Shut Up. Listen.

I am not sure what I should write so I start writing because

writing for it's own sake is enough. These days are coming,

these days are going, you watch it as you live it. Your thoughts

move and shift like clouds. What does this new shape mean?

Must it mean anything? There is so much in my life I have

forgotten. There is so much in my life I have yet to live.

There is an infinite number of ways to still change. What 

will I do with this information? Is it possible to embrace

the impossibilities of what I wish to accomplish with this time?

Why must husbands and wives disagree? Would agreeing 

all the time be preferable? Are these both the same problem

in different guises? You wish to know peace. Where are you

looking? Are you looking in the outer world? Are you looking

to conquer outer space? Have you considered an inner gaze?

Do not fret at making everything cohesive. Not everything

is meant to be held forever. Not everything is meant to make

sense. Embrace duality. Embrace contradiction. There is space

enough within. Do not dwell too deeply on past mistakes. Let

them be. Know that was you then. It does not have to be who

you are now. You are growth and change. The pains of growing

into new skin are never easy. You will feel relief soon. Listen.

Just shut up and listen. Sometimes that is the most important

thing you or anyone else can do. Shut up. Listen. 

Purple and Green (freewrite)

I cannot think of what to write so I'm going to write all the same
and let the words fall where they may but the words will not fall
they will remain on this page as they should as they have been
placed with purpose by me as I have typed them out They speak
in the way they were designed and I have you on my mind but
who is the you and who is the I Image incarnate I see you face
I can hear your breath in my ears I can hear the sound of pleasure
from your lips and feel the sweat of midnight bodies It is no longer
night It is morning and grey skies color the heavens as they Sun
wonders how it is going to break through Blue skies are there
biding there time Patiently waiting to see us again I imagine my
self when I was a child and struggle to remember memories of
the life I lived the person I was at one time My body has grown
shifted and become something altogether different from the infant
I once was My mother is still here and I can see the ways in which
I take after her We share the same skin tone and a similar sense of
humor though I cannot cook at least not in the way that she can
but that is no fault of hers merely mine I continue to write without
purpose but all art could be perceived in this way by others but
that would be their loss and not of the artist How we speak What
we say How we say it These are all things that we struggle with
Deal with because we must Can I tell you her favorite colors
She said she loves Purple and Green I told her I love Blue and
Green I cannot wait to see her I feel like a child waiting for
Christmas every time I am apart from her I do not wish to be an
impatient lover I do not wish to crowd her I must be open and
trusting of her And I do love her And I do trust her That is what
I must do how I must also be Her name is on my lips but so is
the taste of sweetness the taste of her lips the taste of her sweat
the smell of her hair the memory of our bodies bare skin against
bare skin into a peaceful rest A rest where the world ceases to be

Make A Choice (freewrite 3/27/18)

Burning bright the lights are on the sun is out and I am here
waiting for the tide to come in waiting for the water to touch
my feet the cold shock of ocean standing on the sandy shore
this is the place we once stood where we once kissed but who
were we then and who are we now my hands moved on your
body and slipped under your dress that time is so long ago now
that we were different people and when I think of us it feels
as though our former selves are trapped in amber is that the
fate of all things honey fossilized yet so beautiful to behold
I miss the things I have never had yet they are not mine to
miss I must let go of everything this attachment can only
bring grief the longer I hold on this is our constant condition
to hold on and to suffer from fear and this fear must become
something else and it often does I do not want this I want
to leave my imperfections behind I want to be the better man
I have always believed myself to be but I have let bad habits
rule my mind and body the reckoning that must happen is
with myself as judge and jury I know I know the answer
is my will strong enough am I able to change and follow
through I gain nothing by pursuing this path except to wear
it further into the ground I must I must take the leap of faith
with myself I have known this and now I say this to me and
only me the water is flowing from the tap but it still drips
drops even after it has been turned off the accumulation
and the falling into the white porcelain sink there is love
I wish to have for myself yet I do not dare allow it in or
will I change my mind my body has one answer and my
heart has another I vacillate between the two and wonder
what I will actually do to do one is to tear up so many plants
from the soil needlessly if I were to do this I would have to
plant a new garden and it would be beautiful though different
from what came before I think about these things I think
about everything and this is my life this is my thoughts
spiraling from my fingers and staring back at me my mind
laid out in front of my eyes and asking me to confront
myself to make sense of this all and to make a choice

