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.

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.

 

 

Becoming Friends

There is no color

only love

Since we are born colors

into love

Blue skies and grey skies

they are all the same

The only way to end hatred

is by love

We were born a nation

one of many

Free to choose

and be happy

Free not to choose

and be strong

One to protect

and be at peace

It starts with one

and walks alone

We are always talking

but always forget

From dust we rise

to dust we lay

With only patience

for an end’s delay.

Below Zero

Into a myriad pool

I dive without splashing

spreading arms and wings

into the striking gaps

of neon blue

eyes that capture

like a lens of camera

the lights of white streaks

under the depths of freedom

where water is air

and the moon hangs

like palm trees

in a black dessert

where the stillness

of the world

still exists

my heart is pounding

and the nerves

fully alive

I am not sad

but awake

I am not happy

but finally complete.