cleaning out the poetry cache

my days are infused with lessons
and the themes overlap
the moments work together to tell me things.
i have learned that we get tired
and sometimes the path is so rough that we fall down
but even when the distance between springs is far
we must keep walking

i have learned that opening is painful
and there is resistance on the inside to change
but there are treasures to be found beyond the strain
we must keep breathing

i have learned that life is crazy
and can knock us over without warning
but even when our hearts are broken
we must keep living

i have learned that i know little
and the search for truth is elusive and long
but there is still much to be learned, and so
we must keep trying

i have learned that we are all connected
and no life is borne alone
to have the strength to walk, to breathe, to live, to try,
we must keep loving

poem: reach catch close

perhaps we are all transparent
to one another
shimmering in our frail shells
completely awake and yet asleep
to our own patterns
we pounce on the obvious flaws
of those around us
and then forgive with thoughtless haste
or burdened pride
rarely offering a simple gesture
of recognition
yes we are all innately broken
the holes are rarely filled
in looking back
we discover our own mistakes
and have a choice:
attempt to hide our humanness
behind fragile walls,
or reach through the fabric
to catch each other
in a sweet soft embrace
pulling together
to close the gaps.

poem: her bare shoulder

her bare shoulder

we offer you, sun,
our bodies to be washed in light,
as we live outside
where man-made walls do not separate,
living with vigor, with joy,
letting the freckles appear on our arms
as we lift our children,
as we plant our seeds,
as we reach for each other and squeeze.
there is something powerful
about a woman's shoulder
where the arm begins
the curving shadows of muscle -
it is not the feminine of fainting
or frailty
but it is the feminine of creation
and strength
that comes from giving our bodies
to the light
from living outside, bare with truth,
from offering all that we have
to the world.

it doesn't make a good story
sure there are some parts that come out nice
brightly colored and visual interest
but generally no i don't have something fascinating to say
just that being human is this thing
that overwhelms my senses and my soul
that loving is so hard when it's for real
that i know that suffering is what you have to do
to get to something beautiful
that when something seems close its an illusion
but that's nothing you don't already know
basically i'm just trying not to repeat my mistakes
or the mistakes of those who've gone before
i'd really like to get through with a few true friends
and without hurting anyone i really love
it's hard when what you need isn't available
and asking doesn't bring it any closer
and pouting just reflects the darkness back to you
but i feel alone in those moments
when i feel stuck in the wrong direction

even this poem can't be beautiful
it's just what i have to say right now
and whether or not it's enough
my choice is to love it or not.

sincerity (a poem)

i need words more than they need me
they force my driftless mind into sudden surety
the one direction i can find
i must find
they are a solitary venture
which for me is a necessary escape
from a life filled with responses
a life where i am an evolving creature
ever fastened by the styles and patterns of others
taking on what is necessary to realize my self
i also leave behind my essences
momentarily
a dangerous adventure
(since they are inescapable).

in almost thirty years
i have been a thousand versions of my self
epically losing and finding
my way
i am a willing inhabitant
on this turning earth that somehow
turns hours into lifetimes
i have never resisted the passing of time
and she has begun to show her kindnesses
returning objects that offer solace
in their familiar company
linking me with selves i was once
and always want to be.

i need colors and creations that are only mine
in ways i cannot explain
like the face that stares back at me
with knowing eyes
at once foreign and intimate
she is my destiny and my muse
i realize she is always with me
waiting to see what will be preserved
when i step into my world
start shedding language
shredding intentions and anticipations.
i can feel her more closely now
above the din of instinct's clatter;
i can speak her truths.
is it age making me honest?
or am i relearning something i knew better
once before?