Open Your Eyes

There is a place of slumber

a music beyond all of us

captivated

and washed

into a spiraling well

one of hopes and dreams

made of stone blocks

before our time

and for the love of all peace

we are far from it

but awake

in the night

of our intriguing soul

that beckons us

and quenches

the thirsty mountains

clothed

in the mist and white fog

and we are but small shadows

looking up into the blue horizon

where the sun exists

though we do not see it

where the sun loves us

and do not feel it

but we know

it is there

for we have waited for it

we sat down on mossy grass

and told stories

and tales

sharing laughter

then somber silence

in that unbreakable meeting

quieting our thoughts

for in us

we see the threads unravel

and people

sailing far and wide

into a distant memory

where all we hold

is the moon

in our sleep

a nostalgic self carries us

and we do not ask questions

nor why it matters

that moon is in shards

distorted beautifully

on water

opaque

and we look down to ourselves

to see what we once were

and guess

what we are to be

for to dream dreams is a dream

and living life is the reality

or so

we say to ourselves

in the waking life.

Here Comes October

It, the thing,

approaches us all

yet we try to forget “it”

“The Death”

knocking at our doors–

To talk of it

is chilling

to our bones

because we grow colder,

and cold is pain

it always has been

and somehow we lost

that memory–

But we try, and try

to ignore… “it”

(we will call the thing)

with happiness

with poppies in our thoughts

with the sweet smell

of spiced coffee

and autumn leaves–

Then it comes to us

a soft whisper

in the breeze,

“this is all temporary”

none of “this”

last forever

but we walk, and walk

with one leg to another

to our jobs

to our slave boxes

to our homes

to our distractions

to our one last beer

to our high-rise efforts

to our computers

to our smartphones

to envy’s demise,

a parade of people

we have never met

and finally,

to our forgetfulness

for ignorance

has always been bliss

yet that burgundy leaf

had never looked better

for love itself

was truly alive,

to die is bliss

but to live is joy–

A man is not a skull

nor is he merely flesh

but he is a story

with a beginning

and end

an untold one

that lasts forever.

Lemonwood

My mustard yellow sweater

is grown into the blue sky

as a blossom of heat

rests over a melted pot

overlooking fields

where I sip my green tea

in a tiny, wooden cup-

I sit on my knees

open face to see

a cloud move by

like a flame

far above without border

in the midst of falling leaves

dead in the yellows, oranges

and the reds-

Everything is finally free,

but here I am

a voice

gentle, like a sleeping giant

while every ear

is missing

resisting every smile

in-between.

Catalyst Bloom

Beyond it is obtainable
 
no, you aren’t selfish
 
but true to yourself
 
for all gold that glimmers
 
is not a yellow leaf
 
nor is it made in fire–
 
and the fragile diamonds
 
covering our leather skin
 
does not bring a smile
 
for smiles have never been
 
everlasting
 
with the exception of one
 
on the other side
 
of the sliding glass door
 
but no ever dared to try it
 
for the opportunity
 
never arrived,
 
and we are but moleskins
 
writing down depths
 
of what we can grasp–
 
here I watch the orange leaves
 
fall from your mother and father’s
 
table
 
they cover your white cloth
 
and perfume
 
like the generations of before
 
and still, an opportunity
 
never arrived,
 
so instead at my hour
 
I knock on opportunity’s
 
door
 
to find nothing inside
 
except for my reflection
 
blooming without me knowing
 
and a napkin crumbled
 
in my hand like
 
a leaf that crunches
 
like burnt paper.

Catching the World

The best things in life are those things that happen around us: from the moment you hold a red leaf in your hand to the moment you hold your wife’s hand.  You take the time to talk to your wife about many things, even silly things.  We talk about things that matter and the things that don’t matter.  We, humans, talk about ideas and only things that are fleeting.  We often forget… We are fleeting as well.
 
We stand up.  We listen and shout.  We let media and the world control our thoughts.  Why isn’t our attention on the red leaf?  Where is your lover’s hand? Fall is coming and it is here.  As shortly as we looked to see it come we will see it go.  We forget about these things because we distract ourselves. It’s our fault, for we let the ever so irrelevant overpower the relevant.
 
The relevant is the wind in the air that passes through the trees.  The relevant is the now, the present.  It is the smile of someone that loves you from across the room. It’s the seconds counting down your night to end when you don’t want it to. It’s the sweet-salty caramel in desserts and crispness of the fresh air.
 
Many times the world looks like chaos.  Yet, we never talk about the good things.
 
The good things are happening right before our eyes.  It is the time when we take a walk. On our walk, we see an orange-gray cat rolling over a sunny road as he pretends to play with his imaginary friend.  He’s skittish now that you are approaching…
 
It’s the moment you look through a bush and thorns to see a black cow’s eye stare your eye from the other side of a fence.  You believe you think the cow’s eye is happy to see you, but it is only curious… There’s only a mystery in that moment, for we do not know what we see in each other…
 
It’s these little things that matter.  Whatever happened to them?  Why have we disappeared from these moments?  The world is only turning every ten feet in all directions as the leaves are falling.
 
