Category: Poem

I work
To think and feel
To see and hear,
To know, but not to judge.

The idea:
Feel out options.
Long term plans
Depend on time and place frame.

If I am frameless picture,
Then schemes are plain and bold,
Unhindered by thoughts that supposedly formed them.

Spontaneity is an action plan
Made less-than-seconds ahead,
And a million years ago,
Like a seed that finally feels
Its time is right to grow.

I resolve to dissolve
All plans and expectations
In the ocean of True Self,

To let them wash ashore
One by one
Until maybe I see a pattern
And can fish out what really matters.
Until then,
I let myself float
In a sea of all,
And resolve.

Note: This poem doesn’t feel quite done to me.

“If life gives you lemons, make lemonade,”

Is a phrase she has heard many times.

But when life gives her lemons, she cuts them in half,

And squeezes them into her eyes.

Have your cake in front of you.
No camera phone. Just cake.
No fork, no spoon, no knife to cut,
No drink your thirst to slake.

No design or happy words,
Just frosting, flat and plain.
No chocolate/berry filling,
Just vanilla-y, gluteny grain.

That’s your cake on the table.
Do with it what you will.
Dress it up and grab cutlery?
Chow down till you get your fill?

How hungry are you? How resolved
On civilized deportment?
How valuable are aesthetics
To your pleasure of events?

Does your diet consist of protein
To balance the sugar rush?
Have you eaten your share of vegis
To get vitamins and such?

Do you view life in the long term –
Many meals yet to come?
Or get caught in life’s moments –
With your urges must you run?

And who else is around you?
Might they some hunger share?
Will you call them to your table,
Or pretend they are not there?

This existential questioning
Might curl you in a ball.
Must eating be this stressful?
It’s just cake, after all.

I am an odd one. What can I do?
You have three joints; I only have two.
You’re tall and thin, and I’m a stumpy thing.
I don’t wear ornaments, and you wear rings.
Just because I’m different, it doesn’t mean I’m dumb.
You are a finger, and I am a thumb.
And we’re lucky we’re opposable.

Sometimes I’m lonely going a different way.
You stick with your friends, I stick out like a
Sore thumb.
But we’re a good team. We pick up a lot.
I love what you are. I love what you’re not.
We’re lucky we’re opposable.

If I was broken, you’d be broken, too.
Because there are so many things we couldn’t do.
Like putting on clothes, and opening jars –
Not to mention opening eating candy bars!
We’re lucky we’re opposable!

So come on! Let’s treat each other well!
Let’s put these digits to work and make them tell
The world
That we’re a family, with so much to give.
Without each other, it’d be hard to live.
And sad.

So if we think that we’re on different sides,
We need to look down to where we abide.
We’re all connected to the place we stand.
Essential parts of an amazing hand.
And we’re lucky we’re opposable.

*This was originally written as a song, but I have also read it to audiences as a poem.
You’ll find the original under Songs, also called Opposable.

I like to tell a story
Thoroughly and true –
Dig in and investigate
The pieces through and through        

Or fluff it like a pillow
Snuggle up and rest,
Grab a nearby blanket,
And make myself a nest

Or play with it and dance it,
Kick up its happy heels,
Ride with it on roller skates
And fly above its wheels

Or live it in my daily life,
Be my story’s plot,
Elaborate my character,
Inquire and cast my lot.

Everyone’s a story,
Parts real and parts pretend.
We can’t see all the elements,
Or know how things will end.

However told: dug, fluffed or played
Or something else entire,
We can find in other’s stories,
Themes that will inspire.

So whether yours is whisper soft
Or grab-some-earplugs bold,
Your story is important.
Make sure it’s being told.

Sunshine filtered through clouds and rain,
Silence invaded by rooftop refrain,
Reminds me I’m sheltered from weather’s pain.
And in gray there is light, and I see.

Giddy from freedom yet overcome
With so much to do and to run away from
I sit cozy and thinking, a blanket bum,
My mind resting radically.

Why must I die before I awake
To wait for Heaven my soul to take,
When living and dying in unison shake
And filter our essences free?

A jay bird shrieks at me just outside.
I’m calm and crazy, eyes open wide,
Possibilities, real life, side by side.
I’m a blue, flying, blissful ennui.

If I’ve one thing to tell you, please tell me, too.
I see the truth better reflected in you.
Opposites clashing into something true,
Clouds and sky framing the trees.

Kill me now, Something of Marvelousness.
Reincarnate me apart from my mess.
Wash me down, light me up, make me confess
Blue-jay loud declarations of me.

(Written in 2012)