|joro's closetPage 1 of 4 (1, 2, 3, 4)|
|The other day i lost my cell phone again. I came to the conclusion that I don’t think I was designed to keep track of things like phones that aren’t bolted to walls, poems and thoughts not created on paper in duplicate where i have limited access to the original, or anything else smaller than a breadbox. I can really annoy myself. Sometimes I think i am being tracked by evil elves and every time i almost catch one of the lil f-ckers, i find the missing thing! so as a way to combat the elves and/or my lack of brain cells, i figured maybe i should create a placewhere i can stuff stuff- poems, quotes, ideas, lyrical rants, chunks of narrative- so i can find it later. A closet. feel welcome to stick stuff here if you feel like it. |
for lack of any better place to start, i may as well start with this one:
Vision and hope of the seers
Full of prayer, anguish, tears
The dust shaken from her dream
Awaken to a day supreme
Of the earth to be revealed
Days and secrets and hearts concealed
From beneath the dark and silent loam
In darkness dreaming of a way back home
Past death and life and poems too
As earthen as both dust and dew
To wake in my and to declare
Through moving lips a silent prayer
In my curved hands I try to cup
The settled dust I do lift up
She, the mother of all thought
Neath the shining heavens were life is wrought
Where lips laugh and free souls rove
With face and body and memory’s trove
Mere dust no more, its nothing less
Than the gift of consciousness
As sure as terror, death and pain
Love and passion shall come again
As all that’s borne must die, so all
Dust shall live, its natural
And yet I barely understand
What I am holding in my hand
This fragile dust of hope I keep
In my heart as I fall asleep
Posted: 12/3/2009 8:40:42 PM
|for me, the spinning of reason and forging of meaning is to construct a narrative that can drive me to be more useful today and, in theory, more content in the long run. |
He had not known he could see
himself in others' eyes
nor within them see
the reflection of brilliant suns
pale, thin, and strange
the selfsame child
he thought he lost
where the red sun sank
of the way through the maze
his heart's orphans wandered, arriving
at the gate in the wall
his antique gaze seeing
there is no turning back
Posted: 12/3/2009 9:04:17 PM
the time has come
he heard the whisper softly
trailing the falling star
tell me what makes YOU happy
create a world that none will sink
gravity a word heard only in non-belief
Posted: 12/3/2009 10:00:29 PM
|One thing that makes me happy is having a dear friend be the first to add something to my thread some have pushed me to start for quite some time. |
You have no idea how long i have puzzled over that question. i dont know how to answer it in a neat soundbite, but i could start a list. things like
decorating the xmas tree friday with my daughter
getting asked to speak at a thanksgiving day gratitude meeting
nailing a grant that will help a community in puerto rico have clean, safe water and who will never know who did the work raising the money
that type stuff makes me happy
though i do know that someday i still have to answer the question of what makes ME happy.
i can 'see' it but dont know how to name it . i guess it would be having someone close who gets the victories and defeats and can share the joy of one and pain of the other.
for lack of a better term, i guess i will call it 'love.'
Posted: 12/3/2009 10:28:00 PM
"A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, my father had about 8 years of sobriety and i was still way, way out there. by then, he had gotten fired from the fire department and had become and alcohol counselor and was working for the state justice department. for years we were sworn enemies and damn near killed each other on multiple occassions. that year i got busted for my 3rd DUI, possession of marijuana, interstate trafficking of methamphetamine and resisting arrest.... Anyway, by the time i got out of rehab and went to court, it turns out that the state somehow lost the meth so they had to drop the trafficking charge. I have no idea what really happened to the meth, never thought about it and no one ever said anything. then this summer, some 23 years later, a light bulb went off while i was writing that perhaps that old irish civil servant north jersey network magic somehow intervened..... I pled to the DUI, the marijuana, they dropped the resisting arrest, and i got off with time served, loss of license, probation and community service. For community service, i designed and installed the landscape for the town's newly constructed public library and did a logo for the sign. i drew up a really cool rose that was inspired by a Grateful Dead album cover. A couple years later after i moved out of state, i came home for a visit, shocked to find that the rose i had drawn had been stenciled onto the police cars. "
That is irony.
