-
guilt prevents me
from writing what i feel.
it will be like announcing
to the world all my woes
and scittering whatalls.
the whatifs plaintively
whimper for their own little corner.
the whatwills shy away
from asserting their prophecies.
alas it is the shouldhaves that
proclaim the stage...their seething
anger leaves no room for the
philosophically inclined couldhaves.
the wouldhaves...that sorry bunch of late-sayers.
repeat themselves to death.
Each time creating another
injured
self-deprecating soul...
another
howintheworldhave?
and therefore we get no further to what ever there is to have.
-
Philosophy and word play beautifully interwoven!
-
two little saplings
their limbs cannot hear
each others'
leaves rustling
shushes of
sweet nothings
they only feel the soft caress of whispered wants
their leaves cannot see
how with each season
the branches reach, yearning towards them
they only feel a newborn tendril's touch
their hearts enclosed in trunk
spread out their rooted love
and rejoice
when they taste
the same rain
and bask in the same warmth
two old gnarled trees
know of a love
they feel it within
beyond what they know
but they know.
-
Beautiful! Science-turned-poetry!
-
here i meet Dread yet again.
the queasy proclaimer of major change
will i never outexperience your grasp?
Such happinesses you have floundered to derail,
Such excitings you have obdurately curtailed.
roiling, boiling, foiling
all the optimism that was
a vanished moment's exuberant cheer.
yet Prudence tells me plainly
that i flourish and thrive
in seeking
the myraid adventures that i come to realize.
and yet Dread,
why does your incessant clawing
persist
even after
being fed?
-
-
something to tell you.
something you could not know.
something that should be said
concerning a matter
to which you will be led.
you will know it soon.
you will think it odd.
you will think it cold.
about a matter
that remains writ in runes.
yet do i tell you?
will it do?
will it not unravel
what is
well on its way
to being thought?
you will hear it
the words all rushing
and spilling unkempt
tears unwept
and reasons
undreamt
the truth shall set you free
and therefore
you cannot possibly
hear it from me.
-
what to say about the
not meant to be?
your hands will never clasp
your smiles will never meet
you eyes will never greet
yet is it all not well
for in the end
another path not recklessly taken?
another passerby whose
life you only have minutely partaken?
yet is it not life
to pursue that which
we are unsure of?
will we not
bittersweetly learn
what is what's point
in the end?
"nay" gruffed the Fox*
"It is easy to despise what you cannot get."
******************************************
*from Aesop's tale of the fox and the grapes
-
-
The regret
of trusting memory
to capture the fleeting
swiftness of creativity.
of allowing passiveness
to convince you that
your muse's unbidden gift
creating instantaneous harmony
will always be within reach.
of allowing treacherous
memory to give you
cramped, corrupted versions
of that you had the arrogance
of not recording.
therefore derive prudence
from what i have ever lost
write what comes to you
when it does
there is no satisfaction
in ignoring creativity's
chosen call.
