Your Soul Swirling

It all seemed possible then,

laying outside watching the stars, when,

the rest of the campus slept,

sharing our deepest secrets and scars–reworking them from impediments to impetuses–

teasing us out.

We were still so young, and we didn’t know as much as we thought,

but we had so many thoughts …

Thoughts about how the world should be,

and how we would be in it.

(You, a politician fighting the good fight, and I, writing your biography.)

We analyzed everything, from conversations with crushes to the constancy of change,

making sense of the little of life we knew.

We repeatedly played the song Gardens and Graves during our nightly charades,

so adeptly describing the urgency of our lives,

the eagerness to matter,

the restlessness of becoming.

How wild we thought it was,

to just be with the stars, and the music, in the middle of the night,

to experience such a life.

Life! Opening up right in front of us,

trying to live it because we could,

far removed from our contained childhoods.

One night, we detoured to a tattoo parlor,

just for the hell of it (to say we lived!).

You got a panther, of all things, on your ankle.

It excited us, to be more than who we seemed to be,

You, a tatted man, of all things!

The sheer thrill of it.

I think we got it wrong though, my dear friend,

we didn’t know then, what I see so clearly now:

You never had to be more than who you already were.

You were always amazing,

your life always rippling,

simply by existing.

I choose to suspend you here, in the shadows, looking up at the stars, your soul swirling.

Still possible. Still dreaming. Still alive.

Maybe

I’ve seen humans climb mountains higher than they can breathe,

I’ve seen flowers grow in the cracks of deadened leaves,

I’ve seen seas with strength hidden underneath,

and I think, maybe, just maybe that can be you and me.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

NaPoWriMo – Day 4 (Dream)

Today’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) prompt is: Write a poem based on an image from a dream. This prompt excited me since I dream often, and have been working on lyrics based on an image from a dream I had! The image was of a man crying strings of rope (I know, weird). Anyway, here is the resulting poem.

My Tears Hang Like String

My tears hang like string from your face,
I tie them up so you can keep my pain.
And you’re sitting there, in your chair, signing SOS in the air
How’d we get here tonight?

You turn left, I turn right, I’m afraid we will never reunite.
It gets harder every time
My only hope is we can undo this end and find a new way to be friends again
Is it okay if I wait for that day?
Or does it make me too afraid?

Oh stranger, stranger can you still love me?
Even if we don’t know who I am?
Oh stranger, stranger will you ever come home?
Or am I to live this life alone?

It’s getting dark, you make a remark, that sounds like a cry
Why’d I? Why’d I? Why’d I?
I have no good reply.
But I want to hide in the past where you can find me, if you ever find yourself  hesitating,
you can always come back to me.

The pressure is getting thick, do I tell the truth to make this stick, or do I open the door
To let in one more lie?
I gotta tie this up tonight.

Why’d I? Why’d I? Why’d I?
Why’d I have to leave?
Why’d I have to believe there was something better for me?
Why’d I have to go?
And leave us all alone?

Oh stranger, stranger can you still love me?
Even if we don’t know who I am?
Oh stranger, stranger will you ever come home?
Or am I to live this life alone?
Or am I to live this life alone?

5634660787_3c24482a86_oPhoto by

NaPoWriMO – Day 3 (Word Bank)

Today’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) prompt is: Write a poem using your new “word bank.” I created a word bank following the prompt instructions but I am only going to post the resulting poem just so this entry doesn’t become too long.

Doubt

I’m burning out,

you’re running cold,

doubts, are overexposed,

in this prison house,

and there’s the constant tickin’

that’s got me thinkin’,

how,

there is no better time than,

now,

to pull the trigger.

But, then I linger,

just long enough,

to not be done,

with us.

hiker-in-rocky-iceland-field_4460x4460

 

 

NaPoWriMo – Day 2 (Specific Place)

Today’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) prompt is: Write a poem about a specific place —  a particular house or store or school or office. With class tonight, my time is super limited so I am building off of a poem I wrote previously!

Arizona

Where wild meets west, the vast sky turns into a real-life painting of mountains burning purples, blues, yellows, reds, and oranges twice a day; a prosaic production. Stars sprinkle the same sky at night, until you crick your neck trying to count them all. On the hottest days, it smells like melting asphalt. But on others, it smells like dusty earth giving rise to life—Javelinas chortling while grazing prickly pear. Rattlesnakes coiling and hissing. Rabbits hopscotching across rocks speckled brown. Lizards darting between low-lying, crackly bushes. Cacti standing guard, arms outstretched, as if offering you a hug.

Here, in the valley, there is space to stretch out. There is fresh air to breathe and time to breathe it. The days are warm and long; the kind of days you want to cozy up to until you fall into a sweet slumber with:

Dreamcatchers hanging
above, snaring bad dreams to
dissolve in the sun.

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NaPoWriMo – Day 1 (Action Metaphor)

I am so excited to participate in National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) again. I have been slacking on writing this past year, so hoping this will be the kick-start I need. I enjoyed the experience last time I participated in full back in 2018—check out my highlights reel from that time.

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is: Write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life – one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances. 

Love Is Like Carrying An Overloaded Plastic Grocery Bag

Sometimes I feel love is like carrying a plastic grocery bag so overloaded with expectation that it begins to stretch and stretch from the weight until I am holding two thinly stretched pieces of plastic that I hope will stay intact until I can get somewhere safe and set the load down.

But instead,
the bag breaks
and spills out
all the contents
of my heart
for everyone
to see.

girl-2380554

Sometimes

Sometimes I feel like I’m falling,

And there’s no saving me now.

Sometimes I feel like I’m crawling,

Trying to feel my way out.

Sometimes I feel like I’m standing still,

While everyone’s moving so fast.

Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning,

And the waves are about to crash.

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NaPoWriMo – Day 12 (Haibun)

Today’s National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) prompt: We’d like to challenge you to write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. 

I am entirely outside my comfort zone with this NaPoWriMo challenge, but this prompt in particular had me sweating! I had to Google “haibun” and then “haiku” to even understand this prompt. However, I wanted to at least try it so here we go!

Where wild meets west, the vast sky turns into a real-life painting of mountains burning purples, blues, yellows, reds, and oranges twice a day; a prosaic production. Stars sprinkle the same sky at night, until you crick your neck trying to count them all. On the hottest days, it smells like melting asphalt. But on others, it smells like dusty earth giving rise to life—Javelinas chortling while grazing prickly pear. Rattlesnakes coiling and hissing. Rabbits hopscotching across rocks speckled brown. Lizards darting between low-lying, crackly bushes. Cacti standing guard, arms outstretched, as if offering you a hug.

Here, in the valley, there is space to stretch out. There is fresh air to breathe and time to breathe it. The days are warm and long; the kind of days you want to cozy up to until you fall into a sweet slumber with:

Dreamcatchers hanging
above, snaring bad dreams to
dissolve in the sun.

photo-1438979179121-ab4e92cdb51d