Freewrite 2/22/18

This process repeating itself over and over

and we sit and wonder and wonder and sit

about it all again and again I heard her voice

from my memory It had been so long I miss

her face I miss her presence in the midst of

this darkness I started to write but I would 

stop because the words began to freeze as

they would reach my hands though my 

thoughts continues to race out as best they

could Well did any of us expect anything 

different than what's occurred Standing at

the dawn of the new day with a feeling of 

mixed comfort and ill ease What lies ahead

is what remains and what remains will lie

ahead in wait The Gods wait for us to call

on them by name Incantation to give them

life What I believe and what I do are not 

always in agreement How often do we 

agree with ourselves Is it too late When 

did you last ask yourself that question

Are you alive If you are then it is not too

late And when it is too late it will then 

be time for us to leave this forma and 

become a new incarnation of consciousness

Give All The Love That Is Yours To Give (Freewrite)

Nothing comes and yet everything does if you
allow it to be Steady hands to guide you along
the path but whose hands and what path There
are questions without answers and answers no
on ever suspected Here you are in the present
yet how much of a gift is this moment Ask this
of yourself Days are time and this life is yours
to do with as you like Sight and Consciousness
Are we pushing ourselves towards something
unseen that defies easy categorization Suppose
this to be so Color gray shading everything by
its mere presence Memories emerge from the
years gone by and to where do they return at
the end of our lives Be happy for those you
have cause to be happy for Take all the joy
that you can from this life Every drop taken
to feed a thirst that cannot be fully slaked

Lines and Freewrite 11/7/17

Fantasy or Leisure?
Love or Pleasure?

A Life More Ordinary.

Light flowing unobstructed from the sun
And even when there are obstacles in place
it seeps through every crack it can find.
How many mornings of your life have you
woken and been greeted by the light flowing
down upon you More often than not I would
suppose I do not wish to be hidden from the
sun I want to bask in its warmth and find the
places I have always wanted to see They are
out there waiting for me Wake and rise and
see Wake an rise and see This life is now
and it will always be We are always subject
to change without notice Impermanence is
all we can ever rely on Change is change is
change is change Are you awake now Are
you still in bed at home Is there a dog curled
up at your feet I once touched your skin and
hair and fed from the warm smile you would
give Miles apart Separated by time Willful
and needed or will and unnecessary Making
the best of this is all we could do Does the
body have dreams apart from the mind Is
there memory dormant in its bones ligaments
and muscles that the mind has never known
Another morning Another time to consider
everything Nothing could be more than this
Everything is everything now Deeper into
Fall Winter is approaching with each passing
day Chilly wind washes through the branches
of the trees And in the heart of Winter we
will be conserving heat and counting the days
and nights waiting for the first blooms
waiting for life to renew its promise waiting
for Spring waiting to open windows and
let walk through the front door and see
how the world has changed and what beauty
must still remain

Freewrite 7/12/17

If I start writing at this moment what will come out?
I do not know, I have no plans. It is merely what it
will be. How much of my fears and insecurities can
I lay out on the page? This act is simple yet consumes
the passion of a lifetime to come close to perfecting
something so ethereal. What magic is this? Is it more
than mere words plucked from the ether? I have let
many years pass me by and now I wish to no longer
do so. I must find my way to action. It starts simply
as thoughts but I cannot let myself be consumed
merely by thought. I must find the way to concrete
action. I just remembered an old friend telling me of
her father dying. Another friend had his mother die
last year. Time is marching on it's endless campaign
in the war that hardly anyone understands is going
on everywhere at all times. The illusion of the eternal
present is a force that lulls many of us into pure
inaction through sheer inertia. Is the great search for
meaning that there is no meaning? Are we each
responsible for creating a way forward for ourselves?
I would say that is a very likely thing. When I listen
to the birds in the morning how many generations of
men and women done the same? How did the first
human at the beach feel as they marveled at the
seemingly endless expanse of the ocean? How
beautiful it is to behold so much water coming in
and out from the shore. Did this simple view help
solidify the idea of gods in the mind of man? I am
grateful for this life but I demand more from myself.
That is me in the present. I must not only demand
this of myself, I must create the conditions that
will allow me to do this work. To master oneself
is the work of a lifetime. I must control this unruly
body and it's simple desires. This desire is not
relenting. I must not let myself back down from this.

