Tag: daydream

Poetry

The Speaking Hummingbirds

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THE SPEAKING HUMMINGBIRDS

The Speaking Hummingbirds
A hummingbird appeared to me three times today.
An unusual occurrence,
Perhaps decorated with significance.
She paused in the sky,
Reminding me that every second holds prominence.
I hopscotched around dried, dead leaves like lost memories.
Swearing the flowers beside me said something,
What did they say as I passed by?
All the while a crow’s wings sounded like unraveling paper as he whooshed overhead.
My mind painting on you, vibrant violet and gold,
The colors of connection.
My ankle tickled inside my shoe with
Faded wishes of you
Stroking it again, like the most delicate harp.
I am in love with not the memories of you,
I am in love with not the illusion of you,
I am in love with the essence of you.
“It’s all very simple, isn’t it?” asked the little hummingbird
From the woman’s tattooed ankle.
He is a dream-catcher.
Standing by my side in my make-believe world
Changing shapes and kissing me.
I have never seen him naked
But I have felt his ecstasy, I have given myself to him
Every night my intrinsic nature and lifeblood courses with his
The moon our conduit for pure intimacy.
Freeing me, liberating me, releasing me
Back home.
On the last visit, my happy-hearted feathered friend
Holding a symbol of continuity
She sang to me, of infinity and of eternity.
Oh, how I wait to sing with you in harmony.

Poetry

I Couldn’t Have Known

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i couldnt have known

I Couldn’t Have Known
Nobody else holds the space you hold,
Or reflects light off of lakes the way you do.
I couldn’t have known
What you would mean to me.
So meet me,
Meet me in the world between worlds.
Dance on the edge of crystals
Where your sternum vibrates
Where your throat opens
Where your lungs are healed.
When gravity tugs at you,
That is a door to find me.
When a shadow moves in a still room,
That is a door to find me.
And when water feels viscous underneath your palm,
That is a door to find me, too.
Where the precious fire burns
In dreams of wisdom and unrelenting eloquence
Meet me in spirit, in truth, in power and in grace.
And kiss me.
And hold me.
And color me.
Nobody else is what you are to me,
Or hears my nightingale’s song.
I couldn’t have known
What you would mean to me.
I have memorized the taste of your invention
I have sat in the ancient architecture of your DNA
And I am humbled by the mirage of your apparition.
You warm me.
You comfort me.
You collapse me.
So meet me,
Meet me on a moon-drenched road
Allow the mist and the mystics to raise you up
Where you lose sobriety
Where your smile sighs with levity
Where your occupation is only to love with me.
Nobody else could carry this vastness
The profusion of fresh air you bestow upon me.
I couldn’t have known
What you would mean to me.

Poetry

A Tale of Two Lovers

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CREATIVE ASSIGNMENT: FINAL PROJECT

A Tale of Two Lovers
There is a profound sadness in her.
Bathed in responsibility
And graceful with acceptance.
Passersby can’t even see her hiding
That sweet, calm smile,
Selflessness worn like a familiar sweater.
Worthiness a tattoo written backwards on her shoulder
A silent reminder.
But not many, only a one,
Can see the poor girls heart.
The one that sings louder in cars
Or alone with her pillow.
Or in a bathroom with the water running.
Her prayers hang on the wind
Sorrowfully tussling the leaves.

…

“May he find that love.
One that is patient in silence, like mine.
May she kiss his lip when he bites it.
And may he hold her hand long enough to split realms.
I hope her body effortlessly tangles into his
At night, with the candlelight
On the ceiling at just the right angle, the way he likes it.

Allow him a home.
And for her to be braver than I.
I want her to look him in the eye,
and say with clarity, with vibrancy
Without hesitation,
Or fear of exploration,
– I know you,
– I love you, my only one.

