watercolor paints

the common beauty
of blue circles
and the rarity
and idea of inchworms
in the absence of my childhood

are things I cling to
when my tongue gets
stuck
to the roof of my mouth

and all the ideas
I’ve ever know
are plastered to the walls
of a coffee shop I might be sitting in
like awkward paintings
the rhetoric against mainstream
art
or in the bark of all the trees
I’ve leaned against
while day dreaming

they mix with the bluest blue
of a voluminous and glassy
sky
like the clear of water mixing with paint

and I am left alone
with no thoughts
at all

Nature Is My Mirror

I recognized it immediately

the shambled garden
its tomato plants
leaning
through their tilted cages
worn by the weather
sad leaning
leaves wilting

a trying

and I cried

Then I saw them
the colors
smooth warm oranges
and brilliant reds
bright circles
so stark against
the faded
greens
curled leaves

the shiny midnight purple
glow
of tiny round berries
on a plant I’ve never noticed
I looked up
red berries
on a climbing vine
the surprising
cylindrical
blood red
fruits of the evergreen

Why have I not see these before?

The colors have always been
there
not stunted by decay
not stagnant
but so resonating
so vital

The world is a shambled place
with death clinging to everything
but life also
fire and vibrance
and it is not any less

Nature is not so orderly
so straight
so confined by boxes or lines
or ideas
or the perfect picture of peace
why then must my heart be?

All I want in this world
is to grow
and shine
be that beautiful, healing garden
I see
in my minds eye
not the one before me now
the one I recognize

so much potential

It’s been hard
breaking ground
trying to grow so many beautiful things
so much purity
pondering for hours
feeling the deep pains of hunger

and when I finally let go
I saw them
one and the same

The whole time I thought I was dying
I was life
big enough to hold
death

the whole time I cried
I was the colors

Weeping Willows

How do you mourn something as big
as your whole childhood,
your purity,
your innocence–

Scars
deeper than the thick bark
river beds
running down a grandfather tree’s trunk
onto your baby skin–

How long must I cry
over the fear and the pain,
the earth shattering sadness
the color of
driftless hillsides
when tornadoes threaten

to blow through,
and the sunlight looks unnatural
mirrors the way I feel

as I lay watching

in the silence that makes
the embers
in every being shake,
and wonders
why there are no answers–

unentitled

i am only a tiny mountain stream
bed
holding
this cold and bubbling
crystal clear
light
at times
until i become its shape
know what it’s like
to be water
to be life

like the roots of trees
or the tiny red of a bird
migrating
over these vast lands
i do not forget
where i have come from

the rocks
of stream beds
and the water together
sing these songs
make this melody of remembrance
like the lonely
comforting call
of birds
traveling
through the night
the way it brings us home
where ever we are

exercise

Her bulletproof ego
lacked the where-with-all to know
when to stop.
And, the lack of antiperspirant didn’t help
either.
The ride was beautiful.
Without a doubt, the most
beautiful
thing she had seen in a while.
The colors were so stark.
The bright blue of chicory flowers
lining the path.
The exact clearness of the water’s mechanics,
the roundness and greeness of water lilies
scattered there.
Everywhere,
there were bright splashes
of color.
Yet, something was not right.
There was some sort of repercussion
she could feel.
Something bothered her.
Something inside.
Maybe it was the way she felt
as if everything she did was as complicated
as sitting down in a fancy porterhouse
on fancy day
with a fancy dress
for some fancy occasion.
Maybe that was it.
Or maybe,
just maybe,
it was something deeper.
And,
deep inside
all the beauty around her
she could not shake the feeling.

She decided to stop,

right there where she was.
Maybe she would just be still
and look
out at the water for a while.

The Sun Is A Star

i’m crying again
the cycle begins
it’s always the same
another night in the rain

something like a song escapes my lips
it’s not good enough
it never was

i’m not sure who you are anymore
there’s a time lapse
i’m surpassed
and there’s not a single star inside the sky
or in my eyes

i’m sorry
i’m not who you want me to be

i’m sorry
i’m just a tree

i’m not the wind
or a fairy tale

these roots run so deep
i can hardly escape
but i keep trying

i’m sorry
i’m not who you want me to be
i am only a tree

you could inspire me
you always have

soul searching and the lilac [take one]

The sun is rising out over the city’s wet gray presence.
The air molecules are lightening,
becoming thinner,
turning a less opaque shade of gray.
The trees seem to notice, as they wave a little faster,
soaking in a denser sunlight, a brighter shade of blue.
Who am I?

