March 2012
110 posts
Life, and all it’s uphills and rivers of heartache, is not about political parties or race, gun control, or legalizing marijuana.
Love.
Loving the self.
Becoming love.
It’s only when we love ourselves do we become individuals that continue to learn and grow. Individuals that then go out into the world and…love.
It’s simple.
Sometimes it takes someone else to walk with you on that path to find love.
Love
Love
Love
oh and…
Words. The impact of words. The caressing that a word can do to the man, so delicate and beautiful.
Choose words wisely.
Oh and…
To absolve ourselves of greed would mean to free our selves of the chains we create that stop us from loving completely.
Choose words wisely.
Love completely.
Absolve ourselves of greed.
It’s simple. Right?
His smiles are smirks
hiding behind his frown lines.
He’s the kind of stranger
that tries hard to not exist.
Stumbling ahead of the crowd,
crawling not far behind.
He’s trapped by the unrelenting pressure
that mostly never exists.
Hanging up the phone,
before it has a chance to ring.
Tired of all her bickering
that doesn’t ever exist.
You’ll never see him at a party
You’ll never meet him in a bar
He’ll never stray a mere ten miles from home.
Because this man doesn’t truly exist.
(03/30/12 written in Masonic Lodge @ Hollywood Forever Cemetery, while waiting to be seated for play)
Sara Teasdale was always one of my favorite poets. She loved, and loved hard. She had a great affection for someone who, for many reasons, became the one who got away, and so she was pressed to find another that would leave her heart cold and empty. I can’t describe how much this particular little poem means to me, just that it means a lot.
Debt
What do I owe to you
Who loved me deep and long?
You never gave my spirit wings
Or gave my heart a song.
But oh, to him I loved,
Who loved me not at all,
I owe the open gate
That led through heaven’s wall.
-Sara Teasdale
The thought of you creeps through the cracks
in this concrete pavement I call home.
Automobiles dancing with strangers
taking night for a ride, down that dirty road.
Abandoned by the school time children
that were once smiling to the sun,
it’s that time again, that time
for everything in between to turn on.
Flowers falling onto grassy shadows
I step into, much too dark to be able to see.
I’m finding a way to light the path you walk
to lose yourself in order to become free.
There’s a war you create,
two canons fighting for a perfect target.
There’s a heaven that is born,
when your fight is made silent.
You take everything with you,
all light, the day, the sun and the moon,
What’s left is time, time won’t bother chasing you,
following you to where you hide.
Left alone, memories of a wingless childhood,
wounded and lost.
Sadness becomes deafening,
shattering, shedding an old skin.
I’d take you in, if you would let me.
Thirst, hunger but you’re not yet starving.
I’ve found a light that’s reflected onto you
and through you, your shadow; rising.
Your shadow had abandoned you, to be rediscovered
through this concrete pavement I call home.
I’ll pass my home to you.
It’s warm and cold and everything in between.
Adrienne Rich, a woman worthy of her name. Like she did so many women, men, poets, writers, people; she inspired so much in me and definitely changed the course of my teenage consciousness. I had stumbled upon a literary queen that was still very much alive and had much to say. I was never able to see her in person, but her recorded readings were some of the first I’d ever listen to and purchase as a high school student learning about this magical language. She perfected it and communicated with us images that transcended the usual subjects. In other words, she was DOPE!
“…I … believe that words can help us move or keep us paralyzed, and that our choices of language and verbal tone have something—a great deal—to do with how we live our lives and whom we end up speaking with and hearing; and that we can deflect words, by trivialization, of course, but also by ritualized respect, or we can let them enter our souls and mix with the juices of our minds.”
-Adrienne Rich, taken from Blood, Bread and Poetry (1986).
Happiness is that place
That place we run from.
That place we curse. That place
we sometimes kill.
Welcoming home sadness
with loaded weapons aiming
for what we leave behind.
Why bother laughing
when all we choose to do is cry?
We abandon love.
We torture our loved.
We neglect those that love.
Happiness is that place
That very place we run from
when it was once from where we came.
The death penalty might deter those of us who are capable of any kind of thought process. However, nothing can deter an evil act made my someone incapable of logical thinking…except maybe a society filled with compassion. A society willing to extend a heart (not money) to a family with a child who has little hope of a chance in life. Murder, war, oppression, hate in the name of religion…won’t help anybody. Look around…
