How can i not be two-faced?
Worthlessly I somehow think I deserve respect
So I bring those two attitudes to the world
Perhaps I think that respect would salve my worthlessness
So I bully my way through the door marked Deserve
Then wonder why my deserved doesn’t come.
Would you bring me respect when I bring you ridicule?
So these actions, selfish, self-serving, rooted
In my worthlessness, sown with bitterness,
Bear only rotten fruit. And I, so oblivious to others
Was surprised by this! Thus instead of salve,
To that primal wound
I was applying salt.
Now Eric, what will you do from here? This respect
Must start first in you, if it is to find you.
i used to cry only alone
at night or in the shower
and only in my deepest grief
now, with the beloved so near
and the brittleness of my fear
with grief, joy, heartbeat, i weep
Can it be, I am yet, only three?
I got him into a corner, that little boy me
He dug in his heels
He’s trying to tell me something
I’m not listening
The little boy in me,
the lions share even at this age,
Is yet not innocent enough
To let the lion out.
There is still enough. Fear in me
To leave the lion locked up.
And you know, I can’t blame him
The lion has been fierce and wild.
somehow I hope to teach him
Of the lions nobility.
For that I’ll need
The kings majesty.
Heh, but look inside and see,
The king can tame the wild warrior.
I thought the warrior was caged,
And the king abdicated. But in wrighting this
Mayhap I’ve got the players mixed up.
Of course, the egg came first
The chicken was too afraid
Is there something about the world around you that’s so prose
That you must run away?
Come here, sit and read?
There is something missing.
So take in these chicken scratches, turn these marks to sound
And in listening to words that are not there
Imagine flight on a wing, and a prayer?
For it is the doom of man to dream, to make
Is there any word for nature to take?
We try, but no. For how can you conjure the scent
Of salt spray or pine, if you’ve not smelt it?
The wind will whisper through those pines,
but that story is not English.
I cannot capture the endless flowing of the stream
In finite words. This is the inadequacy of my poetness.
With any luck, and some magic, I’ll hint at it
And your heart will swell the way the water does
when it meets your body, how it gives, and takes away,
And moves you.
How the wind speaks, and licks the heat from you
And fills you with vitality. It takes the sandbag from
Inside you, and puts the idol in it’s place. Tilt your head
In a certain way and you’ll hear the sunlight
Tickling the grass. God is speaking to you
In a thousand ways. It is not to hear with ears.
Become swollen with it, let it fill you
The bear will not eat you if it is within you
Let not these words lie
Let the truth shine despite them
20170823 poets united
the north side of town has less money and darker skins
So those from the south didn’t go there much, but
For her I would cross those tracks that served as a border
There was a farmhouse in Iowa where the young widow
Would open her house in hope that He would come,
But could she see beyond her hope that Jesus was her boarder
Across valleys and mountains, two hundred feet wide
For a thousand miles, trees mowed down, straight, narrow
Imaginary mapline becomes bulldozed border
Stop, you’ve gone too far. You must have your papers
All in order and approved by the state. The eagle
Flies above the checkpoint, sans border.
We come to play with separateness and division
Then stake claim, talk of fences
And fight wars over arbitrary borders
Flowing down from mountains, bringing
Life giving water to both banks
The rivers bear the burdens of our borders
For my friends at dVerse and imaginary garden
With my finger firmly in the dyke I say
What did I know of what behind it lay
The sea is piling up outside
Gathering it’s mighty tide
Someday there will be naught to do but drown
I’m the net in the match tween sea and ground
I did not care to go to sea
Instead those waters, they found me