We exist but not alone. We create from what we may think we know but all knowledge exists in the collective well from which we draw our small dipper these few drops we may hold fast. Palm as precious stones. We may claim as our own. Briefly.
I heard you singing a song whose melody spoke to me
Sunlight upon your door beckoned to move closer in
I heard your voice fall and rise in a language unfamiliar
Echoing distant quiet longing
Who were you then
Where are you now
Hesitation leaves opportunity unresolved
Are you singing still
Is the song the same
Wonder is the gift you gave me
I look out upon the landscape
broken hearts lay everywhere
no covers on these windows
no shades no shelter from harsh mouthed mothers of opinion
no words of wisdom or compassion too few hands to care
but I hear night stars still tell wonder stories
and if we listen they will shine our fears away
when we feel lost or sad or lonely
when we’re tossed into chaos winds of if only
silent stars are rising up to guide the way
I got a little wire in my soul
helps me believe I’ll never grow cold
When I falter I feel a gentle jolt
I got a little wire in my soul
I can’t see it and nor can you
Pretty sure it’s hot electric blue
Keeps me learning always something new
I got a wire in my soul.
Golden mornings may come
but for now
Full moon’s shining
get some sleep if you can
and stay safe in the glow…
How long
I’ve lived already
barely
realizing the quiet quite obvious:
inspiration
means breathing in
while conscious.
I aspire now
to more than
mere presence.
I found a book there
in darkness
amidst the rubble
four poems
heat and woman
strength in struggle
survival songs
I hear the chorus rising
carry on
Fill up all the empty pages
can’t seem to say what I want to say
all those phrases empty spaces
between me and a better way
I draw close to pen and paper so word wary
no resonance no rhythm no meaning necessary
I can’t dance
I can’t sing
I can’t wrestle this night train down
I can’t keep this beat
up time in my mind
Listen to the distant howling
is that a watcher in the wood?
Raise a wave for the black bird flying high
It is impossible to reach there
but I’m still going to try
And bird rides straight on through blood red sky
Bleak was the day
rain clouds beat the sunlight away
Then a beacon out of the grey
subtle Moonbeam calling my name.
We live
We die
We leave behind
Remnants of what mattered to us most
for those who follow to interpret
or despise
or aspire to better
Pencil Notes 