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Other days are still valid
and new eyes are here... "Learning To Walk..." I believe
many things - now
that I truly didn't know
or understand...
once. I've seen -
moments,
lives unglued,
people that abandoned even themselves...
wind-whipped ice crystals on mountaintops
and highways. I've stumbled through
sideways rain,
heat you could see,
and nightmares you never forget. I've known unicorns and faerie
through the years
and the realities of magyk
and the whispers that aren't. It takes effort
to begin to learn
HOW to walk
and a lifetime - to do it. Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
Somethings we see or hear or read TOUCH that spot behind-our-eyes... you KNOW the one. And then we just think and remember things we put away or thought lost forever - or hidden, walled-away for - ever. Damn its a shame how really short a time a forever can be... ya know? I visited SharonLee's blog...found HER thoughts - "Just Another Midnight" and then found mine... damn... "I remember sitting on concrete porch steps - outside of old, run-down apartment tenements... night-after-night til 3 AM or so. Just sitting, watching shadows come and go. Some of the shadows that existed (not lived - existed) within the tenements would pause, sit a bit... share the mists (seldom was ever a star to be seen)... be who they were - until they remembered who they - were. We'd have talked a bit back then...you and I... about our..." "Shadowlands..." 3 AM is wet and cold
year round
and concrete ain't a 'gentle' seat -
forearms sitting 'top each knee
leaned and too damn tired inside...
head just slowly moving side-to-side
watching the shadows pass. You aren't alone at night
there in the dark...
never alone -
though you are - alone
inside
as you watch the shadows
flowing by. One girl - a new mom
paused and cried...
it wasn't like her dreams
wasn't the WAY it
was s'posed to BE...
and he'd hit her... and left
and she didn't know what to do
and it was her fault
he hit her
and left
the two... and all the reasons
and all the apologies she would make
flowed and flowed
as the tears dried...
and she wandered over 'cross the way
- and went back inside
her shadowland. ...and I sat and sat
night-by-night...
the shadows came
paused and went
and dumpsters got filled
time and again
with the lives and leavings
of the shadowlands. Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
"Notes Made At A Sidewalk Cafe..."
I remember...
wishes
and the 'damnedest' moments
of laughter
of heart
of silence
of fullness
of tears that weren't enough
and tears that were too much
of silliness - my own
of seriousness
and each dream that never was.
Chris ......................................................................................
I don't perceive
all that I hear, read, and see
as if it pertains to the me's
that I KNOW are inside...
but sometimes
the lil voices laugh
and sometimes
my eyes 'well' with tears that just leak
and sometimes
the silence left behind is very, very heavy
with unsaid words. Chris .....................................................................................................
Where are you going in such a hurry that you haven’t even the time or the heart to lift your head from its downward stare?
I promise your feet won’t poof
or vanish.
Pause, take a deep breath -
taste the air you unconsciously breathe.
Feel the sunshine sparkle on your face;
LOOK around you!
SEE what’s actually to be seen, all the people being just like you -
running, running – ceaselessly running -
to be at that ‘no-place’.
See all the heads hung low
not in shame – but in the tired, empty sameness of being. Each unaware of the moments missed AS each moment is missed; the breaths untaken that could have added something
if they’ld just have been taken. Touch what you’ve somehow forgotten – your humanity, heart, curiosity; your soul. Remember how it is to be alive.
before you aren’t. Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
A repost that is appropo to our times...
.............................................
"I Found A letter…"
It was already a long day and the cold just wouldn't let up. Even a couple of foot-miles wears on you… ya know? So I started looking for a place, saw the lil niche in the old stone wall. The breeze carried a damp cold, the kind that inveigles and bites and if I sort of hunkered-down I knew it would pass me by and look for another victim – at least for a little while.
It wasn't much – as shelters go, but it was MINE, at least for the moment – til I moved on as I always have. There was a bit of trash there along the base of the wall. Wind-pressed and strewn into place, a pile of old brown and broken leaves mixed with cigarette butts and the odd bit of paper. I poked at the mass with my walking stick to clear a space and damn… I uncovered it… a single, tightly folded, many-creased, and crumple-wrinkled sheet.
Yes, I just had to bend down and pick it up and then finish clearing the ground. I sat – my back to the wall, drew my knees up, then leaned my stick against the wall. A lot of thoughts were flooding my mind as I slowly unfolded and gently straightened that sheet of paper. My eyes sort of unfocused, that happens more often now, guess it's a 'getting older' thing and I just sat for a bit – seeing but not 'seeing' the piece of paper held in my hands.