Easter Morning Meditations

Must my shadow be so dark
From my bed I rise into another dawn
What will this life hold for me
in these years of passing life
Focusing light into a point
so bright that it won't be denied

strings plucked so vibrantly
as the drums bubble over like waves
invocation to peace and mindfulness
from here life begins   peace of heart
peace of mind   does the soul alight
in you now  close your eyes and listen
this place you have wished to be has
always been within  listen to the still
ness of life   listen  here  now  here
let it flow from crown to toe sunlight
washing over you  filling you  now it
becomes you  free yourself from that
which brings you harm  words repeat
in quiet breaths  focusing thoughts
the sound which calls you to be more
more than merely living  to be alive
to live with honesty and humility
to live with the truth of life itself
invitation to higher connection
thoughts which bring peace
words which bring serenity
all that we are and will yet be
past and future selves in one being
awake at the shore and overwhelmed
rise and fall of the tide  soft white
peaks dissipate  create a trail for
others to follow words like breath
within me and without be unafraid
my better nature is fighting for the light
remember the lessons of your father

Those who can hear
Those who can feel
cannot doubt that which flows through

Morning Freewrite 4/5/17

Into this waking world once again You ask me a question
and I cannot answer it I think about it for a moment and
nothing still comes to mind I say I do not know and leave
it at that Later on as I lay in bed I think about it and still
can think of nothing Nothing is a natural state To be left
empty is to be prepared to be filled and live once more
That is the secret and it is no secret at all I hear music sung
in Portuguese and my heart begins to dream Beautiful
words and tongue combined to make me wonder of all
the promises of life and the possibilities that have long gone
I hear songs from my youth and think of all the ways
things have been and could yet still be I find beauty to be
irresistible yet I only observe it with curiosity I always
try to let it approach first The mind races with possibilities
unless it has no rush If it is in now rush they stream
steadily much like leafing through the photos in an
album that has been gently faded by time To be in love
and not be bound to it To belong to each other but to
be apart always To revel in sweetness We woke up
in a hotel room with the sunlight streaming through
Your body was next to mine  I was happy in a way
I haven't been since Truth is embedded everywhere
To be kind is no small act I cannot write a song but
my heart can still sing It has a voice and it will not
allow itself to live in silent desperation

Listen (Freewrite)

Love as both biological impulse and metaphysical
act of connection Life viewed as a natural extension
of cellular division Consciousness a question still
unanswered What is the divine spark and why has
it been given Awareness a gift or curse Don't think
Just act Let these thoughts just be Fill your life with
the necessary distractions to pass the hours days weeks
years to make this all bearable It is only as bearable
as we want it to be Are you happy asking questions
or are you happier wondering and never knowing
Decide for yourself but feel free to change the answer
whenever the impulse may come Sitting in the drivers
seat of your car you have become its consciousness
guiding a body of plastic and metal through streets
and roads Is this the metaphor for our existence Is our
consciousness the driver apart from this vehicle Define
the self Struggle with this idea but do not surrender it
You have lived a thousand lives but left them all in
your mind Who will you be today Will this self be
content or restless Will this self hold on to the ideas
that have shaped it Or will this self boldly reject what
it has been fed and create a life to its liking Restlessness
is a constant attribute to our lives A way to shape us
into more than mere apathetic surrender You are
remembering being in the woods and staring up at
the treetops listening to the birds and wind and feeling
as though the answers are there but not being sure if
you can speak the language they are being spoken in
Listen you told yourself Listen Listen And finally
you heard the voice and understood The wind spoke
and repeated one word over and over to you Listen
Listen Listen Listen Listen Listen Listen Listen Listen

