Category: Poetry

My Gods & Goddesses of Spring.
What an enormously beautiful thing.

Ostara awakes the cold earth.
In the fecund soil she gives birth.

The Green Man is playful young Jack of the Green.
Thank Firmament for the giggling petals of Spring.

Persephone has crossed the Styx & the world comes back to life. This goddess really suffers much with Hades during Fall & Winter’s strife.

Thor drops rain & thunder in earnest in Spring he has a duty to his wife. For he may water and shake open the seeds but his wife Sif & mother Freya gives them life.

Spring is blood, rebirth, renewal & life on too brief a timeline. But such is life, the seasons & even Springtime.

It happens occasionally; not often for too long.

My perception shifts & the world seems wrong.

It swirls around me & swaddles me in doubt.

My light gets dim & then my levees wash out.

I immediately drown in my insecure muck…

Abandoned by Hope & Forgotten by Luck.

So, now, it’s time to make lemonade again.

Lucky, I’ve committed the recipe within.

A soul is not to be trifled with; being so much more than its frail body’s life.

How else would we overcome so much in the short beats we call our lives?

The force that pushes us in for the kiss is the same one we use when we lie.

It’s the source of random belly laughs & the source of all the tears we cry.

The courses that never ran smooth start their flow from lovelorn souls.

The strength we call on not to scream as our selves are cruelly raked o’er the coals.

Our soul is in & all around us. In the dark you can feel it tingling all about you in the quiet

A soul is not to be trifled with for it is much more than the carcass that abides it.

Waiting and watching for the storm clouds gather to in the soul; a friction between heart & mind.
As the friction builds the potential energy, electric edginess runs up & down your spine.

The mind’s sky becoming pregnant in appearance & heavy with pressure.
Hues of magic hint themselves at the edges of sight ready to open a fissure.

Sheet lightning flashes across her swollen belly…a rhyme here, a phrase there.
Concepts, themes & ideas come to life alongside couplets & stanzas like snowflakes in air.

Bolts of lightening flash between the mind & heart piercing both for bloody ink spilt in a frenzy on the page.
This is the curse of poets as payment for magic on the page & a key to each poet’s cage.

I stand on sand that shifts below me.

I sit on chairs with legs who are wobbly.

I live in uncertainty.

I live without agency.

If I’m tired I sleep

If I’m inspired I write.

Claims on my time aren’t steep.

A nurse to keep me upright.

A visitor comes weekly to mark my life.

The only element I’ve known is strife.

Only special doctors lay claim to my time.

And only a couple of friends that chime.

Uncertainty defines my thoughtful days;

No wonder I look forward to my nights.

We have the disease of dissatisfaction. We have the ailment of voicing our woes.

We felt the pain of emphatic action. We have the soreness of being shook so.

We wear tears of One ripped in Factions. Some are hemorrhaging away as we go.

We slouch ahead the worse for wear. To a person; zombie-like focus with egos.

We foresaw the dream of Living Fair. We walked in protest we all said “No”.

We cast our votes. We did our share. Getting what we deserve brought us all low.

Because…

We have the disease of dissatisfaction. We have the ailment of facing our woes.

I carry with me only the highs & lows; the middle evaporates from me.

I bear the confidence & wisdom of my spiked historical armory.

I have trouble remembering the truly mundane but triumph & tragedy stay

Laughter weaves together this armor & nostalgia cements it all for the fray.

Though the center of life escapes the vaults of my memory, my mind knows it in the Now.

The futures are riveting but experiencing this Now should be taken to be as solemn as a vow.

For I only experience the fullness of life when Living currently & presently.

So I shed the past’s armor & try on the invisible safety of true vulnerability.

And find myself quiet & sanguine as I stare fixedly into space while processing everything.

That’s what memory is for me…the pointy hollowed out armor of my own thorny history.

Not so long ago the world was wide open, though it wasn’t so for me.

Not so long ago people were open, affectionate, though it wasn’t so for me.

Not so long ago quarantine was an abstract, though it wasn’t so for me.

Eight long years the world was closed to me while my heart lay widely bared alone.

Eight long years my door was bereft of shadow, no visitors, knocks & no doorbell tone.

Eight long years I’ve lived this life you’ve tasted, these walls & wards are all I’ve known.

Too long has life been small & quiet…shutdown. But, now it is so for all.

Too long have I langoured abandoned & ailing. But, now it is so for all.

Too long have I been confined by circumstance. Alas, now it is so for all.

There was an atmosphere of division there was an atmosphere of hate.

There was an atmosphere of violence so we walked in protest disregarding fate.

The atmosphere was oppressively thick and kept us hiding in our homes.

The atmosphere which plagues us; we just weren’t prepared for the blows.

The atmosphere of violence made us finally ask “Who do we want to be?”.

The atmosphere of division reflected a virus in our systems that just…wouldn’t…leave.

Then there was an atmosphere of Hope that all would wash clean in the end.

Our political & financial atmospheres must avoid breaking by learning to bend.

Our social contract’s atmosphere is frayed but the golden thread pattern stays true.

Changing these stagnate atmospheres will take a little from me & also from you.

Life has left me Old before my time. Nothing more than a collection of memories, thoughts & rhymes.

Love has left me Wilting while I bloom. A lifetime of abdications & abandonments have settled to dusty unused gloom.

Time has left me roughed up & wise. Dealing me blows to toughen me up…to make me rigid against the world’s lies.

Circumstance has left me bereft & bare. My struggle is my own. There’s been no line at my door to give it any care.

Humanity has left me bewildered & lost. Singularly talented artists of love & hate…Gladly disseminating to others the cost.