rhyme here
that’s too suspect.
Maybe I’ll dalliance with a quatrain
although I’m perhaps more partial to a sestet.
I’ll try to cram as much meaning
in as few words
as I’m able.
Then again often
I’m not expressly trying
just channeling
my emotions- deepest feelings.
Metaphor and simile
sprinkled in enough for you not to see
these just as thoughts of a madman
but poetry.
the sweet june air is ripe as plump orange bites
that color i never could rhyme about
yet father’s mother loves it dearer than others
adorned is she in tangerine patterns, beaded
braided jewelry reminiscent of a floridian
shop with an appeal to women seasoned
with “refined tastes”—none like that poor crop
of kentuckians grandma’s yielded from
and she never smelled like papa’s body shop neither
but rather warm vanilla perfume
i recall so well, each visit that fragrance attached
to our worn and weathered family room couch
my grandma told me she once was a writer
short stories and ditties of the like
though her ma tossed that proof of existence
right out, along with any naïve dreams containing
worlds of words and wonder, so grandma
settled for trips to the drugstore with papa
to purchase words rather than write her own
the slow-rolling hills of the flesh-toned sunset,
“The Desert has many teachings” – Mechthild of Magdeburg
Tell me crow
your story
When you spread
your wings
I take refuge
in shadow
Wind dispel
in gusts
scatter like dust
my thoughts
leave only sand
beneath
Mesquite mother
water wise
transmute rain
into shelter
Teach arms to
touch sky
A patchwork quilt gifted from her mother on the birth of her daughter
arrived in the mail, the box wrapped in a paper bag much the way her
mother covered school books years ago. The quilt was handstitched with
fabric gleaned from a dressmaking factory’s dumpster located behind her
mother’s workplace. Curiously, the quilt was unfinished as she carefully
unfolded it, there was no backing, it was only the quilt top. A handwritten
note was attached to the fabric, “For the baby. You can finish it.”
She actually loved the quilt top with its colorful fabric and variety of designs,
but she never understood why her mother did not complete it. Unfinished work
in progress, half a painting on a canvas, a knitted sweater with one arm missing,
an empty plate at the dinner table. She never asked her mother about it, much
like her hesitation to ask about other things in their strained relationship, a
distance geographically enhanced. The quilt top hung over the back of an old
chair pushed into a corner. Whenever she noticed it she thought of her new
baby and no time to sew. No money to purchase batting and fabric for the back.
No desire to finish it. No room in her heart to even think about it. One day
when the baby was sleeping, she noticed the sun powering through the
window reflecting sparkle on the blocks of fabric. She picked it up and
wrapped it around her shoulders, an embrace from the past, a hint of
lavender sachet was released.
Tears rolled down her face,
as the snow melts down the mountainside
and the rain falls from heaven.
Oh, we’ve got the table reserved
1:30, you know?
Well, that works out
It’s the first time
in all these months
we’ve seen someone else use it
Did you have a nice picnic?
We sure did
Hope you do, too
The depths of the longing I feel for you
Are so immense and grand
That my heart swells in my chest
Preventing oxygen to filter through my body
Creating a veiled delusion
That this was ever meant to be
But in those depths
I also feel the immensity
Of how I know I can go on without you
How you do not long for me
With as much heat or desire
As I do for you
How much that pains me
To know you do not desire me
As I am
Or who I will maybe become?
My heart deflates
My eyes swell with held back tears
I can not look at you in your reddened eyes
Because my heart will shatter
Not because I am worried of how
You will receive me
But at knowing I am right
But also, at knowing
I will be okay
As much as I hoped this be
The greatest love story of my life
I know it is not
Though it hurts, I knew this reality
Long before it occurred
may all beings realize happiness
as we walk this path together
in gratitude of others who do not share my views:
to impose my views on others brings suffering
no matter the form
(force, coercion, etc.)
simply to share my views
in respect of others who are perceived as different
honor their chosen beliefs
esteem their decisions
assist others to acknowledge, let go, and transform
closed-mindedness
through engaged communication
in gratitude of others who do not share my views
you help me discern my own
you teach me in your own way