Posted: 12/4/2009 1:35:44 AM
|what a treat finding this closet door|
where pieces of you are being stored
meanderings of mind and heart are here
a treasure chest for all who dare to enter
for this is where your friends will gather
to celebrate you because you matter
as you share your soul for us to see
your life journey teaching humility
Posted: 12/4/2009 1:55:10 AM
|ahhh joro...congratulations dear friend....it's about time!!!|
take me places
i have never been
in my heart
because of you
bring me back
to that moment
i had lost until
there was you
bring me to
the tips of my toes
twirling me around
and around then
drop me to my knees
oh dear friend
for your words
Posted: 12/4/2009 8:54:59 PM
|wow. juju, we, rose my 'mystery friend' ( ) tracking me down so quickly. you guys blow me away and have all helped me out and inspire me, are part of my being where i am, and i love u all more than you all know. |
OK, nuff of that...
In the silence of night
when dreams take over
and would-be lovers whisper
curses at each others follies
an old man sit by a dusty window
resting his tired old bones
in a day's loving warmth
where hordes of images
invade the stillness
striking up a soft sound
when listened to carefully
the sound of loving souls
heard across the gentle wake
of a silent lagoon
in such a state
an old man nods
to forgive and forget
lest for in song
from centuries before
and those still to come
awaiting their time
to be borne
to make their impact felt
Posted: 12/4/2009 9:21:03 PM
|Hey man. Really like your writing style. This is totally NOT towards you, just the way I was feeling..Hope ya don't mind my two cents.|
I'll love you, I'll care. You know I'll be there.
For when you cry, I feel like dying.
Dream a dream, I'd climb the highest. Swim the deepest.
I understand you, Like a book. With a beginning. A middle. A end.
Don't push me away. I am here for awhile.
In this closet I stay tucked in today.
I care and I'm here, my heart is for you.
It screams just like you, unheard but so true.
Posted: 12/5/2009 6:52:12 AM
|thanks rant. 2 cents over time can add up. anytime.|
and thanks for specifying its not toward me in caps! (though I did have to go back and read the intro a 2nd time). writing can often leave words leaving a reader in some rather gray areas once the author walks away.
started a week or 2 ago on rosie's thread. not quite where I want it to be yet, but I am tired of working on it.
we get what we get and move on
if your lucky you aren’t always wrong
if you are and you fall on hard luck
and decide that you dont give a f-ck
the wheezing i do slows me down
the price paid for the years as the clown
taking my nightmares to bed
where they ramble round in my head
as I map our where did I go wrong
I can hang on for now, but for how long
and all the things wrong that were said
knowing the guilt that I’ve bled
livin each day to just cope
just remember to not give up hope
for there’s always a day past today
at least that what I have head some say
as I pick myself up by the straps
and muster up care, least perhaps
to journey in search of the key
shed the chains and set myself free
the style is old that i know
it is what it is, let it go
i know that down deep in our heart
there’s a path where there is a fresh start
away from the crime and the blight
into the sun’s bathing light
a place where we all can belong
and write us a redemption song
a place that’s warm to grow old
with sharp minds and hearts of gold
telling stories of what has unfurled
in our lives in our great, screwed up world
Posted: 12/5/2009 11:38:05 AM
|He walked up to the door, some ghost of a kid counting his days on earth. His left hand held a spiral notebook and his right, a book of poetry. He asked if she would keep them safe till he returned and she said she would. He said he would be back in a couple hours, that he had to work, but he didnt come back. Next time she saw him she gave him a bologna sandwich and his notebook. Again he asked her to keep his notebook because he had to work. He gave her a wave and turned and walked away weak into the darkness. All they knew him as was the dirty blonde kid. No one knew his name. and she knew his job was something no kid should have to do and all she could do is hope he made it back. He did make it back with the same shirt in the winter tattered and freezing. She fed him and he left again weakly waving without pride . She saw him but one more time in a hospital bed. His eyes lit up when he saw her. All he wanted was to be somewhere safe and warm. She promised to make it so. And she did. For she knew no kid should have to do that shit. That much she was sure of and got fired for interfering.|
Posted: 12/5/2009 3:48:20 PM
|grampa john hung out at the spice bar & grill|
(across the street from the factory
where he, and uncle ralph,
and my dad all worked)
and he met an ozark woman
whose clothes were dark
her tongue was blue and
spit all god's shades of red.
her name was ozark,
at least that's all i knew.
ozark swore, so to speak,
that she'd marry john
if he bought her a farm.
five acres of corn,
a large slop basin
with a herd of pigs,
and a coop full of chickens
and, until she got her gun out,
a coyote with a big, lolling tongue.
i was five years old.
when we went to visit
ozark and grampa john
for the first time.
