Longing is like rubber bands and
tight fisted hands grabbing my sleeves,
a small voice whispering, "Please
come back, I want you now, don't leave!"
Longing is a stretchy sort of feeling,
like taffy or laughing to keep yourself
from screaming at the ceiling.
It can be quiet, too,
creeping up behind you like a minute,
or a glass you go to drink from
only to discover that there's nothing in it.
Longing is the broken promise
of what tomorrow was supposed to bring,
and it is a mostly futile thing.
This poem has gone through so many mutations... I'm just kind of surprised that I found it.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Subaudible
I have found a tranquil sea
when I am in chaos- easy
to find, lovely to welcome
the peace it brings.
When a room is quiet, and
the air conditioning shuts off-
the disorienting
sense of super-silence,
like being buried in the snow.
When you sit on the front porch
and see that the hush of
early morning is quite alive:
crickets, birds, wind,
early commuters. Drink it in,
this busy stillness.
Beneath everything, there is
a quieter place- and I
have found one in me.
This might get fixed later? Ugh. I don't really know how to put it together. Anyways!
Story that brought this on-
At work one night, a few of my coworkers were talking about weed. "Do you smoke weed?" one of them asked me. I told them that I didn't, and they looked at me strangely. "Have you ever smoked weed?" Once again, I replied in the negative, and he stared harder. After I asked him why it seemed so strange, he replied, "Well, you just sort of seem the type. I mean! Not like that, but... Well, calm and... centered! Or something."
Then he got teased a little bit by everyone else, but he kind of got me thinking. It's funny that he thought that I was high most of the time, but I've always had this space of calmness inside of me.
Just something interesting to me.
when I am in chaos- easy
to find, lovely to welcome
the peace it brings.
When a room is quiet, and
the air conditioning shuts off-
the disorienting
sense of super-silence,
like being buried in the snow.
When you sit on the front porch
and see that the hush of
early morning is quite alive:
crickets, birds, wind,
early commuters. Drink it in,
this busy stillness.
Beneath everything, there is
a quieter place- and I
have found one in me.
This might get fixed later? Ugh. I don't really know how to put it together. Anyways!
Story that brought this on-
At work one night, a few of my coworkers were talking about weed. "Do you smoke weed?" one of them asked me. I told them that I didn't, and they looked at me strangely. "Have you ever smoked weed?" Once again, I replied in the negative, and he stared harder. After I asked him why it seemed so strange, he replied, "Well, you just sort of seem the type. I mean! Not like that, but... Well, calm and... centered! Or something."
Then he got teased a little bit by everyone else, but he kind of got me thinking. It's funny that he thought that I was high most of the time, but I've always had this space of calmness inside of me.
Just something interesting to me.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Imagining
Driving with the windows down-
sweat sticking where
the wind can't reach.
Hands in the air
current and
head in the clouds,
imagining how it'd feel
to have wings.
Something that I've always imagined.
sweat sticking where
the wind can't reach.
Hands in the air
current and
head in the clouds,
imagining how it'd feel
to have wings.
Something that I've always imagined.
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