Tag: poetry

Prickly

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I used to come here when I was young

About a year-and-a-half ago

I had just quit my career and would sit on these rocks and listen to a podcast about depression

I felt like the broken glass next to the prickly desert cacti matched my demeanor

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Now I’ve stumbled upon this little alcove and I remember what I was feeling back then

I was so lost and confused and angry

That hasn’t changed

But now I’m more comfortable with chaos and uncertainty

The seven seas don’t scare me as this boat continues to drift unmoored

Yet returning here, I feel older and I feel more disconnected

I feel more strongly than ever that I don’t understand anyone and that no one understands me

Putting the broken glass back together would be impossible

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The Rain

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I wanted to kiss you in that rain

 

You said the weather is angry and you like it

As you pulled up your hoodie in the desert

Wet, dark hair sticking to your forehead

Above your eyes that can’t be summed up in one word

You said they are green but that discredits their mystery

 

I never thought the weather was angry

It felt like passion to me but

Maybe anger and passion come from the same source

 

Either way

I don’t mind waiting for the rain to clear

I’m used to waiting and

The weather is changing and

At least now I know how the rain

Makes you more beautiful

Fragments

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I want to say thank you to something

but I don’t know what to call it.

 

Show me the fragments of knowledge

shared across cultures, countries, continents

through the ages the languages the world religions.

 

It can’t be some grand conspiracy

too many coincidences.

 

Each seeing, feeling the same concepts

writing the same thoughts in poetry.

 

It makes me believe

there is something.

 

When the missionaries in Utah asked

if I believe in God,

I told them I didn’t

understand the question.

 

There’s something I want to thank but

I don’t know what to call it.

 

 

Geocentric

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Why do the butterflies dance in front of me?

Why does the wind whisper in my ear?

Why do the ravens fly over my head?

Why do the rocks support me?

Why does the sun beat down on me?

Why does the moon protect me?

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Skewed.

They don’t do it for me.

It’s just part of their nature.

We make believe we are at the center of it all.

 

Extra

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There was an extra boy.

When the others paired off, he was alone.

They chase him away.

Young lovers swim together in the current and the third wheel spins, waiting.

He follows them.

Maybe she will fall in love with the loser.

But she just floats, indifferent.

The man chases his friend away.

When it gets dark and quiet, the young couple cuddles.

They whisper in each other’s ears.

He gave up. He is cold.

Hmm. When the ducks pair off, do they decide who will die?