Spoon

A limbless acrobat arching its handle spine

on the hard wood of the table,

bowing perfectly from the base of

a delicate neck to the tailbone.

Curved like a body yearning for another to hold,

just two ribcages apart,

the metal muscles frozen tense and waiting.

An oblong face like a basin mirror

distorting upside down reflections

and pulling them inward into still life.

A handheld funhouse mirror.

A little dipper that in a child’s hand

will fling alphabet soup like stars

into constellations on the ceiling sky. 

I Wish You Had Heard Me Sing

I wish so much that you had heard me sing

When I tipped back my head and listened to the throaty melody echo in the stars,

Soaring up note by note with its own harmony made by the notes striking each other in the air, moments apart, but together infinite.

And they were dancing waltzes of every dream I’ve ever had and it was so sad to see them fall back to the ground after watching them go around and around to the one, two, three of freedom.

I wish you had been there to hear my voice take flight and leave my throat for the night to bounce back off of the moon and fall amongst the stars, shining with them as a soft echo, the sound like their light.

But I have no witnesses for my magic trick, and it seems that at that moment I was never more myself than when I left myself and let me be something else. I wish you had seen me… soaring up note by note, harmony striking itself in the air.

A world apart, but infinite. 

Love

If I have learned anything, it is that

Love is not what they say it is.

It is not what I have been told or shown and I have been lied to.

Whether it an outright deception or a case of omission, I cannot tell.

For the love that I have known has, in brief and rare instances, vaguely resembled that in movies, songs and fairytales,

And yet there is so much never seen, sung or written of

That no one ever warned me about.

I Carry Your Heart With Me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

Pawned Off

It’s like a giant’s game of chess

Where pawns go out to play

And rooks meet knights of many types

On squares of black and white

May Be Meant to Be

Socks and shoes

Me and you

I puzzle how many pairs of things that

Supposedly go together

Were forced together and simply learned to coexist?

Growing Down

I miss being simple

Without pretense or presumption

Despair, or assumption.

When I was disappointed because dreams were too big,

Not because the smallest thing just wouldn’t work.

My schemas are changing.

As expectation and reality collide repeatedly,

I become the jaded observer.

Sonnet to Sleep

O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embowered from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if it so please thee, close,
In the midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the amen, ere they poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, -or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
Save me from curious conscience, that still lords
Its strength, for darkness burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed casket of my soul.

-John Keats

Prayer of an Alien Soul

O Center of the Scheme
Star-Flinger, Beauty-Bring, Shaping Dream!
Now as the least in all thy space I stand
An alien in a strange and lonesome land.
I lift a little voice of pigmy pain;
I hurl it out - up - down - and shall I cry in vain?
Hear thou the prayer that struggles in this song-
Let me not linger long!

I crave the boon of dying into life!
Extend a pitying knife
And let these flesh-gyves part, let me be free!
Are we not kin? Am I not part of Thee?
Am I not a ripple in a cranny of Thy Sea?
What part have I in sequent wretched eyes,
Bleer dawns, dull noons and the budding and the falling
      of leaves?
Why must I drag this chain of years,
Long rusted-red with tears?
Why must I crawl when I have wings to fly?
Behold thy child - The Winged One - it is I!
Was I not made to sing?
Yet here I lisp and twang on one unbroken string!

At times here in the dust
I lift my head, I strive to sing - I must!
The miracle of growing wraps me round
Light! Sound!
Form! Motion! Upward yearning! Outward reaching!
A universal praying, dumb beseeching!
I feel that I am more than flesh and futile,
A being ultra-carnal, super-brutal!
I understand these growing green beseechers,
These hopeful climbers and these ernest reachers!
I understand their yearnings every one,
How each tense fiber hungers for the sun!
I lay my hand upon the sturdy weed
Whose darkling purposes burst the prison-seed,
Who cleft the mud and took its light and dew,
Looked up, reached out, believe in life - and grew!
I know that we are kin;
That hope is virtue and doubt is sin;
And o'er me comes a hungering for a song:
I lift my voice - I falter.  Ah the long
Dumb years, the aching nights and days!
And yet I raise
My unavailing cacophonic cry.
Thine erstwhile singing child - behold! - Tis I!

In this strange, wretched prison of the soul
Shall I not lose my swiftness for the Goal?
It seems I must
At length become too much the kin of Dust.
Ah me, the fever born of Hate and Lust!
Ah me, the senseless unmelodic din!
Ah me, the soul-hope sick with fleshly sin!

