It’s Another Thing Now

I am willing to stand in gentle rain at sunset
But not to stand in a storm of sorrow and regret.

It was one thing to own all the mornings yet to come,

Before I knew the darkness would yield to the sun.

It is another thing now.

I am willing to see the sparkle in my loves blue eyes

But not to shield those dark with fear of life’s demise.

With honest hearts I will share the depths of my pain,

But with doubting minds I’ve no time left to explain.

It is another thing now.

My time is limited and the day’s run late,

And I’m too busy finding moments of joy to follow hardened dates.

There’s no time to waste on those who demand plans written in pen —
It was one thing when I had a calendar without end.

It is another thing now.

Look at me

#keepitalive #poetry

I’m in the stacks high as a half floor of the classics held between the pages and wands and cups. Looking deeper your eyes burn holes with the investment of tonight or a lifetime.

Emma or Juliet or Madam Bovary protect the faces prettier than hers in the quadrant always mowed in rows – cut grass rusted between the notes.

Spiraling and bound there’s no word for the sound a girl makes when all the nexts and fortunes and eventides behold a barely audible thing. Listen to it boil from my throat.

Women fainting in the humid doorless rooms inadequately chaired. Sit there behind Heathcliff and expose those white thighs to Flaubert and smell those Madeline-scented clavicles, songs wafted up from hot pipes. B sharp A minor chord comes to warn us all to keep our distance.

That very day I left the mold blooms and heard the copilots speech, balloons began rising ever so slowly. I learnt that heat rises and a cold sinks like a feeling of mediocrity.

Not the virgin she’s reborn a little girl. Not a diving bell. Not an oven door to a living hell. Not the clamber of a piano on the short seashore with the conch shells and their perverse Fibonacci shapes sequencing his final thought.

She’s guarding my life with the covers of a book forgotten, in return naughty but respectfully right, on the shelf – so you reach her cheek in your dreams.

Fingers part my lines, as the stuff of your words open my mouth like a cannon. A Captain, a whale, and the man whose name you’d never know sat between us.

You still call him Ishmael. We all find out what his name means as one of the dead. That very second we pull ourselves out of this fictional life.

I died to finally read the last sentence, the words no one knows.

Flattening the curve of the earth, weakened at the knees, her neck craned around to notice he’d gone.

Pleased to return Dentistry in Suburban Phuket, forevermore out of print, it once ran cyan, magenta, yellow, and black.

Printed on my imagination the greatest achievement of self discovery.

I thought you’d finally agonize for me.

Meditation

Please allow me to share a current meditation with you.

In quiet moments, I sit relaxed listening to the fireplace: the sizzle of the wood and the clicking of the cast iron as it expands with the rising temperature, the energy coaxing a well timed 1:4 beat in the background for my chant. Sometimes I may whisper the words to myself and other times spoken only to myself in my mind.

Sometimes I’m still or others I rock or sway gently side to side or front to back. All the while it’s important to push my thoughts out from my mind – I use an imaginary hand to shoo them away like flies on a picnic blanket. No violence, just a helpful movement of the pests so concentration on the words of the meditation can rise like the sun enlightening my mind…

All things in time, all for the reasons on which my life tumbles and turns to the songs of the spheres. Remind me as I am a human being, the universe tells me when I need to know: all is well. All is well.