What is a poem
If not a reflection
Of the mystery of my being
How can I claim authorship
Or even meaningful intent
When my own existence is
Like a drawing in still waters.
Knowledge is Faith
The only thing I know for certain
Is that I’m a partial being.
I fly with one wing
And yet a higher knowledge
Tells me that
Such a thing is impossible…
Then why can’t I see or feel
My other wing?
What else
Does this higher knowledge know?
How do I come to know
What it knows?
Why am I numb
To its existence?
I contemplate this Higher Knowledge
And I come to see Silence…
Words lose their voice
Their sounds dim into the distance.
I stand detached, dismembered
From the thoughts that were my breath
I now understand
That it’s their charm
I must reject
And their stories I must exit
I must do this knowingly
In the faith that I have another wing…
I will continue to fly.
The Elite
I live in a mental asylum
With shadows for company
So powerful are my shadow-friends
That they’ve erected the walls
Of my asylum
For their existence
In its confinement
I yearn for friendship and company
Even if it is of the Unreal
The shadows beckon me to listen
Their amorphous forms speak in booming voices
That echo and resonate.
Their thoughts agree with my thoughts
That’s why we are friends…
We jog together in 10000-word dissertations
Or tickle each other with 140-character tweets
And I feel accomplished
That I now have friends in high places…
I now speak their slang
And their concerns
Are my concerns
Their outrage is my outrage
Happiness lies in the camaraderie
Between one bubble and another.
When you burst my bubble
I stand vacant
Alone in my madness…
And with this painful awareness
That I can’t see, or hear, or feel anyone
Outside of the thick walls
Of my mental asylum.
I have been shut in
To be protected from any contact with the breathing…
My walls are thick, impenetrable and safe
My shadow-friends erected them so that they could play
And oh yes, my walls have names
Please meet: Ideology. Fear. Pain. Self-loathing.
Desire’s Destiny
Within me
So many have lived
and scripted my story
Some have stayed
for decades
for years
Pined
Agonized
Washed away
by floods of tears.
Some come visiting
a month, a week
and leave soon after
they find their seek
Coveted guests
who appear
for a minute or two
Rejuvenate
Refresh and
Renew.
A residue of wisdom
on ways to cope
They leave behind
magical wings of hope.
My nothingness defined
by their very being
They’ve challenged what I know
of my seeing.
They’ve come to me
inhabited my space
They’ve shown their artistry
their canvas- my face.
Desires in search
for room, for chest
They’ve come to me
to manifest.
It’s in rare moments like these
I stand face to face
Watching in silence
My nothingness
My space.
I know now
I can clearly see
My space is nothing
But desire’s destiny.
It’s In The Getting to know
Yes…
I would’ve liked better teacups
But here you are
Nevertheless
Forsaken or gifted
Standing before me every morning
And so…
Despite a petulant will
Everyday I grow to love you
And everyday
I get acquainted
With your unexpected beauty
Love and Beauty
You’ve taught me
Are not mere affections
They are the gifts of our attention
Joys that we receive
Not in our hours of need or merit
But in the generosity of our receptiveness
They’re never destinations
But journeys of long, slow acquaintance
Of discovering
And getting to know.
Poem
What is a poem
if not a reflection
of the mystery of my being…
How can I claim authorship
or even meaningful intent
When my own existence
is as momentary
as a drawing in still waters.
Wit. Wisdom. Wonder... 