Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

The poem is a pied piper for the rats in my mind

the sunday times 8.2.20

if and when

 

as falling falls away

 

the heart

a darkened well

of things forgotten

 

maybe someday

maybe never

 

white flags

at half mast

over the fields

of love’s lost wars

 

until

then.

*

saturday night blues

 

unsweetened silence

in the dimming dusk

of hollow gray bones

 

hardly a rattle

from the evening’s breath

 

stoic and solid

as a statue

 

i sit and type

by candlelight

 

navigating these clouds of sadness

hanging heavy over

head and heart

for far too long.

*

here from gone

 

once entranced

by the embers

of oblivion

 

now just backlight

for the presence required

 

the wreckage from which returned

still stands as a smoldering reminder

 

never fully out of view.

*

gratification, desire, and escape

 

attuned reaction

 

suffer the grasp

liberate the release

 

know the point of turn

and pivot with purpose

 

whether tangible or visual

aversion will not bode well

 

find the middleness

to investigate the root of this craving

in the heart and mind

 

in doing so

you will have solved

its power.

*

stars and bars

 

driven busy with affliction

 

menaced by the blind disorder

and downplayed immediacy

of supposed authorities

 

conditions amplified

by inaction and ignorance

 

a nation of crybabies,

contrarians, and curmudgeons

 

confederate cockroaches

crawling from the woodwork

to spew their bile and hatred;

 

i have never been prouder

to be ashamed of my country.

***

“To be courageous, is not necessarily

to go anywhere or do anything except

to make conscious those things we already

feel deeply and then to live through the

unending vulnerabilities of those consequences.”

  • David Whyte

Poems for Days – Day 26 – 7.26.20

[intimacy of distance]

 

unnamed upon this journey

an evolution of constant becoming

 

leaving the shade of previous forms

walking beautifully wounded

outward from the center of exile

 

accepting of all the comings and goings

so that even if the ground were to give way beneath you

it comes as no surprise.

 

Poems for Days – Day 25 – 7.25.20

[slim and none]

 

mind off

and running

 

unclung

from the cliffs

of false hope

 

to drop into

the unknown

 

free

to fight

or fly.

 

 

Poems for Days – Day 24 – 7.24.20

[brighter things]

 

strategy and catharsis

necessary in times of strangeness

 

keeping sharp the talons of the mind

to diffuse the passing time-bombs of thought

 

becoming aware of muffled ticks

far beneath the surface

 

the psychic pricks of trauma and stress

triggered by this confinement and isolation

 

have become fodder

for a deeper understanding

of the horizons within.

 

 

Poems for Days – Day 23 – 7.23.20

[deeper the well]

 

dim reflections

far from the surface

of the sky

 

a mirrored illusion

showing only one side

 

but still illuminating

in its own way

 

in portraying the balance needed

to walk the uneven grounds of this life.

 

 

 

Poems for Days – Day 22 – 7.22.20

[downfall]

 

squares diminish

as light escapes

 

dodging hammers

in this season of sickness

and stupidity

 

returned to the fine art

of scraping by

 

as hope grows thinner

than the skin of my teeth.

 

 

Poems for Days – Day 21 – 7.21.20

inner gravity

 

as near futures

burn before our eyes

 

only presence

can turn the tide

 

giving full attention and awareness

to this experience is our only way forward

 

however painful, frustrating,

or daunting it may be

 

there will also be joy, fulfillment

and peace of mind if we stay the course

 

making space

for the myriad emotions arising

 

as the river flows

relentlessly onward.

 

 

Poems for Days – Day 20 – 7.20.20

[the sum of small hours]

 

in the cold dark mountains

behind my eyes

 

a horizon awaits

somber and stoic

 

whispering secrets to the night

howling like midnight winds thru the valley

 

as silver streets wind and slide

beneath the laughing moon.

the sunday times – 7.26.20

hope and desolation

 

between brink

and bombardment

 

when either

hammers or love

will fall

 

it is best

to always be ready

for both.

*

the blooming of the bloodroot

 

though it seems forever

only an instant will ever pass

 

we are but a blink

of the cosmic eye

 

bleeding out

from birth

 

into the wild stars

of ever dimming light

 

that hold more knowledge

and grace in their fire

 

than can be comprehended

by the fleeting human heart.

*

let not the threads of consciousness fray

 

left to suspect devices of

denouement and deaf ears

 

it becomes painfully obvious that

set ways of relying on nothing more

than what has already been drilled

and reinforced into concrete belief

are not likely to be undone

 

there is a hard fight at hand

as the blood spilled is continuously

either denied or defended

 

yet despite all this

there is hope in the youth

 

that first and last promise of light

that never goes out.

*

luck

 

the odds are optional

and never quite equal

to the task

 

always dependent

on the amount of soul

in any equation

 

what is being brought to the table

is far beyond the sum of experience

 

swagger worth less

than quiet cool

 

stealth and subtle style

over bravery and bravado

 

here in the clumsy hazard

of beingness

 

where all bets are off.

*

holding true

 

thru the bending ways of the wind

there remains is us all a deeply rooted core

 

an essence of irremovable light

 

maybe buried

maybe cracked

maybe obscured

by simply being life

 

by the years piling up

 

but no matter the debris

no matter the obstacles

no matter the darkness

 

it remains

 

and the farther beneath it all it rests

the brighter it burns

 

all it ever takes is a moment

 

to close your eyes

to pause

to breathe

 

to realize

its presence

is the truth

of your purpose.

***

“There is no insurmountable solitude.

All paths lead to the same goal:

To convey to others what we are.”

  • Pablo Neruda

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poems for Days – Day 19 – 7.19.20

[counterpoint to cacophony]

 

bathed in the shadow

of towering light

 

a trembling stem in the stairwell

from the pit to the pinnacle

with no flower to speak of

 

only the muted grief of parting

held within the joy of silence.