we followed uncle ralph
and my dad's sister, gladys,
in our old black cars
past the fields of root crops
and apple trees and cows
waiting to be milked or killed.
my mom brought pies
because ozark said
she couldn't bake. or wouldn't.
we pulled onto the gravel lane
and stopped short of the chicken coop
near the back of their bungalow house
painted white and smeared
with age-old dirt.
when ozark saw us coming
she waded into a crowd of free-run hens,
grabbed two by their necks
and spun them around over her head
until the bodies literally flew away,
bounced on the dry ground
in clouds of brown dust.
the bodies of the chickens
ran around for a few moments
then collapsed on the powder dirt
scraping up a few more clouds.
ozark flung the heads away.
dinner that day was good.
ozark could fry chicken,
and bake potatoes,
and serve campbell's tomato soup.
the pies, of course,
carried the juices of my mother's love,
and the language around the table
(..... as you know ozark was bi-lingual,
and not shy-lingual .....)
was more than interesting.
my cousin, del, and i played
in the acres of corn
until the sun fell
to the level of chickens' heads.
we drove home in the dark,
i slept tuckered out
in the back seat.
ozark left grampa john
in a few months. he sold the farm
and became the mayor
of the jeep tavern
(the willys overland factory
was across the street).
the day he died,
as i walked past him
on my way to school,
he smiled at me winked.
mayors are that way.
Posted: 12/5/2009 7:21:31 PM
|All four of my grandparents were strong-willed individuals as far back as I can remember. Two of them were out & out b@sterds, set in thier way & THAT was the way it was going to be...the other two died way too young & will always remain a saint in my eyes for putting up with the aforementioned @sses.|
When one set of them were younger with a child @ home, my Gran popped her teeth in early one morning only to find that they didn't fit quite right. She was ! She jumped in her trusty Falcon & took off down the lane to the factory that employed her significant other. She parked in front of the door, marched through the swinging doors & right up to his machine with her hand out. Did I mention she was ht?!
All the nearby men were watching, not quite sure what to expect as she said give me my teeth now, O...G...(his name) or by God I'll take them...
He was quick to hand them over. She laid his on his machine & walked out the door with her head held high.
One more reason I'm convinced she's a saint.
Posted: 12/5/2009 7:45:11 PM
|jujubee ..... you're right. a saint takes her heart in her hands and carries it into the light. she is beautiful. are you the same?|
Posted: 12/5/2009 8:06:35 PM
|not sure how to answer that, lipotufu... i carry my friends' & family's hearts into the light when need be, but if i am a saint, it is due to bloodline.|
Posted: 12/5/2009 8:13:29 PM
|lovely jujubee .....|
we are born holy
and, often, we live our lives
struggling to get back to that place.
we radiate that beauty at times,
here and elsewhere, slowly
coming home. joro is coming home.
you very clearly are coming home.
me too. lets be holy together.
joro & jujubee & the rest of us,
poets with words,
poets with our buddhist breath,
poets making love.
we are holy .....
let's be holy.
love yuh .....
Posted: 12/5/2009 8:15:48 PM
painted in crayon
pure, gold souls
as indigos shine
pulling us together
Posted: 12/5/2009 8:37:17 PM
|This feels like a warm friendly place to drop this off. Really enjoyed the irony of the Rose.|
Times Have Changed
There was only 3"s of wet snow on the small driveway but the taxi could not make it up her driveway and Jo Anne of 85 years had a hard time walking down the buttery snow without falling. She had an appointment at her doctors and she was all made up like a night on the town. She called her snow shovel man in the taxi at noon and left a message on his cell phone to get over there as she had another appointment at 3 pm that afternoon with another doctor.
He arrived some 2 and a half hours later and rang her doorbell and apologized for being late but explained that this was his first day in the snow clearing business and the expensive but little single stage snow blower he had on his little trailer behind his 15 year old Buick Regal had slowed him down.
