Note Poem (8/27/11)

 

Sometimes it seems impossible to break into the open container that holds emotions

that have shook you to the core and back. The lock is open, but the contents just

don’t cooperate. The soul is willing but the physical emotions hold you back

with arms of  tempered titanium. It appears as a web, formed by concerned neglect and time, fear and longing. A cold, silver shine creeps into a heart. It could be all you think about, but not what you act upon. It could be something you attempt to act upon but inauthentically or in an innocent, uninformed manner.

Then the phone rings

True

Because he was not true,

He could not find his North.

Because she was not true,

She walked in agitated diagonals.

Each tried in frustrating lengths,

Of time, energy and great emotion

To approach the direction of

Change.

Which seemed to sweep aside like a

Migrant, rip tide wave,

Whenever a moment of clarity

Appeared in golden, hovering quarks -

The particles formed only a whisper,

To tease them on toward an ever changing

Moment of delusion

Because they were not true.

Heat

In the heat,

I can’t move.

Every effort is felt,

And  pushes against the tangible

Weight of the air.

Nothing has changed,

I am the same,

But the heat presses

My breath from me,

And offends my lungs.

With the smatterings of 

Remembrance -

Of coolness;

Sea air, autumn morning,

The spring rain,

A walk at dawn.

Wayward - On a Map

North looks like South,

South has become East,

And West is not there at all.

Kindness is mistaken for strangeness,

Work has become a far away place,

So many choices, but all half done,

The empty space is air and blame.

South goes on to North,

East reverses its efforts,

West comes into view.