It’s the pendulum,
swinging one way
and returns again
Back and forth
gravity keeps its
repeating patterns
oscillating between
doubt and knowing
Kinetic to potential
and back again
until gravity wins
I’m the one receiving
the force
I’m the one asking
for change
and staying the same
Tensions
decide how long
this period
will last.
Swing me,
I want to say.
Do what you
must and do it
until the stillness
feels so empty
I have to
do it again.
Is the metaphor
correct?
Maybe it’s me at the ends
and not in the middle
Maybe I’m both.
Tag: poetry
fly
when the words
evade
or i lose myself
in the detailed tangles
of the other's
webs
i often wonder
if it's enough
to witness
if it can satisfy
to say,
“I am here.”
I ask them to feel it all
and often
do not have the
the strings to
weave a foundation
that takes away
the pain
(I want to catch them)
Is this the illusion?
As I listen, speechless,
it may look
like they're falling
Do you see it now?
It's clear, now
when doubt
transfigures
to an almost
ancient knowing
It isn’t a net
that’s needed
but wings
Split
“Stay present,”
He advises.
Lovingly;
Selflessly
“I don’t want
you split between
two places.”
I want to laugh
You see,
you’ve been with
me, in the
mountains of
West Virginia.
Along the shores
of the
Great Lakes.
I saw you in
the mouth of
Mammoth Cave.
When the fireworks
reflected in
the D.C. waters.
I haven’t left
your hometown
in weeks.
“I’ll do my best,”
I assure him.
I’ve been trying
to untangle my
feet
wrestle them into
one place
For over a year.
Overflow
The universe
must laugh
with twisted
knowing
It should have come
as no surprise -
this was built
on bricks of pain
amongst fleeting moments
of Hope.
Existing always
was a desire -
A sort of
understanding
that I would
be here, grow here,
once I stood
on solid ground.
I held out my hands;
“I’m ready,”
I promised.
She smiles
visualizing a
story
I see it
in greys and blues
and know not
how it ends.
As I watch,
my arms become
so full I
lose my balance.
Faltering, I
look to the shore
and ask for guidance.
“You asked,”
She smiles.
“And so you received.”
spotlight
the scene was static and as you approached the only light left was (on) you “You’re the dancer,” he introduced, smiling. “Yes,” I managed. I look back at that moment, frozen. It melts as the light transforms into a spotlight Make music, I want to say to you. watch me dance for you.
D minor
There are only so many
chords and notes
I haven’t learned them
all and I’m not sure if -
Are these enough?
I know rhythms that
we've created
in innocent
moments
then there are the ones
he, of course,
added to
and spontaneously -
it's fluid and changing
and the lyrics do not
fit or seem to end -
Falter.
I’m no braver today
than yesterday.
I want to add to it
but what I have in front
of me can only take me
so far.
You see,
I wrote you a song.
I play it,
wondering
the ways you would
respond
Would you make it your own?
Would you want it to change?
The song starts in minor
the sound of its harmony
fades
into uncertainty.
What would you say
if I asked you to
finish it,
together?
I know the answer.
That’s not even the
right question.
I’m really asking -
Do you hear it in the
same ways
I do?
So far from the keys,
I don’t have the
ability
to write its end.
It’s there, though,
in chords and
notes that only
you know.
it flows, you see,
for you, alone.
Choice
Does it always
come to this?
fire and ice
Blue springs or
Rainy canals
the dancing flames
blue reflections
they revel in
their changing
views
Let the answer exist
in the ampersand.
Until then
I’ll find my
joy
in long walks
coffee after dinner
I’ll pick
mulberries
and
listen to his
singing
I’ll run, steady
until the answer
reveals itself.
You see -
Both
forces
have the capacity
to burn.
problems
have i told you the realization i've come to as the fireworks blazed and time told us to start again i've determined that most (all) of the problems i encounter are of my own making they belong to me and in this conclusion behind the regret and the defensiveness lives the answer that all along i've had the power and potential to heal.
loves
and in the end
or the beginning
which ever end
you start to
untangle or
string together
it's in loving them
both
that will
restore
or
renew
which ever
frame you
choose
it’ll be the
same picture
It’s not one
or the other
I keep trying to
picture either
course
and they begin
with loose ends
and finish
in tight knots
I’d rather hold
both
if they let me.
doubt
I know she came before that summer and the beach the balcony plants the orange tree I understand you said you’ve moved on I’m wondering if moving on for you means holding her space while I hold out my heart wondering if you’ll take it while giving your own to her.