He had spent the early part of the morning buying Rubbermaid containers at Wallmart that fit into the large trunk. He filled two containers with 100 lbs of commercial grade 'de-icer' and another with 40 lbs of kitty litter. He threw in a plastic ice cream bucket and a handful of jersey gloves. He wore his tattered carharts and old flannel fleece hooded coat with a bleached out sweatshirt over his red long johns. Everything he wore including his rubber mickey mouse boots were over 20 years old. The trailer was brand new however and he had spent a couple of days putting in a plywood floor over the wire mesh to keep the slush from covering his equipment. He had just finished his fall cleanups and had two days to build a trailor, get snowtires and had his business name printed on the two foot plywood sides he had painted black. He decided to have a sign painter print his name on it even though he had bought some acrylic paint and stencil, he was in the 11th hour and snow was predicted and he just didn't have the time. It only set him back $80 and he only had invested $530 into the trailer. He did have the finest commercial grade snow blower on order but the factory was out and his dealer had to chase one down but wouldn't arrive until the following week. Meanwhile he had 6 customers to do. He had thought it through. There were many people out of work and those that had credit had spent upwards of $30,000 on new 4 wheel drive trucks and fancy v-plows and they were all fighting over the large driveways and commercial parking lots. What fools he thought. Most will be out of business within a year trying to make the payments. All fighting over the large jobs, sitting in their warm cabs listening to the Series Satellite Radio getting up in the middle of the night chasing the big bucks. But no one wants to get out of their truck and shovel sidewalks and paths to bird feeders and sheds. That's where I'll focus. On the old people who used to have neighborhood kids shovel their drives. But neighborhood kids don't pick up snow shovels any more. They pick up cell phones and text their friends. I'll charge them 250 for the season. But start small and see how it goes.
He made one mistake and that was buying a little expensive single stage snow blower. He lived in the country and had a large gravel driveway and that morning after loading all the salt and throwing a couple of shovels in the back of the trailer he moved his car away from the garage and lifted the little toy snow blower out of the trailer and proceeded to blow the heavy lake effect snow on his drive. Well in the dry parking lot at the store where he bought it, it ran beautiful.
"See how easy this is" said the salesman.
"Just lift up on the handles and the rubber paddles just pick up the snow and power you along. The faster you want to go, just lift up on the handles. Here you try it" Well Tom tried it and it was so easy and it went so fast.
"Man that was easy Pete" said Tom.
"I'll take it, put it on the tab"
So that morning after all the loading and his very first day at his new business he pulled the cord on the snowblower and it fired right up. "So far so good" he thought. He aimed the chute straight ahead and lifted the handle on the blower and it powered straight ahead on the concrete of his garage floor and then, he hit the wet snow on the unfrozen ground. Immediately the snow blower dug into the ground about an inch deep and a brown slur of gravely mud and snow dumped about 2' ahead of the chute and then plugged up. He made it past the house pushing the dirty mush ahead until he got past the house and porch and aimed for the side of the drive. The mush was now so thick it landed about 2' away and yet was a good 8' shy of the edge of drive. He was determined and continued to the road. He turned and made the next pass next to the center line and the same happened as he approached the house and garage he stopped to wonder where to aim the chute. He had already put piles of gravel snow all over the drive and now where to aim. So he lifted the blower and carried it back to the garage and aimed it straight ahead and then he hit the pile of snow gravel from the first pass and the machine ate it and coughed and choked and started gagging and spitting stones and mud and in front of the machine. He was now sweating from pushing and holding and lifting and yet he still had cleared no snow out of the drive. So he decided to do both edges. He was bound and determined to get at least something that resembled snow out of his drive. So after clearing 21" wide path on each edge of the drive. He shut the machine off and picked it up and carried it to the edge of his back yard. "Well let's see if we can make a path to the woodshed" he thought. He fired it up and it bogged down in the muddy grass underneath the snow and now he had a muddy snow mixed with clumps of sod. It was ugly and the machine promptly puked and quit.
"Hmmm...you fvcking piece of shiit" he thought. He cleaned out the chute and wiped the wet snow, mud and stones off the machine and carried it back to the garage and set it in the trailer and strapped it down. He grabbed a push shovel and then spent the next 1hr and a half pushing piles of dirty mush to the edges of his driveway. It was now 1:30 in the afternoon and the weather had warmed to 31 degrees and he had six customers yet to do and he was sweating his ass off. He went into the house and warmed up a cup of instant coffee and sat on the couch and smoked a couple of cigarettes. He needed to regroup his mind. "I can't let them down" he thought. He also thought of the river across the street and the john boats with broken down engines and two guys helplessly drifting down the river without oars as he glided effortlessly with his canoe and paddle. "I've only me to rely on" he thought. My body is my machine and although it has ran a long time and I've abused it, I also feed it with fresh air and work and it always performs.
"Well Jo Anne, it's 2:30 and I'll have your drive done in 10 minutes" Tom said.
"I knew you would make it Tom" said Jo Anne.
"You've never failed me yet and you never will". They looked at each other and Tom smiled.
