Trees

My back

is strong

like a piece of bark

it has its edges

but it is stable,

it stands tall–

it is stillness

and silence

and me.

 

These elements

of control

have never been

my friend.

 

Illusive fears

of loosing

a self

that I had forged

by lack of force

the word loss–

I could write odes

to loss

and sonnets

to loss

and haikus

to loss

and I would still

remained

lost

in the same sentiment

 

Who am I?

 

Where do these attachments

leave me?

Where did I acquire them?

 

Did death bring up something

deep inside of me

that always needed healing?

 

An unknowingness of stability,

the entrance of doubt?

 

I am here, writing,

wondering,

thinking back to trees with hearts

written in their sides.

 

October 8, 2016

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Flowers

These flowers are growing again

in my head

and like a vine

they neither swoop nor swing–

they cling

to each side of my brain,

try to determine what type of learner I am

but either way, thoughts can’t be pushed

out of the way

so I’ll plan out another day to pluck and prune.

 

For now,

let me sit, lay down my head and rest

let nature have its way

before I run and play, amidst the gardens

outside these walls; in each season

they grow flowers, all their pinks and blacks

and greens– they look familiar to me.

 

In my mind I see a mirror,

one I can’t protest:

an image of you, an image of me

and sweet, pink, spring flowers,

scattered at my feet.

 

Each petal falls so slowly;

I do not stand in their way.

 

I watch in perfect silence;

I pray for peace today.

 

February 28, 2016

Quiet

I want to revel in my introversion forever,

I want my quiet nature and simple heart beat

to spread itself in the wind,

tracing my toes and sweeping my hair back

and forth.

 

I need not be ashamed

that my peoples’ place in history

is rarely one of the well known, public speaker–

ironically we can relish in the solitude of being unknown

 

Modesty is our finest cloak,

lightest backpack,

ready to take on the trail

 

Life: it is not a game,

not a show,

there is no reason to speak so loud

 

The silence pours through me in buckets,

and I’m reminded that in this time,

at all times, it is okay to be me,

a porcelain doll

not afraid of getting some dirt on her

with bracelets of stone

reminding me of where I really come from.

 

Life is art; we are such a simple part.

 

Do not hate; find your confidence elsewhere.

 

There is nothing we own; leave your selfishness

home at the table.

 

The wood I see is layered with light,

bark, leaves and sky

I bow down to you and nothing else.

 

My love knows Muir so well,

that even in a city I could joyfully write

about daffodils in spring,

in a park where it is sunny,

summer blooms,

and I can be nothing but quiet.

 

June 14, 2015