Rings

It would never have worked out anyway,

you and I.

.

Me,

a lonely tree,

still sturdy enough

to shelter you when there was rain

my own pain present in my rings–

you wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t made you ask.

.

You,

a fallen sparrow,

just looking for a place to stay

until you flew away–

your wings are meant for flying, you know.

.

Naturally,

we parted ways,

years floating by as you flew, and I grew tall–

I can see more beauty from a distance, now.

.

I stand my ground,

and sometimes look around

at the leaves I have spread,

effortlessly,

onto the earth below:

expanding pain and beauty and time

giving only wisdom back

to the soil–

they are called growth rings,

after all.

imgres.jpg

This weekend, I shared some of my work at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in NYC.  Considering I had not planned on this at all (had only expected to listen to some spoken word) it went pretty well! The experience paired with this lovely article (http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/01/the-mindful-life-illustrated-what-we-can-learn-from-trees/) inspired this poem…and for me to change things up and add a [google search provided] photograph.  Happy Monday! 

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Carry On

Tell me

what type of wind

would have made you stay,

tempted your shallow roots to grow

and adventures to remain

silent in the mind,

considering the heart instead–

talk about vulnerability

when all you see is mastery

even a mindful soul can grow lonely

what bit of sun-dipped skin

did you need to see,

prepared to acknowledge that freedom

is free to think about

but a lifetime of hurt to know

that “fate” is just a word,

“choice” a guarantee

unlike thawed flowers in spring

you’ve uprooted–

away from my heart, from possibility

and “we” becomes “me”

I continue the journey.

 

I learn to carry on.

 

January 2, 2016

grounded

these days

are meant

for grounding

.

let me

open up

my willow arms

and sink

my roots

deep into

 the earth;

at a time

when the world

can’t stop moving,

the ground is still

and I think of you

.

pairing off

into two colored lines,

one yellow, one red,

from the blood we’ve shed

after years of chasing

each other

.

now, we are here

.

here, we sink

into soil

and sprout

like flowers do

.

pick me

from the ground

and place me

in your hair,

why don’t you care

.

tell me

you love me

through the wind

and you’ll never

have to tell me

again

.

you,

my daffodil

and me,

your rose,

grounded

in this messy,

torn-up

love

December 14, 2015

Here

This year, I have a goal to use one of my poems to transition (at least for one night) into spoken word poetry. Here is one piece I am considering.  It is one section of a much longer work on loss, uneasiness, and hope:

Yet, the thing is.

I’ve learned that we can learn

all we want,

 

Yet still become

what we want to become.

A being; what we are.

 

Yes, I have convinced

my mind of sinless tragedies.

 

In my chest resides

a suddle tension

that comes with a good cry,

a nervous yelp the dog

pleades to his neighbor

and I know.

 

I know that it can feel

like pain

When you feel nothing at all.

 

Nothing, in the sense that it is

less

(we think)

than what we used to know.

 

You do feel one thing, though.

Fast-moving, rushed.

Isolated in feeling,

incomplete in understanding.

 

Your veins burn, sometimes.

 

At others they stand still.

Breath can come in,

but skatters on ridges of the throat

mountains of doubt

on it’s way out,

waiting

 

For what seems to be an epiphany,

or at least empathy.

 

We knew all along, didn’t we?

That every problem came with an answer

Every breath a song.

 

We’re still here.

The song is playing–

Listen.

 

I am layered.

What is old, is still surrounding me.

What is older, is building within me.

It is in my soul, eternal.

 

I accept the challenges of today,

the newness of tomorrow,

and the fact that shit can come my way

And has. 

 

That I hold it in my body

and in my head

and in my heart

That, too, has remained safe.

 

It is my red-blood-filled-memory-keeper

It is my life-still-renews-daily-seeker

It is the fact

that I know there exists

a spirt in knowing we exist.

 

We have value

even if it is an uncertain paradigm.

I make it a certain fact,

even when it makes me nervous.

 

Anxiety pulling itself out

needing more

to know

if I’m

doing this right at all.

 

June, 2014