Walking around together,
I hope we walk the same.
Darkness will come,
in this dream and weather.
Is where I’ll dig my grave.
The breeze and twisters,
falling trees and flowers,
Rolling heaps of dried leaves
and broken brooms and rakes
walk behind me.
I hope we walk the same.
I thought you would be kinder.
In my dream, I watched you sleep,
Dreaming of me where I lived;
You watched me dream
of shadows and sounds,
their shapes and matter;
Won’t you wake me up?
If you dreamt of me,
I would spring to my feet
And pinch your shoulders.
I would think of you dreaming
So you would think of me
When I thought of you,
And your thought of me
would tap my shoulders
And send me out,
to wake you up.
But you see that my heart is ghost.
I thought you would be kinder
Yet, my care for you walks alone.
On her way back from dance practice, K comes across a recently made friend, S,
“Hi, what have you been up to?” S inquires of K as soon as they are within speaking distance.
“Not much,” replies K. “Just back from dance practice.” Continue reading “K runs into S”
What does it even mean?
It’s a thing you say just to keep them quiet.
It’s the thing you do to curb the uprising.
It’s a way you talk to hide the problem.
It’s the finger you raise to change the subject.
The thing you do to scale the protest.
The signs you don’t see,
It’s the meanings you don’t get.
You should take a break and see.
You should know before you rise,
The tools that cut you
were once under control.
A monochrome manifestation
of blood and blues,
orange and yellows,
curves and subtle triangles.
What can you love in times like these?
In my days,
The modest mind isn’t a mind;
It isn’t one sought for words;
It isn’t one with thoughts extolled.
In my days, the quiet mind isn’t a mind.
The humble one is invisible,
Unpraised and unsought;
In my days, the humble one is the fool.
And when words scream from reason;
When objections we invite,
we talk only for moments,
and hear our voices stutter.
In my days
we cry, we diffidents;
we seek rise from oppression;
Every same day, as our minds awake,
Rebellion sprouts one more measure.
Updated May 31.
We see you
Every breaking day
With the pulse
Of a torn heart; beating on.
Every aching day
With the neurons
Of a worn mind; thinking on.
And the endless work,
With counting hours
Of sitting still and writing off.
Caffeine in blood,
Heaven in sight;
If the lamp stays on
Night never comes.
Oh for man’s own land I lament.
These few months, these last days
Watching how blatantly we devour the earth;
How to money-blinded minds the oceans wail,
How the old flesh of the past
today burns out in pipes, choke, and black sadness,
Dying again; first by nature, now by our hands.
I am not a dying star dear friend,
I am already gone.
Moved on from your gracious sight;
Tell them; yours and mine; tell them;
You are the special one and not I;
You are from heaven’s road,
My wings, weak orbits, bright shine;
Dying light from deep time afar;
Fading away, my glow in a while.
Shimmering light though comes from your heart.
Steady pulse, your halo is clear.
Your gifts, my planets, different times.
The people of the lands see us apart.
An angel and a star
Tonight we are;
I with swings and you with wings;
Destined to be what we are;
You and I tonight we are;
One angel in flight, one traveling light.
I lost heaven’s glance.
You stole merry’s smile.
I was simple and kind,
Feathers for heart,
Mother and father, single arts bind,
Spirit and thunder, changing laws ‘vide –
Now a wondering child disordered,
Seeking answers from yonder.
People with lies, heaven with shrouds –
The city is the truth, crowded with minds,
The disillusioned and the lights;
Thus I listen;
Indeed I might – Continue reading “Dusty Sky”