Rebirth (Freewrite)

Memories of myself hidden and revealed
Lost beneathe the waves of years and
illuminated by fragments of passing light
Forest fox what do you seek in this city
of endless roads that you could not have
had in your home away from all of this
Begging questions from street corners
No one kind enough to throw an answer
into the cup but answers are hard to come
by these days though everyone thinks
they have one but they are most often
mistaken I've spent my life in hidden
spaces and only come to light and air
on the occasion of my infrequent birth
Your mother wonders how you've been
but you have been how your mother
wonders How silly to turn a phrase back
on itself as if it had no other reason to be
Your words cannot be used against you
because words belong to all of us and for
any one of us to claim sole ownership of
words such such WAS or AM or PAST
or BELOVED or LIE or QUAIL would
be silly beyond comprehension and yet
we do not comprehend all that is placed
before us in this life so we pretend and
justify things we do not fully understand
Understanding would only get in the way
of progress and progress should never
be a form of regression unless it is and it
often is Do you remember being a child
and feeling the mixture of terror and wonder
at the sight of fireworks on the fourth of
July It was as if the whole world was
burning itself up and beautifying itself
all at the same time How sweetly you
loved those days and how little you
understood of the near limitless freedom
of that age Now you think upon it and
feel sadness come over you until it is
washed away by the new joys that come
with age and maturity You have become
ripe as a fruit and no less beautiful Beauty
only ever interested you as a means to
understand truth but you always hated
those meandering conversations rooted
in philosophy that would circle like water
into the drain in the bathtub Naked and
together with your lover in bed or in the
shower warmth togetherness the denial
of an outer world A new religion a new
philosophy built for two as a bulwark
against a world that has grown uncertain
and indecisive Love is a decisive feeling
that leaves no uncertainty It simply is or
isn't Now I am Now you are We shall
both continue to be so until the day
when we both cease to do so On that day
what shall be said by those remaining
For me I hope it can be said that he lived
until he could live no longer and when he
could live no longer he decided to see
the world anew from another place
and oh how beautiful it is from there!

Edge of the Heavens

When you wake up to a gray and overcast morning
Ready to burst with rain do you feel inconvenienced
at the coming storm or do you ready yourself for the
deluge I'll often sit and find myself writing about the
view outside and the shifting moods of my mind in
those early hours Obscured by the clouds but I know
the sun is hidden behind the wall of rain It has to be
It is There is nothing here but relief at another day
under the edge of the heavens

A Feast for No Guests ( Freewrite )

There is no point in being pointless but there is plenty of reason
in being senseless Pull the image from the sky and tell the truth
as often as you life The truth can enslave you as much as it can
set you free I never promised to be faithful Did you childhood
disappear faster than you can remember What ever happened
to all of your infantile memories and dreams Is there a way we
can reclaim these parts of ourselves that have been lost I start
laughing when I remember how foolish we were in our youth
and the false sense of immortality and invincibility that filled us
then Only the passing of years has made us aware of the frail
nature of our lives Forget how to love No that is a thing that
is impossible Loving is innate to all of us I sat down and sat
and sat and thought and sat some more and thought about
putting a pen in my hand but even that was too much for me
to bear So I sat and sat and sat and thought until my head was
so filled with thoughts that they began to spill uncontrollably
from my hands so fast that words would often disappear or
thoughts would come out half formed from the deluge You
are sleeping when I wake and we live so separately though
we are tied by the invisible thread that binds us in secret knots
Hiding in a small museum in Culver City I cease to be the
adult I have become and feel the curiosity and wonder of my
childhood reemerge I am humbled at the ability of this to
happen to me I was listening to you sing and I lost myself in
your voice I dreamt your songs I woke up to your sounds
and now I am filled with the sounds and words that can heal
the broken and invisible parts of myself Memory becomes a
thing that randomly accesses itself Sitting in my car on a
darkened residential street Loving you and feeling so apart
from the world and the lives we had created for ourselves
Eventually we had to open the door and get out and put on
the costumes of the lives we had made I see your smile in
pictures and know the unhappiness that lurks beneathe Yet
I know there are many genuine looks of joy within I am not
afraid of death but I would be telling you a lie No one has a
life they would willingly give up but we must all be torn from
this home someday and when that day comes we must decide
on our own peace I drank lemonade and thought it too tart so
I poured in a spoonful of sugar and it was fine Night comes
and shows us what it is to have been one of our ancestors
and be filled with fear Pick up the warm roll and spread the
butter over it with a knife Comfort in such a pure and simple
way Is this not what we are all seeking in various measures

