Patience is a Slow Clap

When I take the time to slow down,
 --Slow down--
I can see perfectly that
Patience is a slow clap
Cheering for the almost
But not quite unbelievable
Ridiculousness of my true nature.

And, for the abundance
Of can't take back moments like
"Did I say that with my outside voice?"
And
"If only this thought wasn't ruining
This moment right now."

Before the explosion of expletives
And occasional superlatives,
There's always opportunity for a pause,

A moment of 'wait',
A moment of 'listen'.


W
from Instagram

Un-Scratching the Surface

It was just being a speck,
a blur from the intuition of
My peripheral vision.

An almost missed, overlooked
Forgotten or otherwise smudge.
In a moment of not-searching,
And other not-isms,
Under-whelming-ings and such.

Just an un-scratching the surface
of nowhere in particular
to uncover nothing of consequence.

It never asked or should'ed me,
scolded or stared me down.

It just became
         and was
                and
                                    nevermore.



from Instagram

The Sound of Every Heartbeat

How is it that one heart is love,
And one is poison?

That Two hearts can beat together
And overcome the rhythm of another heart's fury.

How can this evil heart rest beside this sweetheart,
or how this good heart broke and became numb?

Whereas what difference is one heart to another?

Truly.

Have you ever wondered
what the sound of every heartbeat
together is?

It must be a sound.
Why don't we know how to hear that music?

With so many hearts alive whether open,
scared, calm or bleeding,
How is it not the only auditory sensation we hear?

Your lonely heart echoed loudly for me.
The brum pa pum of my beat pushed me
towards your buh buum buh buum.

We swayed softly to the music
and filtered out all other luring.
But we were still vulnerable hearts.

Each heart we meet is a dance, trying to align the rhythm.

We don't choose this.
It happens.
Every single heart we meet.
Our hearts want to dance.

Inside this chest is no different than yours.
The heart know this.
The visceral reds pulse and brood,
whisp and pour through streamlines and rivers.

No difference. No good hearts or bad. Open or closed.
All heart
until it bleeds out,
silences or is forgotten.

If only we walked through our lives
meeting each heart willing to accept that dance.

Each heart open to be loved.



from Instagram

What of Trust

And what of trust?
To those we look to as experts.
Of the words they seem to know
And how to say them.
And how we listen,
While simultaneously doing mental math and somersaults

Through the invisible space of our open hearts.
Are we wondering if it might be safer to close up?
Not wanting to exist inside the constricted lines
Of facts and charts that are
Supposed to mean so much.

Of numbers and interests and
Future payments and diseases.
The mechanic, the dentist, or the salesman.

There's a consequence for every decision.
They won't remind you of that.

And trust? Trust what? A word? Your word?
Your skillful or unskillful understanding of my needs?

What of trust?
 This gravity that we've known since our first explosive entrance into the light.
Our first experience being held.
Loved.
Deceived.

Trust is just a word that doesn't do justice to its layers.
Some may say it requires a leap of faith or intuition or good research.

But I don't know.
And that is the truest truth I know.
Trust isn't an open book,
Or unconditional support.
Perhaps it is the weight of surrender?

Trust.
It's tugged at me all my life,
yet it is the most foreign sensation I know.



from Instagram

Bad Luck Rainbow

My child asked why our poor small dog

Has been the recipient of such misfortune.

Why such bad luck?

Two dog attacks: survived

A raccoon confrontation: beat it.

Poison by fungus: recovered.

And, Her most recent adventure Traumatic loss of her left eye.

However the loss of ones eye can

Really give you a perspective shift.

I wonder if I might be better off loosing my ' I '.

But what of the luck of such misfortune?

The sad child's questioning of why.

Is there such a thing as bad luck, karma,

Or is the circumstance just another moment in the living?

 The car is breaking down today.

Yes, this is happening.

And I forgot to not miss that meeting,

But is it bad luck with cars?

Or Mercury in retrograde?

Distraction?

Poor puppy with your one eye left.

Yet you seem so at ease as you still look for squirrels,

And balls and a loving touch.

It is me who to has the sad tinge thinking of the bad luck.

I have to remind myself to look at the other side of your face.

Yet on that side there is only the possibility of looking forward

And not of tearful regret.

Of luck, I'm sure there is no more or less to offer or receive.

Luck is no rainbow's end or trinket of clover or any such thing.

But fortune is an open heart.

from Instagram

Failure

Let's talk of failures.

The worlds of should of's.

The expansive sky full of

Dead star's lights,

As if trying to send blinking morse code cautionary messages,

But we're too enamored of the spectacles to read. 

Of failures to do this or that, or because we did. 

Really, what is failure but

Another speck of light

Trying to be seen.

Another angle exposed and reflected 

from the tangled prism of being. 

Do we fail to learn or learn to fail?

Don't we just want to be luminous, and does failing make us any less so?

#puddlepoem

The Point

I thought I could see
The point.
But looking back,
Now, I'm not so sure,
And in the messed up backwards-
Ness of this pondering
I worried myself that it was
A mistake to look back in the first place.



from Instagram