how to make a poet cry

there was a time when I woke with poetry

and went to bed with it,

a time when I walked the streets singing,

greeting birds and trees on my way

somewhere I didn’t have to be.

There was a time when I had time to waste.

When my biggest fear wasn’t failure

but unhappiness,

a time when I didn’t feel so overwhelmed by life’s daily responsibilities

which have come to feel like heavy shackles lately.

The biggest problem in being a poet these days is that when you’re looking for poetry in the daily

and don’t find it-

maybe because there was just so much to do (there always is),

you feel the burning question inside of you:

“what’s all of this for?”

and all the small victories and glories at the office

no longer hold any sense.

 

When the daily becomes the mundane

that’s the quickest way

to make a poet cry.

 

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For Sundays

The humming of the refrigerator has become my favorite sound.

It’s Sunday and we’re up before the sun, laying side by side with our backs flat on the shaggy carpet in the living room. Blankets cover our bodies and I place a sleep mask over my eyes. He opts for his blue bandanna. We breathe deeply, our arms intertwined and hands clasped. I try to listen to every sound, but it is so early the rest of the world is still sleeping.  There’s just the humming of the refrigerator and the swooshing of our breaths filling the space around us. In and out. With my third eye I see flashes of light and a never ending dark night sky. And when the time comes to fully return to my senses and this body in this world,  I will see a sky colored in pink, purple, and orange, and he will still be wrapped up tight in a blanket and I will look back at him and wonder how it is that the sight of him can rival a sunrise.

I live for these little moments when I can feel so full and whole and safe.

For slow Sundays and sunrises and plans of forts while drinking coffee and making pancakes. For the every day magic and the humming of the refrigerator that keeps me believing life is worth living. Love is worth giving.

 

 

the everyday tragic

You lose people.

sometimes to death

and other times not.

You lose them in coffee shops

and through telephone wires

and sometimes

you even lose them in bed.

You lose people

before they even know it,

at times you can even lose them

in the most ordinary moments-

the walk to the store,

the deposit at the bank,

the shower you take before bed.

You lose people.

Some may even lose one every day.

But the ones worth keeping

will always find their way back to you

somehow.

You lose people.

But sometimes when you lose someone

you also find yourself.

Loss can be a win

if you let it.

You lose people

and other times,

people lose you.

and so it goes, round and round,

losing and winning

join forces

and in the end

the only thing that matters

is that you don’t ever

lose yourself.

 

edge of change

I’ve fought for a lot in this life

and if I have to add our love to the list

then so be it.

I will not just walk away

from the storms and tears.

And I won’t let you do the same.

I’ll face them head on

shatter in pieces in front of you

if that’s what it takes for you to realize

that even crashing waves can’t keep me away from the sea.

I love the ocean too much.

Just the way I love you.

Without limits, borders, or end

My emotions crash down like 10 feet waves and

I pack my bags but can’t seem to leave

This door never felt so heavy and big before

And if I have to carry the strength to support

your heart, darling

Trust me when I say that I got it. I can handle it. Life and death have made me strong

And these tears I spill in front of you, these hesitant feet, are proof of it.

I learned to stay and not run away anymore.

Even when washed ashore

You will find me at the edge of the sea the next chance I get.

Don’t give up on me.

I never wanted anything more

than you and I

and this love.