Infinite Curves of a Bending Universe (Freewrite)

Infinite Curves of a Bending Universe

Where does find beauty and hope
When it cannot be found within

Austere and Monastic
This life of unintentional living

Without your living voice
This world became sadder
And uglier
You are still missed
And thus it shall always be
A degraded place
Without you in it

Love is no thing
It is also not nothing
It is best presented
By the algebraic variable X
We must solve for it
Even if we grow frustrated
In pursuit of it

I promise nothing to myself
I have learned to break
Promises more easily
Than it should be
I ache at my misspent years
Or have they been
A masters class in finding
Reason from nothing

Source of my desire
I think of you often
When your image appears
I am overcome by you
Scarcely do we see another
Building walls of ill reason
I keep approaching you
From nowhere

Darling, there was a moment
the world could have changed
We would have instigated
The shift but we abstained
And let this world continue
On it's faulty course
From this distant shore
I admire your beauty
And memory
And think of an evening
Where possibility
Was more than possible

A Monument to the Eternal
Lost from this life
I mourn you
Memory is burned into
Eternal monument
Dearest
Lost from this place
I shed tears turned to stone
On your grave
I would have been fortunate
To have been taken first
Agony of the living
Memory comforts and haunts
Sunrise Sunset
Promise and heartache
To the horizon
I reach for you
Will join you
Let time be fleeting
Let what remains fall away
Let me return
To the elements
Let me journey
Towards the eternal

What I Know is Incomplete and Tenuous at Best

A World Reborn and Recast
Into an Image Never Before Seen

Alone with no one to love
She sees me walking to Her
Will our eyes meet
Will I walk by
With nary a glance


Sun rises and sets
Whether or not we are there
To bear it witness


Loaded and alone
Rest your head here dearest one
Alone at morning


Nothing is for free
Should it ever really be
Sleep well tonight dear

This Night (Freewrite 9/12/16)

These words don't need to mean anything. If there is meaning
then it is purely unintentional. There are intended consequences
for cast off actions and improvised thoughts. Pose a question as
a declarative statement and expect no answer. I held my niece
but she motioned for me to set her down so she could walk. I
obliged and watched her small legs carry to my mother, her
grandmother. There is never enough of the things we think we
need. We get by anyhow. I have twelve dollars to my name.
This isn't the first time. I worry enough but perhaps not about
the things I need to worry about. If I were to ask you to sing
for me would you? If you asked me to sing for you I would.
There would be no promise of my voice being pleasing, in
key, or even being remotely sensible lyrically. Perhaps I'd be
better off humming to you. Once upon a time there was a boy
who wrote poetry. One day that boy started playing music.
The boy grew up. To this day he still writes poetry and plays
music. The boy is now a broke man but more often than not
he is happy. The end. In medias res. Time is fleeting. Who
said that? Did it ever need to be said? And why in latin?
Tempus Fugit. Sometimes I think about what Mary told me
a few years ago. When I think about those things I think I
have been a fool to not act on them. Mary is fine. Her new
book will be published soon. This art, this struggle, may it
never end. Why would you want me to paint you a picture
of the sunset when I could take you to the beach and watch
it together in a profound silence broken only by the waves.
I like a well made Mai Tai after sunset at the beach. Two or
three well made drinks will put you comfortably at ease
with yourself and most anything else. Foolish blood caught
flowing through my body, we are both prisoners in the same
cell. Women I have loved. Women I have admired. Women
I have loved so much I cannot stand to be near them. What
did young Octavian think as he conquered the known world?
What did Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa think as he watched
Octavian become Augustus? The fate of a new empire rested
with them. We still speak their names. If I had no name what
would I call myself? If you had no name how would you be
known? Identity. Created and upkept. This nebulous vision
constructed and maintained for the benefit of who? Who and
whom, an other with no name to call but I wish you here.
Preach to the unwashed masses only because they forget to
bathe today. Covered in the dirt of the Earth are they not more
holy than we? God, are you listening? Have you gone to sleep?
This landslide will bury us whole. Choking on ash, collapse
of the known order, we must build something new or be
enslaved by the will of another. Moon shining bright over me
will you guide me to sleep? Will you keep Death at bay?
Will you kiss me farewell at dawn?

