Tag: Poem

July

I want to move closer into the heart of the world.

I want to feel

with it.

I want melody to dance through my skin.

This is all we have.

As much control as we had in our arrival

Is how little we’ll have upon departing

*when you live in each moment, you’ll find yourself with less plans. Stop looking forward

It’s hurting

You. Primal thought;

I

want

him.

but there’s much more, I

couldn’t write through

The poetry in everything

we’ve ever said to each other. I guess that’s how you know

A single note is played, 

sent into space,

pulsing through the layers

we can’t see.

Everything about that moment, and the one before, and the one after, is different.

The note dissolves, and still remains

ringing somewhere.

I can see it through my tears.

Evidence suggests

Whoever deemed selfishness a sin, was thinking of others and therefore missed the point.

Flawed from conception, we birthed the quest for perfection,

‘Make something beautiful,’ the voice did insist.

So, we wrench words from the most sacred of spaces, though they’re dirtied on their way down,

the extent, depending on how clean our hands are, surely.

Pronouns will shed light, ciphers then blur meaning,

but the arrogance of capturing reality, really will taint any poetic contribution.

Cold

I froze time

so nothing could fade

 

the sky remains white

its truth was choking me

 

the wind is howling

so I know you’re here

 

there are two realms

my angst regards their coexistence

 

how are we to pull our gaze from one,

to care, at all, about the other?

 

falling lightly

ash covers all in a powdered layer of grey

 

there was no eruption

it’s just there if you see it.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

‘There is a pleasure in the thought that the particular tone of my mind at this moment may be new in the Universe;

that the emotions of this hour may be peculiar and unexampled in the whole eternity of moral being. I lead a new life. I occupy new ground in the world of spirits, untenanted before.

I commence a career of thought and action which is expanding before me into a distant and dazzling infinity.

Strange thoughts start up like angels in my way and beckon me onward. I doubt not I tread on the highway that leads to the Divinity.’

(JMN, III, p. 79)

(he was twenty-four when he wrote this)