New Day

New Day

It’s very hard to be a perfectionist

Because the very standard I use for me

Is the one I use for others

And everyone fails in this system, including me

Utterly

Miserably

Which makes me wonder

Maybe perfect is not the way any of us should be

Maybe I am fighting against a reality

That will never, ever move

I work so hard to test and prove

I am right

While all existence says “Not so.”

I’m not quite sure which way to go

But I do know I must turn away from here

This place that only knows judgment and fear

I must leave it at once

I have no idea where I am going

But anywhere else must be better

I might just need to write a letter

A letter of resignation to my former self

Clear these self-made trophies off of the shelf

Go outside, breathe the air

Look up to the mountains there

And take the worst photo I’ve ever taken

Laugh it off, let my perfection be shaken

Right off into the colors of the sunrise.

1/22/19

Birth

Birth

I can feel the poems

Some are like angst and depression

Some are like joy and peace

Some the words flow like the winds

Some refuse release

I think those are the best ones

The ones  that stay locked in the womb

Awaiting just the right moment to be birthed

Crying, gasping for air

Blinded by the sudden light

Covered in blood and sweat and tears

Those are the best ones

The ones I cannot write

The ones that I must feel

And continue feeling deep in my spirit

Until I can take no more

Writing has been compared to chore

But I see it as much, much more

I see it as a new life beginning

Alight

I posted this poem in 2013 but I felt it was a good day for reposting. Hope you enjoy it!

Alight

I’m ready to float right out of this universe

Alight onto another 

Far more distant than this one

Yet closer than the breath of my lungs

I breathe the same air as the warlords, the bright ones

That spread love and peace and happiness and battle

The ones that make their swords all rattle

As they drop them into the ground to plant some life into it

Beings placed Deep into the brown, soft earth

Reddened by another’s blood

Watered by a steeping flood

Of submitted will and alabaster

The full moon just fills the fanning window above my head

Reflected light overpowering the lingering autumn darkness

Leaves unchanged as of yet

Yet we know that all is coming

To the sounds of soulful lutes and lyres

The coolness brings the smell of fires

And a thousand thousand drops of rain

I lift my head again and again

To see if there is yet any difference

No matter how many times I lift my head to see 

It is my heart that feels the breezes

I am reconciled, I am reconciled

Like a favorite blanket to a crying child

There is a restoration forming in this quiet soul

That is surrounded by harsh and disruptive raucous

Yet nothing but stillness deep within

A stillness so deep, unfathomable, restless

Its movement changes worlds

Its vibration lifts the earth

Setting it, vast, into a different place

Where freedom never dies

An inkling, a nature, a persistent cry

Does drive us into that galaxy wide 

That is so narrow many miss the smile

Could it be that we are all so worthwhile

That on us love alights?

I foresee again, I foresee again

The friendless and forgotten do know a friend

Who smiles again as does a brother

Whose embrace is that of gentle mother

Simply warmth and grace and good and love

A place where I can truly know enough

Where a reality exceeds my expectation

Is there ever an end to this disrupting frustration?

Or is this simply the fuel that feeds me on?

In all of this weakness, through all of this brawn

I simply seek on for the firelight

Realizing my alabaster wishes have pierced the night

So the sky is overwhelming in its shadows

Clouds so immense they dance

with the movement of the moistures

They grow in ever increasing cloisters

Bringing a realization into the mix

Could it be that we are so worthwhile

That on us love alights?

Movement in Pi

Movement in Pi (π)

It is a poet’s most dreaded moment

When there is nothing to write

The entire world within is dead

Which makes all things without the same

Even though the sun shines brightly

Even though the grass is being mowed

Even as the wasps and bees swirl around the window panes

And the ceiling fan just quietly keeps going around

I am much more like that fan right now

Though I don’t think dead things go in circles

So maybe there is a hope after all

Just the fact there is a movement in pi (π)

Is enough to bring a spark of life

So once again I see the plan

That even in the midst of the dreaded death

There is nothing to write, but there is nothing but life

I just love the Circle