Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’
Loving
.
.
What if someone was already me and I didn’t know it
he or she could be wandering around the planet
doing what I was about to do
already being the person
I was expecting to become
someday when my demons were done
and everything I thought I thought up
was thought up some time before
in some place totally unknown
and I remained oblivious
What if no one knew they had been loved by me
because I never told
of all the years I marveled their countenance
memorizing memories of previous proximities
long after we’d both moved on
and we never would meet again
could I successfully send
my mental dancing vision to each and every soul
in such a spectacular way
it would consciously imbue
a knowing nod that it had come from who
had held their presence through
days that led to years
sometimes bringing tears
mostly filled with joy of having seen
potential as a passing time
What if we never had to decide whether something was actually true
and holier than thou wasn’t something we knew
hate, fear, and shame deserted the planet in threes
a currency of love the only legal tender in use
one that gained value and exponentially grew
when distributed freely and widely
instead of being stored in large vaults
and hoarded with other faults
those whose hearts flowed gracefully
with honest love glowing weightlessly
could heal wounds with the richness of a glance
a knowing look that says those three precious words
describing a feeling that knows no bounds
poverty would become a basic fail
to practice a universal art others hail
of truly loving everyone with our own inherent free will
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Snap
.
.
sometimes when I walk
my ankle cracks
with (snap)
every (snap)
single (snap)
step (snap)
but that isn’t
much of a surprise
given the number of times
that ankle has rolled
and swelled
an explosion of pain
a searing fire of anguish
bursting with adrenaline
from a shock
at the sudden invasion
of a disability
temporary, yes
but such a dramatic switch
from the athletic endeavor
underway for the period of time
just prior to the injury
that eventually heals
so I walk normal again
and play sports again
until it rolls again
leading to what really surprises me
after all of this
just why it is that the sound
of the joint cracking
at every single step
only happens
some of the time
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Sleep Deprived
.
.
crafted
by the last thing I remember
in the microseconds
before I would inevitably forget
there was pure nothing
absolute nothing
which is something
in an unlikely sort of way
rapid deceleration
smiling wryly
in my general direction
placid attitudes
with no reason to be
wordless wonderings
wandering aimlessly
waiting weightlessly
beneath whatever was lying around
dripping delicately
the way vague ideas do
blowing in with little momentum
to fill a void
that never really existed
a transaction of inevitability
forged rather forcefully
from fashionably feasible concepts
intercepted unexpectedly
in the final hours before dawn
when babies are prone to cry
and sleep suddenly goes b’bye
acting in nobody’s better interests
one passing moment at a time
the thing that was never there
disappears rapidly
suddenly filling what was once
only mostly
nothing but thin air
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Paralyzed
.
it’s all news to me
unconsciously clenching my teeth
one headline after another
none of them offering good
I have to remind myself to breathe
instead of tensely holding my breath
how long is this going to last
this slow motion slide going sideways
a slippery slope of regression
back to a less developed state
when being rich, white, and male
was why america was great
with a king in imaginary robes
in a kingdom afraid to complain
having seen what happens if you do
bullying Tweet tantrums that ignite
legions of haters happy to take the bait
doing the dirty work unleashing their hate
as the majority stand paralyzed and wait
surely someone will investigate
good people will retaliate
the unfathomable can’t continue to contaminate
will good sense ever again dominate
most of us certainly hope
it won’t end up being too late
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Now
.
.
what we don’t know
that waits around the corner
is not there
until we show up
if we do
with our bells on
it is our time
our moment
notes of a song
real
happening like laughter
singing
because timing
that is everything
is actual
like now
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Relative Something 