soul – Page 2 – three good words

November 26, 2015

moments, many

to be thankful
is to be mindful
of those moments, many
where one is centered, whole

a heartbeat, two
a minute, an hour, a day
where there’s more
than the day-to-day
9-to-5
Mo.-Fri. plus overtime

where, like music
the world opens wide
to heartbeats of peace

where you can exhale and just
be.

a moment of
genuine
thanks giving.

September 26, 2015

reflection

fall and thoughts sail down
like leaves off a tree of self
doubt and certainty

asking, wondering
so many etcetera, too many to count
silently loud
in the quietness of hidden hearts;

questions that linger
ever since ‘I’ became ‘Me’
and ‘You’ was separate
apart, a part of everyone
else
someone, somebody
a body beyond the self
‘I’, ‘Me’
sad hours seem long

that room where they come and go
why Michelangelo?

consciousness, they say
is when a mirror loses its wonder
and becomes reflection.

this is what we have
a sense of confinement that is open
static yet moving
a constant attempt to decipher
the senses trick or treating
us to another’s perception;

always desirous to
touch beyond skin
and hear the voice
that reaches our inner ear

as deep as heartbeats go
beyond skin and bone
to that marrow that others call soul.

August 13, 2015August 13, 2015

rise and rise

two seconds, three
understanding blooms
palpitations rise and rise and rise

a hot red slab of anger, pain
veined white with amusement, wry
scorched perfectly on each side
with blood red coals of feeling
soot black with melancholy

then
after all pretence is dropped
leaving just heartfelt desire
to know, see
to really understand:

a sudden why
splits the tree of reason
with a jab of irrational light
a bolt of hot heart electric
that goes deep
deeper still
all the way down

cracking open marbled stone below
that lay hidden
under deep roots of denial
possibly, probably
lying low in the undisturbed slumber
of the long ignored
disrupted by a blessed moment
of clear harsh uncompromising
sight.

sometimes the mistake was made
too long ago to be rectified
sometimes youth means
being hopelessly hopelessly blind
to the silly slyness
that is life.

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
.

November 24, 2014

in love and war

I will not
I refuse
to sell my integrity
for mere minutes
of another’s pleasure

I will not
I refuse
to compromise that which is holy
that which is mine
yes, truly
so very Me,
Moi-même

I will not
I refuse
for I have rallied my troops
and put on my armour
all my colours rolled from the ramparts
my sword honed, my shield ready
lances raised high
all my banners flying.

For my soul is my life
and my life is my soul,
it is mine to know and honour
and hold in that respect
I know I own.

It is what I am and what I was,
it is all that I may be:
my intimate circle
my private round table,
my personal holy grail,

Me.