-
Down-turned lashes
A veil
Crown of head disinterested too
Eyes affixed to white-knuckled fists
It’s all a process
But we begin to dwindle
Only halfway
Leadership, leading the way
Shares of surrender, of self-seeking
“My head is a bag of rats,
My brain is a graveyard -
It’s full of all types of jacked up shit.”
A raised gaze,
One eyebrow raised,
Intrigued. “Please continue.”
Isolation of the thoughts,
Recovering, guidance,
Drink.
Drink. Blow. Dope.
Reading some paragraphs,
How to surrender.
“You have to practice -
It doesn’t have to be perfection.”
Perfection. Perfect destruction.
-
Forest is glowing –
Leaves are changing into golds, bronzes, rubies
Piles of precious treasure
Ones that usher in the heavy rains
-
Winding trails around the home base
Sprawling meadows
Wildlife abundant – sheep, goats, deer, elk, falcon
Life in the sky, waters, mossed trees
Disquieted by the woods
Knowing home is not far away
A glance over a shoulder, wary,
The dim measure of light from a window
Life can be scary, ringing quiet in the wood
Home is never too far away
-
In the search for
Wildflower medicine
A dandelion bloom
In the dehydrator
Turned to its puffy
Seed pod overnight
I was overcome
With
Awe
That in its journey to be
Dried in permanence
It instead chose to –
All at once – burgeon
Sacrificially to spread
Its seed
I held it delicate
Like one may hold
The hand
Of a dying relative
-
Oak Bay Hotel
The dappled music in a lobby
Ocean air on the far side
A familiar view of a popular TV show
Familiar but never seen with your own eyes before
Waves crashing at the scene of a still pool
Heels click on marbled floors
A neck-tingling sensation
The typing keyboards illicit
A crackling fireplace
Just noises
All meant to soothe, relax, pacify
Check-in whisks you away
Up, up, up
A more silent hallway, footfalls caught by carpeting
A birthday drawn in by the sea
Ocean comfort
A lavish getaway, though not far at all.
-
Spirits to warm up our cold bones
Chilled by rainwater
But calmed by the sudden flash of heat
Water dribbling down our toques into our eyes
Smiles traded, quiet, relieved
Slightly steaming in a cozy bar, the curling vapors rising off our wet clothes
Hands fold around scorching mugs
Knuckles brush as we reach for their toasty respite
A blush, nothing to do with the warmth
-
My best friend
Has brought life onto this earth
The planet that I met her upon
Now has an additional life
A young babe
With dark hair,
And tiny seashell ears
From overnight
From friend
To a mother
I am in awe
Of the smallness of her babe
In knowing how she held that life
Within her own for so long
It is not a goal of mine
But I am happy for her
A life cycle for us to gaze upon
-
Indentation
And she doesn't know but when she leaves
Suddenly the silence of her departure is deafening.
How did I live in the quiet so long?
Her raucous nature
It permeates every hole I've ever claimed to feel safe in
Like the rushing tide
The water filling up a chamber
No crook or cranny left un-tampered with.
I can taste the salt in the back of my throat.
It started as a whisper on the wind
But now it's screaming at me
Her voice.
I love you.
Every day does not have to be a roaring exaltation, an exclamation,
But I feel we may get lost in the monotonous lolling of the ocean
We might forget the pleading
She might not know.
She might leave.
And I hope she knows, that I'll crack if she does. I'll snap. Break.
I'll be dust if he leaves. I'll be forgotten. I'll forget.
Forsaken.
Lost. Adrift. Wasted.
I want to spill my guts all over the sidewalk. The prettiest picture for a vulnerable act.
Maybe then she'd know.
-
July 26, 2022
I just noticed the sun had set.
First time it's done that before 9pm in a while.
Bit ironic, given tomorrow is supposed to be the hottest it's been this summer.
The heat grows but the light slowly fades.
A little promise from the horizon.
A small apology for tomorrow.
-
Suspended on a Sunbeam
Far past midnight
My lover asleep in the next room
I stare back at blue light
Daylight to come soon
Of princess and pirates
Hushed whispered tones
The sight of the sunrise
Feeling very alone
Sometimes I get into these funks
Where I want to stay up all night
There’s nothing really wrong
My brain wants to fight
Of nostalgia, of longing,
Of missing, of sadness
Of lost friends, and lovers,
Of anger, of madness
Quiet perusal of old threads
Friend requests to internet pals
Of a life I lived long ago
A not-sober rationale
This poem, a title of an abandoned blog
Lost on a website, I’m no longer on