And there is a moment
And for a second it all makes sense
And then it slips
And you end up chasing that something-or-other all your life
© 2021 threegoodwords
Moment
if
the questions we all ask ourselves
quietly, silently
terrified
or shy, defiant:
if I write
will they read
if I tell
will they listen
if I am
will I be
good enough
brave enough
that one true thing:
au.then.tic?
always, always
like a river rushing, raging
spreading into deltas of doubt
if I do
will I deliver
if I see
will they believe
if I try
will IÂ succeed?
maybe in all this
the point is to not give in
to keep on going
to try and try again
until you can finally plant that mustard-seed.
© 2015 threegoodwords
before/after
Before
not love
no
the necessity of a moment
pain that was cured
freedom secured
nothing angelic
nothing from above
no
nothing
notlove
After
to miss a presence
that fills the space
between night and day
work and play
a knowing
a showing
of understanding
feeling, something
beyond
beyond
Now
peace, today
not age
maybe wisdom
far more play
now
not then
real and true
enjoyment
.
© 2015 threegoodwords
sinus
 
 
the inter, the course of the once-born
a past present known
where sweet sweet softness
breaks the heart with gentleness
and leaves the world unbroken
…
soft sinus beat
deep in the sanguine soul
an iridescent touch, haunting
sun-struck nights, empty, cold
borne together, both
young hearts, old minds
tormented to living pearls
…
a self in another
fleeing to a lonely sound, lovely
a sigh, a cry, forever
another word for us, under
lightning held in thunder
overflowing in words, four letters
a world
.
© 2015 threegoodwords
before betty
Sitting snug, reading the classics
encore une fois Madame Bovary,
and her insufferable complacency
with the ridiculous romance of thin-paper novels.
And yet, I understand her need to be something else,
something more, to escape the quaint provincial life,
full of the foibles of the French bourgeoisie.
Sadly, you can see the end coming,
the flights of fancy building to catastrophe,
long before young Emma befuddles Monsieur Bovary.
Most disturbing however, is the gleeful sneering
of the narrator, peering
over my shoulder while reading,
a heartless voice, laughing with glee
at the – albeit predictable  – calamity
that is poor Madame Bovary’s.
And yet I turn another page, if only
due to an understanding of her genuine suffering,
silly and selfish to narrator, parish and priest,
yet very real to poor Emma,
that feminine mystique resting darkly
in her desperate ennui.
© 2015 threegoodwords
three good words 