5-7-5 Contemplation (II)

The damp remains here.
Memories swirl; images
retain what was there.

***

Unmistakable…
the air shifted, moved, split, and
transformed forever.

***

It was familiar,
a known yet unknown and known.
Time’s repetition.

***

Curves formed, eyes tracing–
soothing loveliness embraced…
soul remembering.

***

Unknowing cleavedness–
separate, emancipate–
deep impression left.

***

Smells, sounds, senses dance;
finger tips remember well
the now unknown known.

***

Seeking, searching…found;
Inside, outside, up and down found.
Sought, searched…can’t unfind.

***

Words like film play for
the eye of the mind–recall.
Can’t ever unsee them.

***

Thoughtless, pointless speech.
Words on my doorstep boxed neat.
Gift I’m forced to keep.

***

Careless utterance–
lacking any prethinking–
my kingdom leveled.

5-7-5 Contemplation

The eraser rubs,
and dark lines fade to nothing;
memory vanished.

***

Sound proof box holds tight;
Scream and shout but yet nothing.
Words fall to the ground.

***

Pieces on the board,
moved about quickly; costly.
A pawn moved aside.

***

Broom sweeps up the mess,
pieces and particles move;
nothing remains now.

***

The cord is pulled taut;
the bag is carried away.
No one knows to where.

***

recalibration.
compartmentalization.
depreciation.

***

Total attention.
One in a million: special.
Millions of one: common.

***

A mighty wave engulfs,
ensues, pursues, overtakes;
ebbing: abandons.

***

Terracotta pot
in hands sure and steady: safe;
in foolish: mere dust.

***

Tremors come first and
then the ground opens up and swallows.
Why did feet stand still?

***

Rocks misused and thrown–
smallest to biggest: brutal.
The collection grows.

There’s a Structure.

There’s a structure;

It exists it’s on its own.

It exists. Trust me.

It exists.

I wish you could see…

…The pain inside me.

…The structure…

The Structure is a number

A number is a symbol; which

Represents a substance;

And Substance provides for need.

But…

I am me

What provision meets need?

A substance clear and thick?

Something against you can kick?

A challenge and a crisis?

(What rhymes with crisis?)

Won’t anyone take the time to see…

What’s slowly consuming me?

Substance as a weapon

Used to abuse and to shame;

Stealing your reputation and your name.

The very thing that smiles as you kneel

Naked in the disgrace you feel.

I’ll never forget that look,

You never fucking forsook.

Substance as nothing and absence.

That silence and that smirk,

That “I’m-not-seeing-this” look.

Brings the most violent blow

Rendering substance to flow.

I cringe at your name and your mention

Just the mere thought is mental detention.

Take this for what it’s worth

There’s a structure, it exists.

On its own, it definitely exists.

Trust me, it exists, I wish you’d understand;

You’re nothing but a pawn in its capable hand.

There’s a structure; it exists on its very own;

It exists. I know you see it; to you it’s known.

Insecurity

This beast knows no limits.

it can penetrate anything and

From anywhere. Debilitating.

Everything is fine and then none of it is.

Here I am

there I am

There I went

Here it is

Ravaging over my mind and my body

Doing what it wants with me; no regard…

Tossing and turning me about with control;

Mind burdened with plaguing toxic thoughts. Deadly

It becomes something beyond me.

Demanding, yearning, reaching,…striving.

Caught in the trap of itself, over and over…

Pulled in to its vortex, the black-hole consuming me.

Relentlessness is this scene, in this place all just is.

Then in the quiet there is this:

The differentiation of quiet.

All is in this indefinable infinite space

In this place there is and there is not.

Insecurity knows no siblings; knows no friends.

The sentence of doom falls heavy on this fragile

Being of flesh and bone lacking the will to fight.

Too exhausted to fight against this reality of mine,

Which is this beast, the reality of insecurity.

It haunts me and cloaks me, like some medical

reprotective procedure, a reverse circumcision…

Insecurity; youareitsanditisyours.

 

 

 

 

 

love loves

Can you write a sentence with one word?

Love loves.

Love loves loving.

Love loves loving love.

Love loves loving love-loving loving.

 