Have her kiss his back, and the soft spots on his wrists.
The parts I have yet to kiss.
When she touches his neck,
With ease, he will settle into her.
May she delight in his humor,
Make her clever –
I know she will be so beautiful,
More beautiful than I. ”

…

She wistfully watches
As two birds dance and flirt in the sky
Above a building,
High over her head and thoughts.
She remembers him,
And the way they bumped into her car
While falling in love, and holding each other
Like teenagers do.
Paintings on the wall ask her,
“What do you want?”

“For him to think of me.
From time to time,
But not all the time.
When laying with his back on a rug
Or when that song comes on.”

Her love of him, it does not end
That’s not what this is
This is slow piano music played in the dark,
It’s the smell of a memory once loved but not forgotten
Slipping toes in sand,
The sensation of stars dripping from the night sky.
A first kiss, before sullied by time.
Or the way she felt with a new book when she was younger.
Hopeful and complete.
Eager to read on, a seemingly endless and fascinating tale.

Poetry, Self-Reflection

I’m A Sucker For True Love

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I'M A SUCKER FOR TRUE LOVE

There are so many flavors of love.  There is the kind of love that comforts you, like watching a puppy rummage around in the dirt and roll on his side and sneeze his snout into the grass.  There is the type of love that heals you – when you are tired, or sad and you are given a hug so warm and gentle you can breathe and let your shoulders fall.  There is another kind of love that excites and sends tingles from your fingertips to your toes.  And then yet another, there is a love that is so infinite it’s like staring at the ocean, mesmerized at the expansiveness of the horizon, making you question how far the human eye can see.

I understood the tingly love, boys are good at giving that.  It’s a physical love.  You feel butterflies and heat and inquiry.  But once the clothes are off and the lights are on, I would feel lonely. Not every time, not with everyone, but mostly I would feel it. A hint, a glisten, an underlying simmer of loneliness.

I was searching for the love I had been promised by childhood movies.  The love that would wake me from my forever sleep.  The one that would lift me up and guide me along the skyline on a carpet, or the one that would draw me “wearing this, and only this.” Let’s be real though, Titanic ruined all of us tweens for an actual dating life.  No one could compare to Leonardo DiCaprio as Jack Dawson.  Forever be still my heart.

However, I have.  I have found the type of love I had been seeking.  I have received all of the flavors, varieties, swirling colors and prismatic divinity anyone could dream of and the kinds I couldn’t even begin to dream of.  The kind of love that rips your heart apart and then puts it back together with a million new pieces.  The one that makes you want to discover new words, and then you realize that words are useless in the face of her beauty.  The kind of love that longs, and causes tears at the mere thought of a hug from their gentle, perfect arms.

A hopeless romantic, a loveaholic, an explorer for fate – my everything had been waiting.  And then, in the simplest form, as she effortlessly does – love appears.  Patience, faith, and openness lead me to her path. Once you are walking with her, and your fellow falling star, everything begins – just as it always had.

Today, on this gray and cloudy and cold morning, I am grateful for her kindness.  I am so glad love, in her grace, entered my life and taught me to smile in the way only she could make me smile.  And, I am just so damn curious to know… what my love feels like to him.

Okay Jack Dawson, I suppose I can let you go like the heart of the ocean.  I’ve found my own ship of dreams.

Divine
His eyes so confident,
Oh, how he seeks;
Like a wandering Sophophile.
Wise with no words to speak,
I want to be with him all of the while.

It’s a tragically ending ballet.
But I want him anyway.

I show him I’m his and wait out time;
Goodness is a choice and redemption is fine;
All things are clear but then turn on a dime.

Gentle release and then trapped in kind;
Two borrowed hulls endlessly intertwined.

It’s lawless.
Oh, how I break.
To feel the weight of gravity,
Selfishly and recklessly I want to take,
And feel him beside me.

Tell me it’s worth it, my moon and sunshine.
Tell me you want me some of the time.

Poetry

Too-Personal Plane Poetry Pt. 2

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TOO-PERSONAL PLANE POETRY PT. 2

Uncharted Territories
My hands are explorers,
my fingers chart sea routes along your wrists.
Before, I stood at a distance,
dipping my toes,
but now I adventure into
new uncharted territories.
My eyes, telescopes.
My lips caressing of your shoreline.
I want to travel into international waters.
Where there are no laws.
Where the waves peak.
Where I can taste your salt,
and the roughage of your break.
Desiring to be supported by your body
of water,
Cool my warm, basically naked, skin.

