perspective – three good words

September 27, 2021September 27, 2021

Hm…

Writing Season has begun.

Works in Progress lie in wait,
expecting genuine attention.

But I’m exhausted
and tired too

and this app
and this app
and this app
and this app

is driving me nuts

But everything is different now

February 21, 2015

(im)pulse

new, untold
signs curved in water, gold

descending in light
calm waves rippling
totality given

night

red black, scattered
silk lined with lace; coffee, one
mapping probability

sight

tonight’s tomorrow begets a yesterday
that fills the void, echoing
with voices wide and ancient

might

closed eyes in stars, sleeping
light luster never broken
the terrace settled in the sun

light

—

twice over given
close in effortless silence
hidden in sound to and gather
once for a time forever

all

February 21, 2015

e.motion

there’s this fear of
soppy
of too much saccharine ugh
or that thing now
right in the feelz

which makes that which feels
a thing that lives and exists
on its own
an unprotected entity
like a punchbag on a rope
ready to be hit at random
unexpectedly

while what we’re really after is
emotion
(I think, I hope)
those deep waves that draw you under
that vast ocean that is truly overwhelming
terrifying
exhilarating
never genuinely controlled

and always so unbelievably unseen
unless someone cries or smiles
howls and screams
falls over with laughter
breaks down in tears, weeping.

so many words
for one
not so small thing
that entails movement, motion
only with an ego in it, shortened to e
e.motion
the motion in me.

it is the ‘I’ in it
so vulnerable, so open
like a child naked on the lawn
running under the sprinklers
laughing and loving
without any care in the world
it is that once-known ‘me’
that makes us run and hide

when unseen motion erupts
out of the unknown dark
uncannily familiar
suppressed only so far
even a pressure cooker can only take so much.

how write it though?
that is the question.
how be at the center
of palpitations sacred to the slightest touch?

not quietly, never timidly
there is that demand
that everything be shown
not mimicked, but known

even the sticky parts
those tooth-achingly sweet
icky parts
that we all carry hidden deep down

in our cynical postmodern hyperreal
ever-connected
over-protected
lonely little souls

then again, one wrong word can ruin a whole scene.

it’s tricky
and mistakes will be made
oh, I promise
I’ve just started yet…

but then one must try
and find this voice
that speaks
of those ancient things
almost mystic
this crazy little thing
everyone calls el oh ve e
all this motion in so many me’s
.

February 6, 2015

the letter

pen 3

…yours ever, &c
an abrupt ending
opening words
pouring out in a sudden wave –
what madness is this?
to deny, to refuse
to insist on such needless things
as countenance, propriety
We must know our place…
but what is that
in the face of something so divine
as genuine, true, complete feeling?
they may be young, yes,
but not, to his mind, daft beyond decree
there was truth in this
and beauty beyond what any mortal could reach.

quick, quick
cut paper on surface
pen scratching ink
curves, loops, dashes
written in haste
soaked with feeling
demands, pleas
hoping, not jesting
trying to appease
papers waxed closed
an address written, posted
there, there
it is done
it is written
she must understand
the truth, the beauty
of such spontaneous overflow of feeling.

yet the torment begins
the second the envelope is sealed, posted
that torturous patience
of long hours waiting
for all to be read, understood
and hopefully, hopefully
answered, agreed
to continue the private, silent communication
where all the tools given are ink, paper
memory, imagination
and far too much feeling recollected in tranquility.

and thus it arrives
the letter
hastily opened, outside, far
hidden away from the curious
the nosy
young feet walking
young hands turning pages, paper
touched by others, close, known
young eyes reading, re-reading
reading once more
You must… You cannot…
half daze, half delirium, all delight
searching in every word
all the fields of meaning
until a call demands obedience
there are duties, all and one,
that must be followed.

and there it is, a clock chimes
it is time to visit
the one to whom communication
is deemed legitimate
not, in fact, the other
whose words lay pressed lightly
tightly against the young breast.

but no, alas
no one stands waiting
there is no need to play the proper lady
there is time yet to sit in plush seats, reading
what none must know
those felt words written
mapping what lies only
between a you, a me,
and countless yours ever, &c
that most intimate of privacy
daring thoughts, heartfelt feelings
quiet wishes, hidden dreams

I can… I will… I must…
hand-written
as if spoken from mouth to ear
now held and seen, repeated
in most natural light
falling through windows, glowing in trees
until the sun sets to darkness
brightened by the warmth of a flame

a night, a silence
filled with hope for the morrow
heartbeats young, doubting, certain
waiting with joy and fear
mixed to one sensation
true, beautiful, free.

January 10, 2015January 10, 2015

arrival

light spilling
onto an improvised desk
glowing, dimming
like beams, streaming
lighthouse-bright
turning, spinning
slow with flashes
warning, beckoning
the tired ship
braving the sea.

to land safely
at dock and shore
is the finished script
of sentence-senses written
composed, structured
compr(om)ised to a
comprehensible whole
the passengers
crowded, waiting

words delivered
past the storms of doubt
now anchored at the docks
of paper, screens
safe havens
from darkness, white

inky bows tumbling down
gangways, printed
into the open arms
of readers
embracing, holding, kissing
the whole crowd
with joyous glee

and solemn satisfaction
that all are present
ready to be read
entirely
safe and whole
on the page, written
free.