Freewrite 5/22/16

I have to let the words flow like the drinks poured down my throat. Words must become as fluid as conscious thought. There is no cessation to language, to the firing of neurons through cerebral synapses. Memory and action, thought elevated to art and science, or brought down from Olympus and dragged into the dirt of our uncleanliness. We are no better than our primal ancestors, though, the veneer of culture and civilization makes us believe so. We are still subject to the process of belief. To belief in forces much greater than ourselves. This is no mistake. Nature is truly the only primal force we must account for. Everything else is artificial. Money, economy, politics, religion…these are all creations of ourselves. We cannot surrender these illusions without losing a perceived part of ourselves. 

Words of the Inevitable

If there is soul I will find it
This is an exercise in nothing
This nothing is merely a representation
of a temporary something
What is can not be said to be non-existent
What is non-existent cannot be said to have been
In this time we have there is time enough
to be lazy and dream and there is time enough
to work to till the soil to watch the flowers bloom
Life is never wasted
Death is certainly no end
Transitions are always the hardest
and always inevitable
Right now is the only now worth anything
Yesternow has ceased to be of any value
except through the clarity of hindsight
No matter what matters matter cannot cease
the state of its existence
Kiss and bring me to life
Take off my clothes
Place me beneathe the sheets to sleep
To dream To while away time
While here and now I sit
impatient and waiting
Waiting and patiently thinking
of everything Thinking of
letting the river of the cosmos
flow through the fleeting strokes
beneathe my finger tips
Morning has come
and evening is hours away
but it is inevitable
and so
these words are
as well only when
     laid upon the page

Freewrite 4/21/15

This has to be an act of pure spontaneity or else
it loses value, meaning, but there was never any
intent to imbue it with such. These thoughts are
meant to move naturally as though they were
actors on a stage performing at the height of
naturalness.  I cannot persuade myself to act in
any manner but those I have already done. This
is a failing many of us carry. It is because  of this
the world largely continues as it does. Don't take
this to mean anything. Language? Cut your tongue
so you can claim to speak many languages when,
in fact, all you know are a handful of dialects.
Birds have begun to nest in the branches of the
lemon tree. I know this because I hear them most
mornings. I doubt they know or care that I can
hear them, I watch them come and go. They can
say the same for me. We are both free but which
of us are more free? Is that a question worth
answering? Free? Will? Will never comes by any
more. He moved away a long time ago. I have
stayed in place but I begin to question my judge
-ment. Speak of possibility as though it was a
person. Possibility would be the unusually happy
friend we all seem to know at some point. Their
mania is not so much a concern as much as when
they have been brought to the ground. Can you
ever pick them up? Are they too heavy for you?
I thought I saw the sun but it was merely a flash
light in the distance. I swore I heard the ocean
but it was only cars in the streets driving by.
Mary was always only as contrary as most of us
tend to be. No more, no less. How did she get
such a reputation for contrariness? My wings
are not broken but they have yet to learn to fly.
My heart never had to learn to maintain its beat.
My mind has worked from the start but I wonder
if it knows the secrets even I have forgotten?
It must. Why conjecture? The royal we? Royalty
is such a silly thing we have made. Are we not
all the children of some supposed god? How
could he pick a favorite line of blood? We have
been quite misinformed, and no doubt, will waste
no time in telling us upon our death. Death. It all
comes back to our lives, fleeting moments that
dull in the passage of time. Years become indistinct
as we move forward. What happened to my twenties?
I know but I forget. I don't wish to let my life pass
without effort. I am a coward but I wish to be brave.
Who said that? Probably everyone. If not said aloud
it has been thought many a time. Thought can be
an impetus towards action. In this way we are all
brave.