Love loves. Love plants, waters, and grows it’s own fruit. If humans could harness the fruitful self-productive power of love, deserts would be verdant jungles. Love loves. The freedom of love to love is remarkable. Why do I love you? Just because. Love loves. Love demands no reason and rejects the reason when it is given. Love doesn’t love according to boundary markers or territory. It’s the universal uniting factor of humanity. Love loves. Love doesn’t ever destroy, it doesn’t tear down, it doesn’t isolate, it doesn’t ostracize, it doesn’t’ exclude or seclude, it doesn’t manipulate or use. Love loves. One sentence: love loves loving. Love loves and creates love as it goes. And that going is a solid distance into eternity in any direction. Love loves. Love finds a way in the midst of the worst conditions because love knows no obstacle. Love loves. Love knows when to let go, when to release the beloved because it loves the beloved and loves the freedom of the beloved. Love loves. It’s remarkable that love isn’t always about being happy, but allowing sadness to participate. Grief and sadness are real because…Love loves. Love knows when to bear its burden to spare the beloved; love takes on that which she doesn’t want the beloved to endure. Love loves. Love sees through the misery to capture the beautiful, embraces the pain because she can’t do anything else. Love loves. Love is itself and it’s action, it is the triunity of subject-object-verb. Love loves love. Love loves. Love loves itself into the beloved and the beloved becomes the beloved because loves loves itself into it. Love loves. Love loves the beloved into the beloved but not to obtain some reciprocal action but just because it can do nothing else but love the beloved. Love loves. Love just loves and it is independent of any work or action of the beloved. The beloved is just the beloved because love loves.

The Big Engine Who Thought She Could Not

There was once a big engine that could, so she thought.

Until, one day, she decided she definitely could not.

Her eyes traveled along the track up the great, big hill.

The daunting task engulfed her; steam puffs went still.

She grit her teeth and tried to gather from inside,

But the biggest problem was that her fire had died.

All alone on her track and without support to be found,

Her momentum slowed, then her wheels made no sound.

They stopped rolling forward; they went completely dead on the track.

All the work and the fight had worn her thin; she felt her morale slack.

An incredible exhaustion seized upon her tired frame fast

Until she started rolling backward, her forward-part last.

Anxious panic set in. What should I do? Where should even I start?

The bend was nearing, so she gripped the track with all her heart.

She caught herself in time before hitting the deadly, sharp turn;

But, man, did that friction between wheel and rail begin to burn.

She held still and began to regain her steely, metal composure,

When something caught her eye down below the steep shoulder.

Up the steep climb a small engine came huffing,

Wheels slowly turning and steam clouds puffing.

The small engine stopped to take a quick needed breather,

And the bigger engine turned so she could clearly see her.

Then their eyes met and locked together in knowing;

The smaller was following where the bigger was going.

“You shouldn’t proceed…” the big one said. “This path is quite frightful.”

The smaller smiled and replied, “But I hear the view is quite delightful.”

“Plus,” the small train started then stopped and then continued to speak,

“I never knew an engine built like us could even consider going to the peak;

Then I watched you start climbing higher and higher!”

Silence fell; the big engine felt something stir inside her.

The little one to the big spoke again, words fast embolding;

The big one leaned in toward the little she was beholding.

“And it’s not just me who has been inspired by your acts…”

Just then more chugging was heard below on the tracks.

More engines were weaving and wending up the treacherous mountainside.

She watched these little trains climb, inspired by how they worked and tried.

“I’ve been at this all wrong….” The thought began to grow in her mind.

“I’ve been looking for help from the side and ahead and not from behind.”

Her gaze returned to the tracks she was desperately clinging upon,

“Maybe…” she thought to herself. “Maybe for them I can climb on?

Even if it’s only an inch or two farther that I can offer,

It’ll be one less inch or two they will have to fight for.

She closed her eyes and gathered up her remaining bits of strength.

“For them…” She grit her teeth, bore down, and powered a length.

“For her…” and she went forward…covering more distance!

What had begun to stir was a full-fledged fire in an instance!

And on the train chugged and huffed,

Engine strong and steam clouds puffed.

There once was a big engine that gave into thinking that she could not;

Until one day a smaller engine reminded her she could, so she fought.

Curves

I hold the curve of your face in the curve
Of my hands.
My course skin against yours young;
Yang’s coarse to soft yin,
Yin’s aged bronze to yang’s nascent tin.

I hold the curve of your face in the curve
Of my hands,
And I explore the unchartered territory of your eyes;
Wisdom searches among youthful vivacity,
Sorrow and regret met by innocence and tenacity.

I hold the curve of your face in the curve
Of my hands,
Look at me: I pray you never know the pain I do;
Energetic eyes bounce back, they sparkle and prance,
The eyes that know too much slow the dance.

I hold the curve of your face in the curve
Of my hands,
I know you’ll hide pain deep, away, and aside;
I’ve witnessed other teens who sit at my tables and chairs
Making me false promises of being aloof and without cares.

I hold the curve of your face in the curve
Of my hands,
Your face reflects to me what I hope: contentment;
A smile to cover the fear and confusion
Able to create, cause, and confirm the illusion.

I hold the curve of your face in the curve
Of my hands,
I never want to let you have your own suffering;
But what is the journey without the dark side of life,
How would wisdom ever be formed without the fire of strife?

I hold the curve of your face in the curve
Of my hands,
One more caressing moment before death pulls me completely in;
Fingers weak and frail, merely bones skin covered,
Recall the first day you they held and tenderly, nimbly mothered.

You hold the curve of her face in the curve
Of your hands,
Your course skin against hers young;
Yang’s coarse to soft yin,
Yin’s aged bronze to yang’s nascent tin.