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.

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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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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

Behind A Stable Heart

The reason I know

what lies behind the velvet curtain

is that I have been there before:

horses in a stable,

easing back their heels

to embrace the swelling sun,

their own bright eye;

a set of doubled doors

leading to nowhere–––

to everywhere in the life of a man

remembering what it was like

to be a child, to fall in love,

to laugh at those like myself

foals in a busy world of emotion,

keeping kosher and drinking tea

for long hours into the night

imagining what it was like

before we swept the curtain away.

June 16, 2014