Incessant memories pervade
as I wade through this life
searching for an identity
I can claim as my own. Sown
and nurtured are my poetic seeds,
and yet I get no satisfaction from
their lack of flourishing;
not nourishing my heart like
I was used to having.
But all these thoughts must be written
I have been bitten by the bug,
a hearty shrug and a hope
that a smitten poet can regain his passion.
The heart is willing; the wile is weak.
Category: reconnect
IN THE GARDEN OF THOUGHT
Attracted by lingering memories,
or drawn by a heart felt compassion,
we come together to fashion our thoughts
into some semblance of conformity.
The enormity of that which we wish to convey
touches the hearts and souls of other such
thinkers planting their seeds to flourish;
in poetic bloom we are nourished.
One to another we join; all invited and welcomed.
A home for such ideas in the garden of thought.
A place of such communion does exist. The venue is called POETIC BLOOMINGS and it is a garden of poetic expression shared by many. All are welcomed and encouraged to write.
Open to all poets of every skill level and age. All that is required in the garden is to have fun and stop to smell the poetic roses!
This poem was written to the prompt: Community over at WE WRITE POEMS. Thanks to Marian Veverka for the inspiration.
OCTOBER SAVES
Fighting a battle often lost in the darkness
of a weary mind. There is no rest there.
Cursing the single candle lit to offer
its illumination; to infiltrate this
mental stagnation. Accursed slumber
why do you wage against my will?
Will you release me like the leaves
of October’s colorful flurry, left
to scatter in the cool winds from place
to place; a migration to discover the peace
that I crave. You have found me, October.
You have extended your lifeline in fine fashion,
a saving assist for one clamoring for control
over heart and soul,
over heart and mind.
I clutch your hand as I am flung over
the edge of reason. Your season is here.
You want me near, October, where I belong.
Anything else would be just wrong.
…AND THE FLAG WAS STILL THERE
A principle was attacked amidst
tears and destruction; a surreal snapshot
of a day worth forgetting. But no one did.
How do you forget the sight; the sound?
How do you forget the faces; the screams?
How do you diminish the sacrifice?
The word ‘impossible’ was tailor made
for this moment in time. Despair and
disbelief would be usurped by anger
and determination to not allow those who
put it all on the line, go quietly into that good night.
It became a fight to rise each day to face
the insurmountable task one brick at a time.
As many bricks as there were tears shed.
As many shards of glass as there were screams
of torment and terror. But the greatest error
made by a faceless ideology was assuming
we were broken and defeated. But the foresight
of three brothers of the fraternity most depleted
showed we were not defeated. Through the rubble
it stood in defiance. A naked flagpole planted
among the girders and debris. A symbol; our banner
raised high. A declaration loud and clear.
We are still here. We will not go gently.
Together we stand, a shield for liberty.
You took your shot and failed. An American Tale…
and the flag was still there! America had been blessed.
MARCEAU
You stand alone,
palms forward, feeling
for the faint traces of these
walls of your own devising.
It isn’t surprising that your cries
for assistance fall on the deafness
of the maddening crowd. For crying out loud,
won’t anyone help this man?
It is apparent that this transparent box
has him perplexed. Every exit is sealed
in his mind. If he can only find the door.
He stands, silent tears streaming
for this seemingly simple mute.
Maybe it’s time to speak his mind;
A bitchin’ time saves mime!
RECLAMATION PROJECT
1.)Phase One – Losing Myself
Rev up the Delorean, I’m going back. We all have that defining moment, pointed and prescient that had set our course. The forces of nature were strong and one wrong turn could have sent me reeling. I have a feeling it did.
My temerity was the social end of me, for as far as I can see, High School defined that moment in time, where I had let the ball drop.Not regret per se, but sadness now for those would have, should have, and could have moments so fleeting. Those errors of omission were well hidden in my condition from which I’ve been extricated. Celebrated now for my abilities to see things, and write things and expose things about me that without, would not be me. Debilitating was this fear to connect, rejection not something I handled well, or handled at all. So my fall from grace saved me from the disgrace of “embarrassing” myself by letting loose and living my life.
The perpetual lost boy languished in Neverland.
2.) Phase Two – Righting the Ship
Looky, looky, there goes Hooky!
The ribald Captain has been dispatched with a swift kick in his steering mechanism. A discovery, a long time in the making has taken a stand as well as command of my journey; a life’s worth of yearning for solid footing and a direction much easier to navigate than blindly following burned out novas in the cosmos of my mind. For in the stars, paths that crossed each other unnoticed have found a circuitous path to intersect once again.
Older now, more aware of selves and of this moment and what lead each to move to embrace it. In the kindling of a reborn kinship, acquaintances long removed and left unseen, find a connection that closes unsure circles, and opens the world to new adventures. Both stand, with eyes open like the wide-eyes kids we were when we began. A familiarity which neither knew, comes through to ground us as the friends we never realized we were.
The gathering of spirits once left to roam those hallowed halls has stepped back to touch base and begin anew, assuring us of the fact that yes, you can go home again.
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 