I am the shade of green
that covers the leaves of the lilac
bush
brushes up against the purple flower buds
I am the smell of these flowers
delicate and strong at the same time
the most powerful remembrance agent

you are standing
with your nose up against the branches
breathing in the thick deep scent
now you are a child
sitting on the steps of your front porch
and the sunlight is bright
and you are small in the world
and you are peeling the full green leaves of the lilac in half
down the center of their thick spine
and we are the same thing

Who am I?

I am the feeling of nostalgia
that follows you
as you are walking down
cracked and broken sidewalks
past storefront unknown to your memory
where the only familiar sight
is that of being a single soul in the world
and you are wondering how you would do things differently
if you were still
alone
if you would hurry fast
down the sidewalk
getting on to all the great things you want to do for the world
or if
you would still walk slowly
taking in all the hidden beauty that surrounds you

the cool of dark brick buildings
the smell of food wafting out of their corners
the bright splashes of flowers
the patterns of life
I am these things

I am the waves that brush the surface of the lakes
or the rivers or the smaller streams
and the sparkles on the waves
and the dragonfly that brushes these sparkles
hoping to catch a small bug for a meal
but instead gets only a flash of light
and is gone in an instant

I am the tired soul
burdened by life’s responsibilities
it’s duties and time limits
it’s alarms, and bells, and horns, and gas pumps
who takes a short walk at the end
of a long day
and pauses
by the water’s edge
to notice the dragonfly
that has just leaped into the air
and zipped away
in a flash of turquoise and silver
and light
and smiled

I am the vast expanse of the universe
invisible to the naked eye
the millions of star swirls
constant moving shapes
billions and billions of textured moments
touching each other
I am faster than the speed of light

I am red, and green, and blue, and yellow
I am the thorns on the raspberry bush in the springtime
before the berries have begun to form
I am the smell of all the gardens in the world
after a storm
when the earth is wet with thickness
and new life

I am the uniqueness of that moment
where one person breathes in this scent
as if for the first time

and becomes a million  springs

I am the cycle that goes round and round again
I am appreciation
I am alive
and watching
myself
die and be born
all over again

I am the ant.
And you,
you are the anthill.

waterfalls are all around

waterfalls are all around
can’t keep my feet up off the ground
i hear some singing in the rain
i feel something like a change
in my heart

i think it’s spring

i see a ring of light explode,
spread over the horizon’s knoll
there is a color i’ve seen before
it changes everything it knows
it’s reaching for
my toes

i think i’ll let it touch me

[a poem i wrote for andrew that may yet be birthed into a song. iu]

Willow Tree In The Winter Time

i decided this blog could use some affection, so here’s a fresh piece of poetry love.

Willow Tree in the Winter Time

i saw a branch
frozen
caked in snow and ice
dangled with icicles
their tangled fingers
hanging on
pulling the branches straight down
to the water
i am that branch

i saw the sunlight
caress the details of the tree bark
higher up on the tree
i saw little branches
thin and upright
reaching for the sun
for life
they were small but smiling
happy for warmth
i am those branches

i am the whole tree
all of it
bedraggled and freezing
and covered in sunlight
hopeful

i must remember
that i can grow
and reach up
with that part of myself that is still vibrant
and beautiful
and covered in droplets of light

i must remember that the water
makes be grow
keeps me alive
even though winter rages on
testing us
the brokeness and the light are one
and i was the tree
whole
without even knowing it

and i am still breathing

Once at Roche-A-Cri

I have been a piece of driftwood
floating
rough and tumble
edges jagged
rusted out
faded into the water’s deep blue,
the color of ebony and earth
and sky white
clouded over.

I have seen the waves’ crystal
tingles,
the ever twinkling water stars,
the black caps and licks of waves
from atop the breathing
water.

I have spun the same way
as water,
with the same under current,
that circle of diving
that rejuvenation,
the sun and the deep water chasm
taking their meeting turns.

I have touched every little wave
with a gentle turn of my wooden soul,
and when the west winds blew
have been swallowed by monsters of water bodies
and wondered through the crashing
if i could stay afloat.

Yet, i have seen the calm winds blow
like a whisper,
and i have felt suns rays warm
blowing through my open wholes, those cracks within.
And, I have smelled the aura of peace
as a smooth water breeze,
deep aqua and marine
and alive.

But i have never felt this calm release
before,
after feeling the slow, warm sand of shore
the tiny rocks
spread out,
the solid pull of earth beneath
sunset
silhouettes.

I have never seen the grass bud this way,
and the new delicacies
of tiny bright flowers,
how big they are against the sky.

And the last time the waves kissed me
with their cold full tongues
and laid me here to rest
among the roots and the flowers,
I know before that moment
I have never been home.