Poetry 9-2-2021

It’s been a month-long week. Here’s some poetry that boils it down. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, whoever and whatever you’re spending your energy on–I hope it is worthy of your time and love. Take a breath…or seven-hundred.

Photo by Rodrigo Souza on Pexels.com
The Gift of Silence

What the silence gave me
was the horror
of having to sit with my own 
disasters
car-piled up in my head
like an apocalypse of trauma
each vying for attention
on the quiet stage 

I can’t whack-a-mole them down
without ten more sprouting up
the what about and
the have you forgotten when...
I'm the resistant owner
of a vice-gripped mind 
constantly expanding with 
unsettling pressure

What the silence gave me
was one full breath,
an ocean wave in and out
before the panic of being alone 
in the frayed mess of my life
took that air
in short, shallow gasps 
and suffocated my dopamine.

What the silence gave me
was the truth
that I’ve packed it all in 
too tightly
for too long 
and something
must give.
But I cannot ‘give’.
I was not built to throw away
I was not taught to let go.

I cannot sit in gifted silence 
because I cannot stand the sound
of my own shit show.
Raging its insecurities
its expectations 
like expandable insulation
in the cracks of my gray matter.
I cannot accept this gift
of silence
because my thoughts
are far too loud.

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VerseDay 12-12-19

Here, in the middle of your busy holiday season, with the obligations and expectations closing in, take pause and have a little poetry break.

 

I am missing

Cried the mountain,

from your blood and from your breath

 

You are sticky in the pavements and

Choked in traffic

You are gut sick with expectation

 

And I am missing from your blood.

 

You are broken backed

And over ran,

Jazzercised and dieted

Into the pale haunting gaunt

That smiles back from checkout line shelves

 

And I am missing from your blood

 

You are sleepless and achy,

Eyes dry from small ideas

And false images, voices raised

Praising the ego unfaltering

 

And I am missing from your blood.

 

Come back and breathe me.

Come back to my silent path,

The truth of dirt.

Of pine needle crunch,

Rock fall tumbles,

beneath your feet which empty out the filth

and transfuse me back into your veins

 

I am missing

Cried the mountain.

Come and find yourself again