Poetry, Self-Help, Self-Reflection

The Original Song

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THE ORIGINAL SONG

Inspired by Robert Frost’s poem yesterday, I wrote the following poem.  But before we get into that, I want to share a little bit about silence.  I spoke with my cousin last night who was distraught upon finding out her best friend had been hit by a car.  He was seriously injured, but alive.  She told me about how when she found out, she called multiple friends but no one answered.  She felt “alone in the universe, I just felt like I was left floating there.”

I remember this feeling back in my depression, I felt so alone and unheard, unwanted and living in fear.  Just as she was.  I explained to her that the unhealthy side of our brains, the parts of us unhealed, hurting, the addictions, the self-indulgences, the justifications, the instant gratifications, etc. That side always tells us bad things.  Our brains are hardwired to make us feel better – at whatever the cost.  When we were hungry as primal creatures, our brains would solve problems to get us nourishment.  When we needed shelter, we would creatively find a solution.  That has not changed, only our problems have.

We now need to be “perfect;” warm, comfortable at all times, loved by everyone, successful, eat the most balanced diet, post only the most beautiful pictures on Instagram, and have the most loving and adoring relationship.  This list goes on and on.  Our brain is constantly trying to give us the best solutions to all of our problems.  For those of us who have unhealthy tendencies; eating to cope with stress, suicidal thoughts, using sex, drugs, alcohol, etc. It’s very easy to let that side have the loudspeaker.  But there is another side.

The healthy side, in that moment for my cousin, was telling her to take some silence.  No one answered the phone calls, but the universe answered the real call. Be quiet in your grief, in your fear, in your hurt.  She wasn’t alone in the universe, because she was WITH the universe.  And this beautiful world wanted her to make a healing wish for her friend and for herself.  Sometimes, silence is the answer.  That is where we grow, evolve, learn and understand ourselves more fully.

Our greatest strength, our greatest wisdom and our greatest kindness is silence. That is our original song.  Silence and love.

The Original Song
Never have I met someone like you
Apologetically heroic while healing hearts.
Kind severity that stares straight through
Unabashed, unadulterated, a destiny long overdue,
Spoken softly, a secret of honey burns at our hearths.

Love letters left on pillowcases,
Sunsets seeping from the text;
A humanity overwhelmed with familiar faces,
Flowers filling up the blank spaces –
In between the places like lovers might suggest.

Words falling short and gracelessly falling out,
Inexplicable in nature, what a marvel you are
Like God himself is even devout.
The land lacking light, without and in drought
And then you, like Renoir, painted the sky with heaven’s first star.

 

Poetry

“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost (1874-1963)

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"THE ROAD NOT TAKEN" BY ROBERT FROST

Today, for no particular reason, I find this poem to be quite significant.  Beyond the beauty, imagery and profound verse of this poem – I am left questioning many things.  At first read, this poem delivers the messaging of “Did I make a difference?”  With the final sentiments of “I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” But upon further reading, and interpreting, I’m left with realizing that either way he chose to walk, the destination would have been the same.  (“Had worn them really about the same.”)

This poem, every time I read it, makes me feel very human.  Because whether we choose to be musicians, or poets, or a construction worker – in the end, we are all on the same path, with the same wear, heading in the same direction.  Universally human.  I have read before (in various opinions of this poem online) that “The Road Not Taken” tears apart the traditional view of individualism. Some might find this thought frustrating, defeating, inaccurate; saying that our choices do have impacts and make large differences in our paths.  I find this thought relieving, comforting and true in my world – regardless of the path and the small choices I make, I am among the collective human race.

