Tag: micropoetry

i don’t go to church anymore
but that’s not what
this is about
i won’t write about religion
i won’t write about
how it tore me
apart inside
or a god that
supposedly judged me
for everything
everything
no i don’t want to write
about that
i was invited to go
to church
a family friend asked
me to take her
so i did
i stood like a statue
not bitterly
not angrily
just waiting til it was over
i always found the rhythm
of a church service interesting
sitting
standing
sitting
standing
this is what i was thinking about
when an elderly couple
in front me rose for the
100th time
the woman assisted her friend
to his feet
he stood with great difficulty
slowly rising
his body curling upwards
bone by bone
maybe it was her lover
or friend
it doesn’t really matter
the gesture was so beautiful
and kind
so giving
so completely selfless
i thought
as i also rose for the 100th time
this is why i came today
to see this
it had nothing to do with god
nothing to do with
religion
it was its own religion
its own faith
within that simple gesture
was god

then you arrive
standing there wondering
why you are in such a place
thinking;
‘why am i here?’
you take the words
you’ve been saying
the words from a language
you no longer speak
and retch them onto the earth
then step aside
and leave them there in the past

you held my hand
and gently placed your other
on my chest

respirer
you kept saying
ça va, shhh, respirer
it’s ok, shhh, breathe

when i have a seizure
i want to hide
like some animal
seeking shelter
returning to my cave
remaining hidden
until the storm passes
but you found me
you came into my cave
and found me there
in that place of fear
and vulnerability

i can only imagine
your thoughts upon
finding me
my eyes wild
full of fear
howling uncontrollably

respirer
breathe
you kept saying

with your hand upon my chest
i heard those words
echoing somewhere
in my mind
in my dwelling
in the place i run to
when seeking safety

respirer
breathe

then i returned
the storm passed

shh, ça va maintenant
shh, it’s ok now

after a seizure
the world is silent
my body is fragile
as is my heart
you knew this
without words
you understood
you kept your hand
upon my chest
and let it rise and fall
with each breath i took

shh, ça va maintenant
respirer

i walk the road leading into the field.
it is lined with
a row of now leaf barren trees,
a groomed wind-block
on the southern side.
in the north
an empty field,
the harvest was taken
some months ago.
i do not know
what grew there.
what was sown and
harvested were never questions
i asked.
now,
the field is lined
with tractor marks
that have collected rain water.
in the last light of the day
the frozen pools appear as glass,
as if the sky broke
and shattered downward.
i stand silently and observe
the last of the daylight
which is caught momentarily in the
frozen surfaces.
i watch the day as it
moves with haste
and witness the approaching night
that seems too eager
to arrive.
i wonder how this field
will be
in a few months;
when the snow and rains have stopped
and the earth dries.
when the seeds are spread
and the deer mark their
crossing path once more.
how will it be
when the wind-block
refills its branches
with a green
only nature can perfect?
how will time move
then?
how will its passage appear
here in a way that mirrors
nature, but also seems displaced
and removed slightly
so that symmetry will
never truly work in this place?
what creature will
look on?
a human, no doubt;
awkward and beautiful,
equal parts fear and love.
standing as one does
when in awe, when perplexed,
when confronted
by the subtle shifts
in the natural world
that we recognize within ourselves.

i wonder if our souls
speak different languages.
would your soul
recognize mine?
i want to see yours.
i awake
with this desire.
in the stillness of the night
i let mine call out,
“come to me”,
it says,
“we can hold this,
we can love this.”

i have never seen snow

fall like this

it hangs in the air

suspended

i wonder if it is enjoying

the gentle descent

downward

the earth says

wait
i am not yet ready for you

the snow continues

and says

i am not here
for you

a crow calls out in the early morning
i rise and let the cat inside
the air is frigid
he enters and tells me everything
pacing about
gently bumping his head
against my leg
i boil water
and prepare my tea
then sit on the couch
cradling the hot mug in my hands
the cat rests against me
purrs softly
then louder as he warms
i leave the lights off
it is midmorning
yet no sun reaches beyond the clouds
leaving the room dim
with soft outlines of everything
i feel a tingling of uncertainty
so many questions rise to the surface
of my mind
i close my eyes
and return to august
remembering the humidity
that hung heavy and finally broke
when a rainstorm passed
we sat in it
letting the rain cool us
we were looking at one another
still unsure
still timid
our minds running wild
craving everything
everything
that time passed too quickly
like the humidity that broke
when the rainstorm
rolled in without warning
now the air is frigid
the light dim
with soft shadows everywhere
and i am here
cradling a cup of now tepid tea
and an image of us in the rain
wanting desperately to act
on every desire

day hadn’t yet arrived.
the stars, still brilliant, 
shine in full force,
burn as if lost in the night,
ever convinced by eternity. 
and what is it, “eternity”?
are we all lost in it, in forever?
had i been told it was night i might have been fooled.
had i not known,
not understood as i assume i understand. 
what is day?
what is arriving?
in the early dawn dreams pull,
they tug,
inviting me back.
i feel so small.
in pre-dawn light a cloud form emerges.
seamless.
i watch to understand the notion of fleeting,
the notion of ephemerality. 
what is eternity?
watching reflections,
watching beings,
mostly silhouettes, 
watching for hints of life,
of desire once removed.
waiting for consciousness –
to consume intention –
to devour “i will”
i will 
as in i will not—
i will not disappear into reflections less real than the reflected. 
early sun bathes all in gold;
the shadows that entice in darkness
vanish when touched by sun.
what is forever?
a span of measured time;
measuring the shift from hunger to fullness –
fullness to hunger to fullness. 
nights of satiated lust;
mornings eyes red from battling sleep.
pushing needs aside to feed the other spit and body.
measured time from erection,
endlessly possible,
to none —
to impossible none. 
i am convinced by eternity. 
the clouds are now clouds,
shapes are revealed.
i can see what is holding life.
holding. 
life.
the sky a blue i swear i’ve not known. 
i say aloud; “i have not understood this.”
clouds just breaths of pink;
strips of flesh
suspended and disappearing. 
i yell into the morning; “i have misunderstood eternity!”
and this is forever.