"Can we talk Tom? I want to talk with you"
"Sorry Jo Anne, I've got 5 more to get before dark and that snow blower really put me behind. We'll talk later" said Tom
"I'm gonna try that toy on your driveway. See how good it works on cement" If it doesn't work I'll have it shoveled anyway in 10 minutes"
"Well the taxi is coming in 10 minutes. Be sure and salt it cause the last taxi couldn't make it up the drive"
"No problem Jo Anne"
Tom lifted his snow blower out of the trailer and carried it to the edge of her uphill drive. He fired it up and held the handlebars up and the machine surged forward and plugged up with the melting snow. He shut it off and cleared the chute with his dry jersey gloves. He started it again and went 4' and it plugged up. Same thing, he stopped the machine and cleared the chute and pulled a t-shirt rag hanging out of his faded back pocket. He carefully rubbed the inside of the chute as if polishing his black church shoes. Maybe this will work. His gloves were now wet and he could feel the wet snow in his fingertips. But he was starting to sweat and unbuttoned his coat. He took the wet gloves off and stuffed them in the coat pocked. He pulled the cord and his hopes of wasting $350 rided on this last pull. He went two feet and turned off the machine, cleared the snow out of the chute with his bare hands and picked it up and threw it into the trailer. He strapped it down and locked it with a padlock and cable to a U-bolt bolted on the frame. He grabbed his 10 dollar push shovel and effortlessly pushed the snow to the edge of the drive at the street. He made another clean pass and zig zagged back and forth up the drive. The garage door opened and there sat Jo Anne in a lawn chair all bundled up in a fur coat with Russian fur hat, ruby red lipstick, smeared across her pale aged face with the clear blue eyes and her nails were all painted. She smiled at the 58 year old boy shoveling her driveway and they both made small talk. He stood tall and lean and fit for his age and he had the character of her generation. And he idolized her in the same way.
Across the street, another of his lawn customer named Gail, a retired nurse who was now handicapped with bad knees came outside and wiped the snow off her dumpster. Tom hollered 'hi' at her. She was taken aback. She heard him but was not used to neighbors talking to each other across the street and pretended that she didn't hear him. It was not the norm of such overt friendliness. That had disappeared long ago. But Tom was persistent and hollered even louder.
"Hi Gayle!" He knew, she needed acknowledgment in her lonely world, otherwise why did she pick this particular moment to go outside and wipe the snow off her dumpster. She turned and a jolly smile let up her chubby face.
"Hello Tom, don't forget to do mine".
"I won't forget you Gayle" and they laughed. And then Jo Anne said hi to Gayle and Gayle to her. Tom watched the action as the grey sky lightened with light flurries dancing slowly to the ground. It was the first time in 4 years, they had spoken to each other. They all smiled and laughed.
Tom finished Jo Annes driveway as they talked and the taxi pulled up. An ol timer was driving as Jo Anne got up, Tom held his arm out and she clung on to it and he escorted her to the taxi and opened the door and helped her in. The child in her smiled on that December day.
Tom opened his trunk, he had the driveway and sidewalk cleared in 8 minutes and filled his bucket with the deicer. He scattered it thick across the drive with a fresh pair of dry jersey gloves. The high school kids were walking down the street after getting off the bus on the corner some three houses away. Two of them were walking together but 6 were walking by themselves with the plastic backpacks on and cell phones in hand, texting some far away friend. Tom was now spreading kittly litter on the drive when they walked by. How ironic that he was mowing lawns and shoveling driveways. Something he had always loved to do in highschool and here at 58 the circle was completed.
He was happy and now he had something to get up for in the winter. He had people who needed him as he had needed them. He no longer would ride out the long winter isolated by the wood stove in the country. He had purpose and planned to do this as he always had done till the end of his life. And all was right with the world again. The world of people, of nature, of purpose, and life.
Posted: 12/5/2009 8:55:32 PM
|"he had purpose."|
i have no purpose.
i mean nothing.
i have responsibilites .....
to live with life surging in me
and through me,
to do no harm.
that's it. live life well.
laugh. listen. make love.
do no harm. today,
i am who i am.
i love life.
i love you.
i love myself.
and this evening's
let's crawl into bed
into one another.