This poem is not really about “Did I make a difference?”  It’s about the strive to make a difference. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Poetry

Too-Personal Plane Poetry

by Purpose and Prose

TOO-PERSONAL PLANE POETRY

I am currently writing a response to the brave woman who responded to Ask Me Your Questions, Tell Me No Lies.  In the meantime, I’ve got some new poetry to share.  I’ve been on a recent business trip so I’ve been spending the last two days on planes to and from the west to east coast and back again.  Along these travels, I’ve been inspired to write a few new poems.  Surprisingly, for whatever reason the poems arising are a bit salacious in nature and likely too-personal to be writing on a plane (next to strangers).

Alas, when the mood strikes… I hope you all enjoy my first edition of “Too-Personal Plane Poetry.” (Hopefully, while also sitting next to strangers.)

The smell of you…
heavies my hurried heartbeat
and tickles down my spine.
Fingers spellbound to pull you into me,
an invitation I’ve yet to decline.

Dazed by the heat of your breath,
grazing of my lips on your ear.
Change my chemistry,
Raise my frequency,
Oh please, just keep me near.

Breathing is a rhythm now,
suddenly aware of the fullness of my breasts.
Your fingertips ice skate on my skin,
I daydream one will slip under my shirt,
just accidentally, momentarily, but I will let you in.

Can I breath a little deeper?
My lungs overflowing with you.
Melting of my muscles,
while others worship the fevered seduction of you.

Poetry

Anchor in Time

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ANCHOR IN TIME

Anchor in Time
We have our own universe;
the space between the lines,
in the breath before the words.
The ethos that connect reality and dreams,
the dusk and dawn
the attraction of night to day.
A magnetic haul that lingers in our ocean.
We hear your heartbeat in my hand.
We are lovers, artists, romantics,
Our intimacy is cinematic.
You are my home in the heavens
and I am grounding to your spaceship.
Sometimes I think you’re too good for me.
Other times I hear, “Well, aren’t you two just the same type.”
Our meditation is an anchor in time.
And my grateful heart now lives in a world previously unseen.
You are so beautiful.

I am only here to have met you.

Poetry, Self-Reflection

Be here now.

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FindingYourLightFromWithin

It could be from my husband’s absence (he’s a touring musician and has been gone for the past 6 months), it could be from my father’s passing, it could be from our recent move, our recent wedding, or any other living, breathing thing – but right now I’m floating.

Before therapy, a time like this would have me spinning.  I feel the impulse to have a head full of questions.  I used to beg the universe for answers.  I wanted so badly to understand why I was hurting, why I was shown so many paths in life if I was “stuck” on only one.  I used to bury myself so deep in fantasy versions of my life, the visions of timelines not yet lived, and other worlds I created that I would be so far removed from the present.  But not now. And I gotta say, it’s refreshing as hell.

Yeah, I’m confused.  I’m taken aback by my circumstances.  I wonder why my husband has lost his faith, I worry on how to talk to him about my heart aches with loving kindness, over the years I’ve felt tired and alone in my pursuit to feel joy, and I am uncertain about the future and what it holds – but isn’t all of this the best part?  Isn’t the unpredictability, the riskiness, the absurd and spirit of inquiry just so human?

Last night, the first primitive nuclei divided and created a new and separate nucleus.  No one knows how the first nuclei was formed, there have been many theories, but to my knowledge, there hasn’t been a definitive answer and last night, I witnessed the creation of the secondary universal nuclei.  The world split right in front of me – and in its beauty, and in its rapture, I was present.  My eyes were swollen with tears, my lungs overwhelmed with mist and my hands were sparking with magic.

We all have the answers, every answer, to every question ever asked.  I am floating in the translation of the word simplicity. I feel it in my fingertips, it sends shivers down my spine and causes goosebumps on my flesh.  I am human, I am here.

Titleless 
She was the only witness.
Only she heard my hunger.

And if it was that easy, she answered,
“Just you wait.”

Without hope, without need,
She drenched me in wonder.

Still frames projected behind my eyelids,
waves, the harmonic motion, stirring my source.

A lifetime with your touch, a life without your touch,
We danced with the line of collapsing time.