The Occasion of Becoming 57

Appearance

I am the one who is real
Enough you feel me in the room
Even though I keep a distance
Between the breaths that pulse,
Our lives existing here, this time.
My lightness rimmed in shadow
Hard to comprehend, understand,
Left alone, a ringing voice, clear
Crystal, like water reverb, falling,
Tinkling clarion bells announcing
Events to which everyone is welcome.
The sweet aroma on the fresh breeze
Being myself, almost, yet not me
Because the well is deeper, wider,
I know not how to plunge, emerge,
I reach the stars and still soaring
Never come home to be housed,
I walk the spaces, other embracing places
Of times disremembered, unrecorded,
In the echo caverns of my wandering mind.

Release

Love, if I had it
Like a stone, firey, lit, smoky,
Flowing like a fair fountain
Not accounted with foundation
But a wild gift, surging freedom
Sprightly on a brisk bracing breeze
Never to be captured, kept,
A mystery, calling always
For my energy, all of me
To run unhampered
Over miles with
Reckless
Speed.

Settle

Should be old enough for calm
Sedate, quiet, unassuming,
Ah, you read me wrong
The race still calls me
I should tarry, but
My muscles ache
To find more
Freedom
And so I am
Now off apace
Quick to find a path
Away into the distance
Where I may surely climb
To heights so far unconquered
Making them finally mine to own.

Gratitude

It is with a full heart
I come upon this day
Which so often I came
Near missing, slipping
Into the deep silence
That does not ever allow
Voices to relay their thanks.
Another year, and what there
Is to show for the effort
Of survival and the witness
Left of growth, I show,
Many a word, verse, rhyme
And a deed or two of merit,
But most dear friends
The evidence that I remain
Surviving and pleased
I made another revolution
Fruition of enchanted
Love blessed days.

I guess I will relieve you of the burden of reading further my celebrations, incantations, prayers of being alive at this fine juncture in my personal evolution. Forgive me, for birthdays come but once a year, and God has amply blessed me that I am still here. It is a certifiable miracle, and that is why I cheer.

The Whisper That Shouts

When language preaches
A soul-rending sermon, soft,
Or words get dressed up
To woo and seduce another,
When voices sing of beauty
Or rhyme appears clear
To paint syllables of the sky,
When cursing seems well
Placed, aptly, and fairly done.
Poignant protests raise applause
Revealing there exist, heroes,
Needing appropriate speeches,
Or a tearfully sad story
To be honored and well-told,
When the crowds pay tribute
To those who amaze, astound.
If one jettisons planetary bonds
The left behind, raw, broken wide open
Recite laments to tidy seeping wounds,
When a newborn enterprise
Is begun with much courage and hope,
Or plain and simple
Cries must be made for progress,
If people who feel life
Differently must be given a voice.
Ordinary words cannot address
Every occasion pregnant with love
Or fraught with the lace of fear, doubt,
But call for the gift of poetry,
The whisper that shouts.

2020.07.08 Converted Rose rr

As a prompt, exploring the meaning or purpose or love of poetry. Should you rather, explore whatever forms of creative expression you most enjoy.

Time

2020.06.22 Road Away edit

The grip astounding
An infant’s tiny fingers
Grasping loving hands
A toddler will not be lost
Becoming independent
As school days slip by
A graduate holding tight
The papers of passage shown
Successful for leaving home
The world spending spins
Hands gripped close tight
A wedding holding delight
Relative some grow gray
Faint furrowed hands slip
Like dust through fingers
Unable to end the lapse
Tears soaking faces, for the years
Suddenly gone away in the fray;
Time fleeting as tender smiles
Leave all in shadows by and by.

A Thing, Well A Few

Prompted Positive Poetry’s Prompt #61 was “Fishnet.” I went off in a strange direction and did some derivations on a photo.

2020.06.09 Clockworks edited changed

This is not the poem I lost; I liked it better. I am toying with thoughts of which I cannot be the host. Catch release is all the rage to my overactive mind. Not sure I like the electric blue either, but black looked all wrong.

This following is out of the very verbose journaling. Those are two conjoined Tanka.

Machined

This existence is
Riddled with holes, the who, what,
How, why, that I am –
Knowing it is not enough
Normal for others to want.
Me, just wishing to
Belong somewhere with someone,
Who fully loves me
Though I am strange within – out,
Who would reassure my doubts.

I have a free trial of Spotify Premium. I love the Deep Focus channel, the one simply titled, Sleep, and oh, Music for Reading. Of course, The Rolling Stones and Queen get playtime as well.

I wonder if I should catch you up on my reading. I have not done that in a while, and there are some titles you might like.

Deadline Cometh

I tell you whence is this attitude
You see as rude, a toe step, too;
This day not hours, happily to spend
But hurry up, begin, check twice, again,
The piece, the price, the make right, toward end
Must complete, to compete, or will not funding win
For sure, it is known, “Deadline Cometh.”

Just a quick dance with words on the go.