Tag Archives: Love
Sam Talks Back (Video)
Cardboard Boxes (Video)
Clipped Wings
All greatness we achieve is exploited in the end,
the language we speak used to condemn,
the letters we write now contracts that bind us to them,
and the paintings we scrawl, presentations of our downfall.
If this absurdity had given us large enough wings,
neither you nor I would be allowed to fly freely with those things,
we all know what such power and elegance brings,
a flood of dead president callers, all holding collars.
We would fly, sure, but only if it suited our benefactors,
they’d pay us to stay grounded, keep the lights on, run the tractors,
overwhelm us with gifts of earth born distractors,
ensuring room enough in the sky for those worthy of flight.
Better to sing for yourself and leave them with silence,
write on the walls of your heart, let their pages feel your absence,
paint pictures to paper your home and let them live in blindness,
what greatness is in you, does not need their value.
Maybe we can’t fly,
but we can bound through life as best we can.
Rocinante’s Secrets
The worn grips where I held you tightly,
through foul winds or gentle breezes;
the subtle change in color there, pleases –
where hills become valleys resting in those old wraps.
Every scratch, no matter the size,
when I carried you impatiently from place to place,
or tangled with you imperfectly at my own disgrace,
are hints at the strength beneath your skin.
The dirt that hides in strange corners,
the oil, the grease, the wires, the gears,
sometimes too much, or too little are my fears,
that the care I can give you is not enough.
The way the two of us consort,
inspiring the earth to move, the wind to blow,
and in that ambiance becoming only the now I know;
free, finally, from times attempt to capture me –
Soft words whispered to eyes keen enough to listen.
Reflections on Time
Interacting with your own line of time,
feels like death penalty electronics,
brain shouting in pyrotechnics,
warning or celebration, who can tell?
Perhaps it’s the screaming desire,
to transcend the moment,
to be sound, fury, too.
Stretching out into places as alien as you,
manipulating the history of your future.
But the noise fails to silence
the confrontation between your two selves.
Merely a transitory way station for thoughts,
as you try to adjust perspective towards fullness.
A magic eye poster of before and after,
regurgitated onto a single surface,
only making sense to disloyal eyes, corrupted minds.
Singularity, finally achieved, is painful,
requires hyper focus,
the tension if it stretches sanity’s bounds.
To hold in place, grab another and squeeze,
break skin, find empathy.
Bond
Late
later than we knew,
but that is eternally,
you.
Profoundly present, attentive,
ignorance only in the future,
the moment reigns supreme,
you.
All other time,
is trivialized by experience,
the sand amidst the dune,
you.
When the day ends,
when the next begins,
it is always comforted by,
you.
Now, here,
living fuller lives,
loving more,
we.
Singularity
The shadows feel like water.
The way they move around me,
reminds me of my daughters;
the light kept from them, the silhouette they see.
Prescient moments arise
lived backwards like memories,
rowing past soft pastel skies,
in the universe’s transient reverie.
A burst of life shines like hope,
feels compassionate like home,
the sober end of a rope,
that will throttle the throat when we are alone.
These moments shouldn’t be here,
any purpose they portend
defies the cadence once near.
We all curve in strange places as time bends.
I, Father
When they were born, he was humbled quiet,
his heart taking seed in that fresh ground, quiet.
Much of the turmoil in his mind settled,
until even his feelings did sound quiet;
and when they were taken, to his own shame,
instead of protest they only found quiet.
The sapling he had been, grown in lush soil,
infertile now, withered with profound quiet.
Far too late, he begged for their love returned,
pleading tears until they were drowned, quiet.
This offense, his only true legacy,
Brendon’s mouth twisted up, bound. Quiet.
Transcendence
Beautiful you,
I love you, for
all your finality, for
your outrageous irony to the banal, for
your desperate questions, for
your sober answers, for
not caring that we don’t hear them.
Beautiful you,
the compass of those abandoned
the comfort for all great burdens
the compromise to every cost
the combative reply to injustice
the end of all roads and the igniter of passions.
Beautiful you,
oft I yearn for you to ease yourself upon me
take me in your arms and squeeze,
like laughs upon a deep breath
as eager for the contents as their release;
but I will not plead, not again.
Beautiful you,
be always out of reach
the distant sun that has set
the word bound in paradox
heard but maligned and unspoken, until
at last,
I have earned you.
Grow Gray With Me 