Hopeless and Hopeful

When I awake,

and feel this ache

I think that I,

may have made a mistake.

The pain that’s pleasant,

Things clearly confused,

It’s easier gone,

but better this way.

Does she know what she does,

when she looks in my eyes,

as the world fades,

I stand paralyzed.

I stutter, I stop

I stumble, I fall

Falling or flying

I find myself dying of love.

Dying but living,

Getting and giving,

Lost but found,

the worlds turned upside down.

What are these feelings,

so hopeless and hopeful?

The “I” that is not me

This I is not me.
I write this I for you.
But you see with your eye, my I as me.

After you’ve read my poem,
you ask me how I am.
I’m fine of course again.

What I write is not
the same as what is
written about me.

Why then if you know me,
me is all you see
when I am writing fictionally?

The thoughts are mine its true.
The words of course are mine too.
But the person in the story isn’t me or you.

That’s the description of fiction:
Truth immersed in story.
A falsely true depiction.

A dark winter night of the soul

A bed of snow gently lays
upon the ground of this winter night.
Peaceful, calm, beautiful.

The pure white sits untarnished
from the next days rummaging.
A still, all encompassing beauty
floats upon the chilled air.

A different chill
than the iciness of my heart.
An undisturbed serene
stark contrast to the violence
and agitation in my soul.

What was once white
Is now tarnished by bruises
from years of thrashing into the darkness.

The night is no darkness
Compared to my soul,
and yet I feel the pure snow falling,
the beautiful white accumulating.

No longer outside, but in.
In me, there is still purity.
Hibernating beneath
the cold, calm snow
lays a dormant rose.

Soon will be the spring time,
Passion and purity erupting to the surface
Of this frozen ground.

Nostalgic Amber Air

When, under the noonday sun

The bristle of late autumn’s breeze blows.

Winter is nigh and the chill is alive

but today the children still play

under the noonday sun.

One shouts delighted

with the first and last crackle

of the fallen Fall leaf under toe.

 

Parent’s watch awaiting

another season to pass.

Autumn had kissed the earth

with her amber lips,

but left Just as quickly.

Taking her cheerful color

and leaving her icy heart.

 

The children are content with

even the greatest of change.

For them each day changes

in many a way. But for those

older folks, who have seen

days change to years. The coming

of winter brings with her fears.

 

When life is not new and

is in it’s waning hours,

when the bride and the groom

have danced, experienced first embrace

and walked hand in hand till death

did they part.

 

Will you sit with me and observe

the lively little children

who dance among falling leaves

as the gentle breeze, sways the foliage?

Full of hope and wonder

as we were when younger.

We watch the amber air

and breath nostalgic hopeful thoughts.

So you don’t like your breakfast?

Son, you don’t want to eat your cereal?

Ok. Close your eyes and think,
Of the most splendid castle in all the lands.
Now hold out your hands,
And discover it’s made of candy,
The moat is chocolate milk,
The surrounding hills are cinnamon rolls.
Taste the forest of lollipops,
Run through the field of cotton candy,
Swing off the vines of licorice
Into the pudding pond.
Climb the ice cream mountain,
And look out over your candy kingdom.

Now open your eyes and eat your Wheaties,
Be glad you don’t live there cause you’d probably have diabetes.

Thoughts on writing

Pardon me for taking a break from poetry for this post. While I intended this blog to be most entirely poetry, it is my blog and as such I shall be permitted to write whatsoever I should like. So permit me to delve into the straight forward, self reflective style of writing for the remainder of this post, and be sure to know that yes it will relate to poetry by the end.

Today as I walked through a cold yet gentle rain falling on my jacket I found myself slipping into reflective thought. As I sat in class, or at work, and as I walked the halls of my university I continued to think. My mind wandered from poetry to philosophy. From adventure to love and from life to death. I pondered myself and those I observed around me.

I realized all of my thought was ordered towards rational understanding. An understanding of who I am and where I am going. As I walked past other people and overheard their conversations I began to question their reason for living and their reason for acting. I found myself profoundly unable to grasp their experience. Hearing a few seconds of conversation to my left I looked to see an excited conversation. Humorously intrigued however, I did not know how another person could so emphatically converse about a topic I found so dull and uninteresting. Later I experienced myself questioning the motivation of many people I passed. I judged them to be striving only for recognition and accolades.

This moved me to question why any of us do anything we do. Is it for title or recognition that we pursue a venture? Is it from social pressure that we make our decisions to act in this or that way? What is it we feel that drives us to action? What is this experience of pursuit that we all feel?

If you have read this far, thank you. If you have found yourself hopeful that I have an answer for these questions I have posed, I must regrettably say I do not have those answers. So now you may be asking why I have shared all of these thoughts. I presented these thoughts to you to show why I write.

I do not have the answers to life’s questions, but I live daily, seeking, growing, developing, loving and learning. I cannot experience the life of another, but I can profoundly experience my own life. I can share my stories and I can read or hear others stories. It is in this experience of the life which is intelligible and yet inexplicable that we seek our purpose. We experience the universal, the divine. We experience something greater than ourselves and we know it and yet cannot explain it.

This is why I write. I write because I experience and am seeking understanding. I can create a new world, characters, and stories to help shed light upon the experience of life. Through literature we can dive into universal experience. We can dive towards truth. We can seek understanding.

In conclusion. should you have read this far, I urge you to continue reading, writing, searching and loving. Encounter the universal encounter the divine and live this life you were blessed with. Why? You may ask. God only knows the answer to that, but never stop striving toward that why.

May God bless you.
M

Mangled Metal

Mangled metal, smoldering,
Young man’s sarcophagal
Holding cell.
His sentence
Was life,
Held for only moments.
It came too fast,
the other car,
And death.

Smoke passed,
burning rubber
Painting the ground black.
Before red stained it too.
Wreckage, wreaking havoc
On a mother’s soul.
As she stands weak
Limbs failing, she falls.

A mother
and a son,
Both lying
On the same road.
One struggling to breathe
The other
Already lost the struggle.

Red-blue flashing
Paramedics dashing
Moving fast,
Not fast enough,
To bring a mother’s
Baby home again.

Her last words,
Ironically superficial
Robotic in their structure,
“Drive safe, have fun.”
His response
A mumbled
“Don’t worry. Later mom.”

Now later,
mom doesn’t worry.
You can only worry
For the living.
She only grieves.

Cascading sorrow
Fills her speeding heart.
Inexplicable loss.
In a quick fatal crash.
A mother’s world
Crashing down.
They don’t make seat belts
For the soul.

In the pain,
She wishes for more time.
She would say
so much more.
And he would respond.

But if she had never
Received the dreadful call.
And he had come home,
Thirty Three minutes,
Past curfew like usual.

Would anything have changed?
Would she more precisely
Voice her care and concern?
And he respond
In more than
inaudible agreement?

Perhaps not.
Perhaps that simple
Constant everyday,
“Drive safe, have fun”
and that murmured,
“Don’t worry. Later mom.”
Meant the same thing,
Synonyms for “I love you.”

Grace Lynn Anne
Your son is gone.
But he knew you loved him,
And he loved you too.