Posted: 12/7/2009 3:54:51 PM
|Hey Lipo, thanks for stopping by. I think i am with the river floating guy on the question of purpose. I think all life has purpose and that all live is purpose. it may not know it, it may not be a goal, and i doubt it to be teleological in a hidden hand/ evolutionary sense, but it still has and is purpose. A tree standing around making shade has a purpose, the act of pushing up daisies helps push up daisies which is a purpose. aesthetics and the sublime both have a purpose. This is not to say that i dont think that 'shit just happens' by mistake and bad luck every second somewhere; i as much as anyone am sure of that. |
and anyone who can spin out stories like grandpa john and Ozark (whether i am reading it as joro and juju potential parody or not) over and has a purpose whether they want to admit it or not, even if that purpose is to give insite and inspiration without a focused intent, leaving it to the 'other' to dig it out and define it.
Reminded me of this on i wrote on a thread a couple days ago somewhere or another and made sense to stick in my closet now...
the choice is up to you
the trials, the silences
the contradictions and enigmas
the acts of sheer stupidity
I used to think the enigmas
were the result of the stupidity
Then I thought the enigmas
were the result of terrible madness
Now I think that
the world is the enigma
harmless in and of itself
only made terrible
by our own mad attempt
at decifering the truth of a secret
as if there were indeed
one underlying Truth at all
Or put another way,
i think that
the truth is the enigma
and that, in truth,
we all must forge
our own truth and meaning
Posted: 12/7/2009 6:05:26 PM
|8-liners nearly lost, perhaps better off if they were...|
turn again to page one and raise your hand
if you own not having a clue
about the contents of others'
minds appearing to have plans but no cajones
are large enough to have claimed they could
do what’s been done, hindsight being
20/20 vision in the rear view helps but
a little moving forward blindly borders on epiphany
a canoe without a paddle floating down the river
without a liver, righteousless
carefully dodging self enlightenment
from a desire to avoid re-runs
taking care yet avoiding
the addiction of self help
in a narcissistic world of just being
Posted: 12/7/2009 8:45:59 PM
|he lost himself and his lover|
in a war with too many meanings
and yet with no meaning at all
he learned to see the world
as a fragile enigmatic shell
beyond which there was
no Author nor Creator
or if there was one
it was lost
in the noise of
too many opinions
of a centerless world
constructed of perimeters
lost in his own periphery
and if there was a center
he was screwed
locked in his geo-stationary orbit
fading into the edges
of a cool blue world
a warrior in war paint
riding into the darkness
that he had become
for the ghost of a nation
heading to the edge
of an unknown world
with sunken eyes that will not see
the world quite right again
gazing across the prairie
into the last lost shadows
of a cool blue world
Posted: 12/8/2009 8:10:16 PM
|todays mindless rant....|
not a pretty sight
these falling fingertips
worn from pressing words
falling from the sky
like the feathers of
a shot winter's goose
retrieved by a dog
and cleaned by bloody fingers
forcing the daylights
from the words' open wound
killed, quartered, and dried
wishing for rainclouds
to gather and moisten
discarded skin waiting
for the wind to blow dust
like pedals on a breeze
escaping the disease
of the death sentence read
neath the poem tree
mutilated and out of breath
as pierced tounged mocking birds
laugh and carve initials
in the poem tree
blood running down its trunk
upon the winter goose
hanging skinned, headless, plucked
from a branch
fried and sold for 2 bucks
for a breast and a thigh
with a side of cole slaw
as the spirit of bird and tree rise up
and fly away
to beat the drumsticks and sing
for a new tomorrow
at the bodily carnage
not a pretty site
Posted: 12/9/2009 9:40:15 AM
|Dark days give us shadow|
Refracting weakest moments
Imploding tiny fragments
Light flows over souls
Binding, healing calming
If you are open to it
Posted: 12/11/2009 2:51:40 AM
|A friend of mine was trying to talk me into doing yoga. Said it was calming. I told her that too much calmness stresses me out....|
Some closet stuff i think sorta relates in a way.
life is wonderful just the same
despite lost years pissed down the drain
for as i now do comprehend
they add compassion to a shoulder's lend
while the man with everything may think he's free
its those who from hell that love to be
for when a simple day does satiate
the minds eye finds ways to liberate
the missed stitch on the curtain
makes the pane unique
for appreciation of where it's been
can't be found in a boutique
so i browse the thrift shops
where storied things are found
either stained from sun or teardrops
not knowing where its bound
value does not lie in the market rate
which tends to rise and fall
we dont need numbers to validate
value resides within us all
While his soul floats above a body
he'd temporarily forsake
Saint Peter does ask him
what changes he'd make
For a moment he ponders,
scratching his wing
Looks Peter in the eye and says
"I would change not a thing"