Forge

Creativity is a chain
Of solid gold smelted
Throughout lifetimes
But evidenced when
Time begins to test
Bonding links every day;
Deriving an understanding
Durable and yet fragile,
Indicating how to forge
Works which manifest
Such rapturous glory
Doves announce a viable
Quality of love exemplified
In skies embroidered by
Stars surpassing thoughts
Possible in mere mortal dreams.

Poeming

Poetry is hands quaking, love,
Nerves jittering, minds fishing
For the perfect words,
The most eloquent phrases,
Attempting to prise loose
Every superfluous jot
From lines while feeling
What lies written on the pages
Is already fine, best to be got.

Though brief, it indeed be
Each poem is an act
Courageous and beautiful,
A dream passed into the real
Sealed in feeling to reveal
Excellencies before hidden
In minds laboring alone
Delivering honest meaning
Investing in and ushering
Others beyond, perhaps home.

Said

Guilt is an absence
Of power after sound waves
Drift away to solemn silence,
Though words, you cannot
Eliminate, never unsay.
Wrestling with space, time,
Speech, a broom swept astray,
But sonic booms mark
Days even thundering
Out of consciousness;
Mirroring back damage,
Only forgiveness fortifies
Love with harmony, to manage
A million tiny rips, and stay.

Over Rush

Washing ashore with
Shells in the roaring surf
Escaping the indignity
Of never being enough,
Having no singular worth.

Waves worrying a body –
Left unknown, alone
So long, all valuations
Are ridiculously overblown
Still finding hope, a home.

Dawn, dusk, day, night
Afford treasures, intense pleasures
Renewed with love derived
From such sources as might
Willingly engage oceans of emotion.

Swells a song, harmony,
Set loose with intensity
Delighting whatever is left
Of freedom, wild-eyed liberty
Claimed beyond rebellion, eternity.

Mixed Verses

This story of yours
Does much good for everyone
Who needing it comes.

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What we remember
Is the love, care, support we
Find in another;
Relationships matter much more
Than all we acquire or do.

///////////////

Sometimes what you name
Things carries much less meaning,
Than reality.

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When the shadow falls
A monster of bloody hands
Seizing every plan
Wresting hope from us, away,
Injuring with cuts, deeply,
Words rationed, kept back,
No mending, wounds keep bleeding,
Hidden depths, no light.

///////////////

Living in real-time
Is a challenge every day
Minutes go astray,
Even when trying these hours
The current causes swift drift.
Gauging the passage
Is only possible with
Instrumentation,
Because wild passions engage
Moments become variable.

I wrote all these in bits in my journal. I like them, so I decided to share. Most are haiku or tanka, with some variants on those forms.