Be still and catch the world spinning, before it turns you around the other way.

McIntosh Delicious

As life resembles it

one day we were strangers

an acidic arrangement

a gentle orange

sliced into an apple,

a grey and red

weathered apple,

green as grass

yellow and round

like the morning sun–

With our eyes open

and only one hand

to take

and see an ancient truth

come alive–

We are haunted

because we do not know

if the answer

is a sight we can handle,

but a light

a golden light

looks into the mirror

of our tree-like souls,

and we are deranged

with forgotten roots–

I walk up the silent hill now

bright green in its splendor

filled with harmony

and salty rain

with only one hole

in the sky to look

at the sky,

never has a day

been so quiet–

I grip, and take it now

for it is mine

all the days of my life

I will cherish it

without taste in my tongue

or water

in my eyes

the leaves will fall

and I will forget

life’s unspoken gift.

 

Robbed

It’s hard being an island

when there are so many

islands in this world–

We find the grey mass

keeping us down,

buried in opaque

sand and dirt

then mud

that white, white mud

that covers us–

We have longed to be free

to reach the sky

to see a world

finally normal

finally at peace

but it isn’t,

and life is a young shadow

chasing after us–

All we ask for is a key

to a door

when all we’ve wanted

is the golden key

to the golden door

beneath our tides–

But we are locked

behind answers

as they follow us

to our graves

at the bottom of the sea

with bubbles of thoughts

hopes and desires

left unsaid

in the quiet dreams

of our starry depths–

Nothing is more treasured

than the present

for the present

matters the most

for that is where we are at–

Meet me at the beach

before dawn

before the sun

and moon

speak their first words,

and there

I will make my trade.

Mindclouds

Sent into the spotted clouds

white as snow, soft as breath

with a sky, it could be a sky,

periwinkle blue

the freshest of air–

This is a prism

of the sleeping

and lofty transferred

with not a soul to see,

for the rooms, if they are rooms

are empty, yet filled

with transparent doors,

but the doors and rooms

are open and broken–

I walk towards the infinite

clock,

the invisible mechanic

that never existed

for she shines now

ever so brightly,

in every direction

where fountains, streams,

and pools of water are clear,

such clarity

without gravity

where rules and boundaries

are only imagined–

Created…

I am alone there now

and no one

should want to be alone,

but I am

with discovery

as my only companion.

 

 

 

Uphill Weeds

There is trust in love

a cold street of desire

and one we take

minute by minute

second by second

to experience the hours,

but then it’s gone

and at the same time

it isn’t–

the street’s always been

as my steps have always been,

for the love of moss grows

and stretches over time–

I wonder

if the windows are listening

in this windowless world

and if the tallest grass

will conquer our dreams–

Maybe tomorrow will be better

but what if it isn’t?

If tomorrow isn’t better

maybe today will be better

but what if it isn’t?

We ask ourselves

the wrong questions,

we give ourselves

the wrong answers,

and while we’re busy

making maps of our lives

the street has always been

cold as it warm

and low as it is high.

 

 

A Motive of Persistence

Lately, I’ve been learning again about persistence.  I’ve been persistent in the past. However, it’s not an easy trait to learn, or in this case, relearn.  You try as hard as you can to achieve something.  You do all you can to tackle your goal to the ground.  You  like to think you are strong, but a stronger wave sends you back to your place time and time again.  You find yourself on the beach, again, covered in sand and spitting up salty water.  You spend your energy and time rushing out into the sea against the currents.  You try it again, and again.  When you least expect it, life sends you another curve ball: here comes the tsunami.

It’s true what psychologists say about conflicts and difficult situations: it’s either fight or flight.  I like to fight.  I don’t see any purpose in running away.  However… We all have those Netflix evenings of escapism.  During wars in the past, people used to go to the movies to escape their problems.  It took their minds off of the terror and terrible situations in the world.  If only there was a way to escape your troubles, you could…  Yet, we do it all the time.  We purposely don’t read certain books, because they remind us of painful circumstances that hang over our lives like ghosts that haunt us.

One day, I finally realized what makes persistence easy and what makes it difficult.  Persistence is difficult when it is primarily selfish.  I find that when we make goals that will only benefit ourselves, it’s harder to achieve them.  It’s probably because they’re so vain and pointless.  Self-serving is fine, for a while, maybe even a few days, but it is fleeting.  Selfishness just leads down a path of emptiness.  It doesn’t drive.  Survival drives us.  It always has.  When it comes to selfishness, our determination falls behind.  I think it’s because deep down we know our motives are wrong.  They do nothing to benefit others or do anything good for this world.  In a way, we feel useless.  What’s the point battling the waves of life?

Sometimes humans have these strange needs for affirmation, praise, and acknowledgement.  But for what?  For our pride as human beings?  I think if we reach deep, beyond the surface, we’ll find our need for satisfaction and self worth.  Maybe going outside of ourselves to do things for others could fill that void in our lives.  It not only makes us stronger, but makes us want to be stronger.  It feels like there is a purpose now, one that matters.  With that in mind, persistence comes easier.  Or at least, I think it does.