Let It Write Itself Freely

parched tongue like that of a cat
licking my skin seeking a way
to convince and cajole into the
petting of spine and muscle
I have to unwind the narrative
from my head it has spooled tight
and will not give easily to being
unthreaded and left in a pile on
the floor but how are we to make
cloth if we do not have wool or
cotton at hand I am not as scared
to be naked as I once was being
without clothes I realize how
defenseless I am how I am aging
how I am in a race towards an end
but the end is not the end or so I
believe I do not need to believe in
God or gods or goddesses to know
I am eternal that part of me will
continue to be long after I have
ceased to be anything even remotely
recognizable to this form will my
consciousness disperse into space
and become particles to be absorbed
into the stars and gaseous clouds
floating in the nebulous beauty of
boundless space oh to be something
so beautiful and immortal will we
know such beauty in our waking
lives or must we dream and dream
long nights of our lives away in
search of unconscious visions from
our subconscious thoughts but our
consciousness is a mystery I am
willing to conceded as divine and
if we are divine then i must tell you
that we are gods and that we have
power to wield or abdicate as we
please but please is always the word
of magic and it is what we wish
to achieve with others and others
to ourselves though ourselves
are fragile things that we hold on
to as best we can as long as can
but we need to let go of this of
each other of everything of loss
because everything will be lost
and broken and rebuilt into new
visions of ancient worlds in future
kingdoms of kindness where we
will cease the endless wars we have
waged in our ignorance but we need
not be ignorant we must see but
i cannot see my eyes are closed
and heavy with the weight of a long
life that is much too short and i am
short and this world is short and we
are all far too aware of our height
how majestic we would be if we
were sequoias rooted in the ground
towering over the land as creatures
grew in our branches far overhead
where they have only heard faint
rumors of land and have come to
heaven then any of us ever have

A Freewrite Disguised as a Poem (and vice versa)

Conversations between sea and sand

carry on in a language far older

than any cognizant creature

is capable of understanding.

The fear of rejection, the fear of failure,

the fear that we are misguided in intent.

Stumbling through light and dark

our elbows still strike nerves described

as bones that clearly have no concept

of humor or anatomy. 

I talk of dreams as though they were children

left at home with their Mother,

that perhaps, if I talk about them enough

will materialize. 

I have no problem dreaming

by day or night. I don't need to be asleep 

to let my mind untether itself from concern.

It seeks you out, or at the very least,

the memory of you, the ideal you

I remember. My mind can be a fool

but it can also see beyond it's impulsive

desires. There is that which holds meaning

beyond idealized memory. 

Memory is subject to revision

but what else can we call forgetfulness? 

I am a house not yet finished.

There are no panes of glass

in my unfinished eyes.

There is wind and sun

and night

pouring through my incomplete

body. There are blueprints

at the ready for when the crew comes back

and finishes the work that remains.

Forgive me 

for being less than what I wish to be.

I take that back.

No one should apologize 

for their being.

We are as beautiful and whole

as we were meant to be.

The waves of the sea

do not need to worry of the water

at the bottom of the world,

it will surge forth in time

and take it's turn upon the sand.

I look out beyond my eyes

and try to look past my limited view

of the horizon. Must the world

always be so terribly beautiful?

It must be terrible

and it must be beautiful

at all times

to everyone

for all time.