Reality Me

Category: Poetry

Amateur scribblings often over rhythmic, rhymey, shallow and too Freudian.

  • A cloud is rolling in

    My head is heavy
    My thoughts are deep
    I am not tired
    But very weak.
    …

  • Hump Day

    My inner middle schooler likes the middle of the week. This time of year, the walk to my son’s bus stop is dark. Jupiter shines in the sky but clouds obscure other heavenly bodies. The muscadine grapes have ripened to perfection. I accidentally knock one to ground. Pity. The weather is beautiful yet a storm threatens. The distance rumble of clouds and chaos are apparent only to me for the storm that threatens is in my head. I fend it off by building a high pressure system of calm and positive thinking. The storm, a low pressure system, moves further into the distance; at bay, yet ever present, waiting for other systems to build. And Jupiter shines in the calm skies.

    Jupiter

  • Duty

    I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty;
    I woke, and found that life was duty.

  • 7 Cups of Tea, by Lu Tong (795 – 835 CE)

    The first cup kisses away my thirst,
    and my loneliness is quelled by the second.
    The third gives insight worthy of ancient scrolls,
    and the fourth exiles my troubles.
    My body becomes lighter with the fifth,
    and the sixth sends word from immortals.
    But the seventh—oh the seventh cup—
    if I drink you, a wind will hurry my wings
    toward the sacred island.
    Translated by Christopher Nelson

  • Passion

    Stars have blossomed in the night sky
    The last wafts of smoke rise into the purple
    Framed by tall pines covering the horizons
    The flames have subsided
    A loud crack, snap, pops from a remaining log
    In the ashen pit
    A bright red glows within the coals
    Oranges and yellows echo the memory of the recent fire
    And emits warmth
    A memory of the burning, passion
    Stars vanish
    One by one millions of years after they extinguish
    Violently
    The sky darkens
    Stars disappear more quickly
    Clouds blanket the purple turning the sky
    First grey then black
    Thunder claps and the first rain drop
    Falls on the coals with a sizzle
    Hot timber in the pit screams
    An ember is splashed
    It winces, darkening
    Then resists, glowing more strongly
    Water falls from the sky, faster
    Pouring
    The ember glances around
    Seeing other embers doused
    Forever
    Fewer to support each other
    Chilling
    Yet the ember fights on
    Striving to produce
    Heat
    But losing
    The fight
    The light
    Gone.

    Beneath a bed of ashes
    So wet on the surface
    Awaits an ember
    Feeling the cold
    Holding onto its own heat
    In hopes to be discovered
    Uncovered
    Resurrected
    To bring forth a fire.

  • Numb

    The dream is gone.

  • Tick tock

    It’s the last day of the month
    I’ve never felt so fucked
    Deadlines loom
    Choices to be made
    Life goes on
    Day by day
    Future becomes the past
    Days go too fast
    Opportunities missed
    Obligation in the way
    Watching kids grow up
    What would Chapin say
    Tick tock
    Another beat of the clock
    Time is an illusion
    Created by man
    Used to fill the void
    Used to drive us mad
    Disproven by physicists
    We exist all at once
    Until observed
    Then we’re fucked.

  • Just relative

    I just had a conversation with Yesterday
    About Tomorrow.
    He claimed I should be focused on Today
    And went on to chastise the Future
    While praising the Present
    Using words from the Past.

  • Me

    I hate

  • Enlightenment

    Eventually the fog will lift
    Revealing the landscape
    Ravaged by blind pre-dawn fumbling
    Hope for a lengthy day
    In which to repair the damage
    Before dusk comes
    Bringing darkness again.

  • That Place

    Between desperation
    Desire to fold
    A longing to lie down
    And go no further
    And glowing optimism
    Working hard for the top
    The willingness to win
    And putting in the effort
    Is the Crossroads.

  • Hopes and dreams

    Hopes and dreams
    Misplaced ambitions;
    Life too short
    For wasted time,
    And silly superstitions.

    Hopes and dreams
    Driving youth
    Towards ends and means;
    Without direction,
    Nor goals which Wisdom brings.

    Hopes and dreams
    Lost over time;
    Replaced by routine,
    Obligation and burden.

    Hopes and dreams
    Aged away;
    Faded day by day,
    Ill guided
    And never realized.

    Hopes and dreams
    Wasted upon the youth,
    Who have the vision,
    But lack the Wisdom,
    To see a dream,
    Come to fruition.

  • Sinking

    Legs of lead
    Mind of mush
    Sadness too much.

  • The Silent Pulse

    At the heart of each of us, whatever our imperfections, there exists a silent pulse of perfect rhythm, a complex of wave forms and resonances, which is absolutely individual and unique, and yet which connects us to everything in the universe. The act of getting in touch with this pulse can transform our personal experience and in some way alter the world around us.

    [Source, George Leonard, The Silent Pulse: A Search for the Perfect Rhythm that Exists in Each of Us]

  • A happy marriage is a silent marriage

    In marriages that work
    The husband and wife
    Don’t treat each other like jerks

    The best way to avoid a spat
    Is to remain quiet
    And never chat