December,
Dear Santa, ~
it began… and I remembered being ten and my pride at just how SMALL I could print with a sharp pointed pencil and still have it readable and I never needed lines – somehow my letters stayed straight and ordered across seas of white space – row after row after row. It was like entire books on a single sheet – paper was hard to come by sometimes… you HAD to save it for school stuff. I even filled the margins of used paper. I had so much to say then… and it was all lost along the ways… living, surviving, moving along til its all a second nature. Eventually you learn to hold it in, where it won't be lost.
~ Mary is my sister and she asked me to write you for her. She's too little still to write. We talked it over and all she really wants for Christmas is to go home. She's been good all year, really she has and Dad was layed off ~
…from Anchor Motor Freight. It was just yet another eight months of seldom enough of anything, a lot of cold, hurt and shame. I was angry but then again it seemed everyone was angry… They gave away my dog. I walked a lot, seems I've always walked a lot – God never took away my feet… just my friends. I had so many 'homes' getting to eighteen, even a farm once. I remember each for what was lost… and innocence never counted. I learned to dream… things are good in dreams you know, even nightmares have a certain pride of ownership.
~ and he got real angry at mom and us and went away. Mary misses him a lot and promises not to ask for anything anymore. ~
Seems we always ask too much – somehow. Among the worst is "Why?" and the answers seldom help. You can forget physical pain – how it feels, how much it hurt, it's sharpness, the sting, and the after ache. You forget the tears. But you can never forget the fear you felt or the words that were said. Sometimes you can face the fear – eventually, even forgive the words, but you NEVER forget they were said… no matter how hard you try.
You have to LEARN how to feel ashamed - it doesn't come naturally. Lessons take time (often years) and they're seldom earned - just given over and over til you BELIEVE. I believed for a long, long time - hell of a habit to break, believing something, ya know?
~ Santa, she believes and she said please too.
Sincerely Yours,
Sean and Mary ~
… and yes I know I shouldn't have unfolded the single sheet and looked within another's hurt at my own. It isn't fair, it just isn't fair… some 'times' never seem to change regardless of all the years in between; but damn, its always real – ya know?
I mailed Mary's letter... maybe it was read by a time-kindened Santa and she got to go home... but I never did.
Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
"I Dream Of You..."
...I dream
of you... in day light -
in moon beams, in whispers on the wind
as the air touches my cheek, in ways even I
had never guessed, ...I dream
of you... in the quiet times -
in sunlight's shadows, when the clouds
pause in my eyes, as the rain
gives butterfly kisses, ...I dream
of you... between heartbeats
- and in candle' light - as I walk in the sand
as waves come ashore - and in the softest wishes
on every falling star, ...I dream
of you... and as these tears so slowly fall -
just because... I can... ...I dream
of you... Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
"If I Loved You..."
"If I loved you..."
whispered sad silly me...
"The sun would darken,
and my eyes lose their sparkle."
"The oceans couldn't hold my tears,
nor the earth all the shattered pieces of my heart."
"If I loved you..."
whispered so softly
by silly me...
"I'd lose the wonder of the universe...
and wanting there to be tomorrows."
"I'ld know first hand every hurt there ever was;
every broken shattered dream."
"If I loved you..."
leaked so gently
from sad silly me...
"Music would fall on my deafened ears,
and all the rainbows turn gray."
"If I touched you...
you'ld just go away..."
"If I loved you..."
faded as I turned away
and remembered I did - still.
Silly, silly me.
Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
"Such Eyes..."
Such eyes...
mirror so many worlds
within and without
Such eyes...
search and seek
draw and hold
Such eyes...
fill me with wonder
and soft smiles
Such eyes...
can make me cry
and yet still hope
Such eyes...
don't even know
I exist
but for once -
just for once...
"Such eyes..."
looked so gently in mine.
Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
"Footsteps..."
I have my coffee.
Today is to be a SUN day,
the gray gone.
Cold yes, but an ALIVE cold -
a - you see each breath
and fingertips tighten
and toes sort of scrunch -
bite
that you treasure
with each breath drawn
because ~
well, just because. Stars and shadows...
whispers in the lee
as clouds go scudding by.
The scent of tobacco
remembered and within. Its quiet -
the peaceful kind,
the thought-full
and reflective kind.
My cup is half-full
sort of inhaled I guess -
no memory of a sip
no memory of being,
just...being. I don't taste tears
I don't
taste
tears...
damn, its a SUN day
and the grey is gone.
I wonder of the
sunrise' colors to be,
as I pour more in the mug. A window,
a looking-glass -
reflected smiles
and me. Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
"Moonstruck..."
We need pause
in our lives
to reflect -
on roots, existence, beliefs.
We need offer
an awareness of what
and whom - we are.
We need to reach
to breathe
to accept within...
We need to know hope
to have heart
... and remember
how 'Blessed' we are.
Chris
Tags: Poetry Writing
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