And in my prison ancient dreams grow up
To fill with dust my cracked and thirst-betraying cup.
Dreams mantled in the purple of dead glory
That filled the aeons of human story:
Not always have I worn these dusty rags!

The Purpose of my being falters, lags,
And I am sick, sick, sick to live again.
Yet not because of this poor dust-born pain
Do I cry and grope about for Thee.
I hear the far cry of my Destiny.
Whose meaning sings beyond the farthest sun.
I faint in these red chains - O let me 'rise and run!

How long shall leaves grow green and fade and fall,
How long shall Night chase Day and Day flee Night,
How long shall my far Purpose vainly call
Ere I remingle with my native light?
O Center of the Scheme,
Star-Flinger, Beauty-Bringer, Shaping Dream!
Hear thou the prayer that struggles in this song-
Let me not linger long.

- John G Neihardt

Anymore

Perhaps there will be more time for this in a time where time does not exist.
I have no time to open closed doors, I will not go there anymore
It is too hard for me to see the people that we used to be
I loved you but you loved me not and love again, my heart cannot
Perhaps I knew you once before, but I do not know you anymore.

Daffodils

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
 
- William Wordsworth
 
Out my window, I can see a charming little group of daffodils, tossing their heads in the breeze as though conversing amongst themselves. It reminded me of this poem, which is actually one of my favorites. Thought I'd share it with you today. After all, whats says June like daffodils?

Not Very Often

Sometimes I think of you

When old mental maps lead me back down roads paved by your hands

Or a subtle memory makes me think of the person you used to be

Sometimes I think of you

But not very often

Sometimes I dream of you

On long black nights when dreams play tricks on tired hearts

Making them believe that past is present, and that the present is the vision

Sometimes I dream of you

But not very often

Sometimes I miss you

Sometimes I wish you were here because you were the familiar

Back when a time when normal existed in routines that were well known

If not loved

Sometimes I miss you

But not very often

Afraid

I truly am trying
To lift the weight in my chest
Throwing away the shackles.
Be patient,
I may yet decide to be free.
I really do want
To unfurl my fragile, unused wings,
Beat up to the sky
And fly
Away from this frame of mind.
And yet the fear
That I have worn as a blanket
And as a straight jacket,
Still holds me
In a death grip embrace.

I Beg of You, Please Follow Me

If you ever have to go away, take me with you.

     So I will never be alone
     So we will never be apart
    To keep us together
    To keep me from falling to pieces
    Because otherwise I will be afraid
    Because otherwise I might forget
    Who I am and
    Who you are and
    Who we are together

If I ever have to go, come with me.
 
    So I won't miss you
    So you won't be without me
    To keep me company
    To keep each other strong
    Because otherwise, I may fail
    Because otherwise, we may fail and
   Who would that leave me?
   Who would that make you?
   Who could we, would we ever be without the other?

Bullied

They stoned her heart a pebble at a time

Every word and every line they ever drew to dare divide

And isolate one soul in an assembly line crime

She drew back when they came near, each eager to toss a stone

And when the tears where pushing hard in the backs of pleading eyes

They’d leave her, sad, ashamed and so painfully alone

Everyone saw it but nobody knew it, not even she would admit

For bloodless battles rage in the freedom of apathy

And minds are quick to organize- what won’t compute, acquit

Right and wrong and respect were all lost because they were never found

And they stripped her personhood away, stone by stone and bit by bit

Another soul died inside, but nobody heard a sound

Accidentals

Sometimes when you're trying to write haiku's, syllables don't quite cooperate and you end up with something more like...

Sharing is caring
In most cases, you see
But one thing to keep to yourself
Is a sneeze

Cross My Heart and Hope to Find

Okay. I wanna talk about a song called I Cross My Heart. It got me thinking overtime and even inspired the poem below.

The song is somewhat sweet, and yet there is something terribly sad about it.

The gist in Anna language and how the song, the poem and your life in general connects is as follows: The song tells a story about this couple who just so happen to into his old girlfriend. Basically, it's about him reassuring her that the ex is just that. An ex. Over. Nothing to him anymore. Sweet, right? Major "Aww..." moment for the ladies.

Not quite. It's cute, yet it speaks of an old romance, one that completely captivated the man... for a while. He thought it was love. Then seemly out of no where, what happens? Oops, turns out she wasn't the one and he was really waiting for Girl B all along.

Ouch. It's sad and horrifying to me. He thought it was love. Was he ignoring certain signs or incompatibilities? Deep down, did he know it wasn't meant to be? Or is it really just that risky? Like you could think you loved someone, but at any moment, if you made the wrong move, you could blow up what seemed like destiny?

On that train of thought, I wrote this poem:

So beautiful it makes me sad
Stirs a memory I never had
Threatening fragile hope I fear
Will shatter like a fallen tear
Sneering, asking who am I
To dare forget that love can die?

There's proof everywhere. Divorce, miserable relationships, people falling in and out of love practically at random.

Why?

Was this always the way it was, but social standards prevented the "take and throw away" nature of our current relationships? You "had" to stay with your spouse or be a literal outcast? Did making it common and "okay" cause it or simply unveil it? Seems like even a wedding band means almost nothing to us anymore.

Or is love in the fairy tales even real? I don't think people like me are capable of loving or being loved like that. I'm not perfect like the fairytale princes and princesses and I doubt I would be attracted to someone who was. I don't connect with people so easily, I don't trust people so quickly, I don't "follow my heart" blindly and expect to end up hitched to Superman. Or is that all supposed to change as soon as Prince Charming tap dances his way into my life?

If it's truly love... can it die? Or is the true love thing what makes or breaks a relationship?

Poem: Though No One Loves Me Yet

In my loneliness, I will love

Though no one loves me yet

So I have no need for tears

No cause for me to fret

If I have no lover’s hand to hold

I’ll hold a wrinkled shaking one

And hear them tell their stories of

Their own life, nearly done.

If I have no lips to kiss

I’ll kiss a crying child’s knee

And soothe her hurt a little bit

As someone else once did for me

If I have no one to share

With thoughts and hopes and dreams

I’ll keep on wishing, keep on thinking

And hope someone dreams of me

A Flippant and British Mood

I get in this certain mood. (Maybe you have it too.) When this mood strikes, certain words are way too appealing. Like, I want to use them, not because they are particularly useful in the context, but because they strike me as superior to others. They are quirky. They are strange. They aren't run of the mill. They just sound darn pretty.

Shan't. Perhaps. Since. Quaint. Forgetful. Pensive. Fashionable. Simplistic. Hop-scotch. Figurative. Majestic. Practically. Mooch.

Most of these words sound excellent with a British accent. Go on. Try it. No one's watching, and if they are, you will totally make their day.

Maybe that's all there is to the mood. Maybe it's just me feeling British.
I have a bit of a thing for accents. That's what I get for being boring and from the Midwest. I know there is supposedly a Midwestern accent. We say things like warsh or wursh rather than wash. A creek is a crick. It's actually a joke in my family because we don't. Ever. The only Midwestern quirk I can detect in my own speech is saying fur instead of for. I fail to stress the O sound. It sounds funny to say for like the number when I try to stress it.

Any way, I like to pretend to have different accents to annoy people. My British accent is fairly decent. My Southern accent is way overdone (but one of my favorites), my Irish accent makes me sound like an old man who has had a few too many shots. My Australian accent turns British after a few sentences. I took three years of French, so I have a less than horrible French accent. Spanish? Nope. I can't do it. Which is just hilarious and annoying.

Ya'll have probably figured out by now that I am an annoying person. Yeah. It's an art.

In this same mood, I love to read poetry even more than usual. This mood is dramatic. It is vibrant. It loves sharp, strong, concise emotion. I could go on and on about poetry all day. It wouldn't be very good, but I do love it, though meager my grasp upon it.

This is an atricious blog post. I rather loathe it. But I don't care. I'll post it anyway.

The mood doesn't care. It just does whatever. Thinks later.

For the cronic over-thinker, this is delicious.

Prose I

How do you forget
The things you once held
Close to your heart and mind
On purpose
So that you wouldn't forget them?
How do you let go
Of the things you once loved
And clung to in a sick desperation
Just to feel your own heart beating?
How do you recover
From a collapse so complete
Like a star falling
From a self imposed sky
Shattering on the ground
Where it never belonged?
How do you love
When there is so much hate
Swirling inside you
Surprising you by it's presence and strength
That you selfishly directed
Safely and soundly
Yet deadly?
And how do you read
The words, the tears, the pictures and the faces
That color, create, make and break
That surround, yet isolate you
Into the hallow drum
Of questions, loneliness and heart beats
In a rhythm, a song
Of hopeful despair?