Heart Soup
If I could open up my heart anew
And gather all that tumbled through the crack,
The blacks, the reds, the blues, the half-formed pride
Collecting as a cloud behind my back,
Take all that’s blown apart by heaven’s wind,
(That blusters through my life), I’d make a ball
Of dead and hopeless nightmares trapped inside
And push it down this slope on which I scrawl.
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(3 votes, average poem rating: 3.67 out of 5)
An Interpretation
You are here again
At the ancestral well;
Scooping the cool, sweet liquid
Into new hands held by old ghosts.
As roots push through you
And take hold of the earth,
You become soil and sunlight,
And the soil and sun begin to breathe.
The stories etched in the worn flagstone floor
And proud, but crumbling grave markers
Blow in to you on a knowing wind,
As though they’ve been waiting for your return.
As the still air shifts,
You can hear the whispers of an ancient past;
As it settles back in,
You can’t deny the echoes of your future.
The roots plunge deeper still,
Twining tightly beneath the storied soil.
The message has been well received-
You are home.
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 1 out of 5)
Nothing Fades (For A.J.)
There are smiles that rearrange the air
So that our very breathing is altered.
And just as we are made of
The same stars that formed the universe;
We are part of every smile
That has graced our tiny lives.
Nothing fades, nothing fades.
The smile is born of love.
Profound love that asks only
That we are present, sincere, and ever open
To the transformative joy of surrender.
And if the night tries to claim the smile
We know that she will fail.
For the keepers of the smile are stronger
Than the fates that rear their heads.
There are beautiful people that held the smile
Through times good and bad.
Beautiful people that encouraged the smile,
Became the smile, understood the smile.
There are beautiful people
that will forever hold the smile so close
You would have to alter their very being
In order to take the smile away.
Nothing fades, nothing fades.
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(2 votes, average poem rating: 2.5 out of 5)
For Fiona
There is something about the way
You look strangers in the eyes
And shout “Hello, how are you?”
That has me so enchanted.
Even if I was blessed with huge, hazel eyes
And a charming, toothy pirate’s smile,
I still don’t think I could find the courage
To engage the world so freely.
You have no time for nonsense from me.
I try to keep up as you pull me out of myself
And out into strange, new places
Where we greet all we meet with shameless joy.
Step by step, I open up a little bit more
To the possibility of letting myself go.
To becoming the explorer I always thought I was
Until you showed me otherwise.
I want to learn your life language.
I want to run with abandon,
And sing songs to strangers,
And dare to shout “No!” and hug hard.
Inside the whirlwind that is you
Lives an infinitely better me.
And inside of me is all the hope and love
A Mother’s heart could ever hold.
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(2 votes, average poem rating: 2.5 out of 5)
For Chris
Today I want to pray
Too bad I don’t know how.
When I hear the reading of the names
I want to lift them up
But to where?
To where?
If only I could feel
The spirit move through me.
If I could grasp the pillars
And shout and wail;
Beat my chest and ask my God,
“Why have you forsaken me?”
But that idea of a God and I
Parted ways so long ago.
In that stand still time on tower and plane
My God was torn flesh and steel;
Rising and falling with angels and demons,
Becoming nothing but broken burning echoes
And in that same stop motion shard of eternity
My aching God showed up in countless ways
With humble hearts and work worn hands
To start the unfathomable journey towards healing
Anchored by a chain of souls, My God goes forth
Into the dark fog of humanity with an infinite radiance
I cannot pray for you a place in Heaven
Where a knowing Lord bestows truth and grace.
I can only call your name back to the quivering web
That wraps her silken fingers around the bosom of the Earth
Here you can touch the pulse of a watchful world
That loves you in ways that God only knows
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 5 out of 5)
It’s Too Late
She sits in her room alone, in the dark
She’s got nothing left to loose
She’s got a broken heart
She presses the knife against her skin
She says she’s ready to begin the end
From left to right she slides the blade
She’s got blood rushing down her wrist
She’s not ashamed
Because she’s lost everything that she could ever need
She’s lost it all
And now she’s ready to take her final fall
The fighting that never stopped
What was it all about?
She couldn’t take it anymore
She thought it was her only way out
She held her breath
Tears down her face
And sent herself to what she thought was a better place
All those doors that were left open
she’ll never know
cuz she said she was ready
So she let her life go.
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(4 votes, average poem rating: 3 out of 5)
Perception
Your eyes transform in love’s perception,
Into mirrors for my soul.
The pure, ecstatic light of my creation,
Fills these strange and empty holes.
But when a shadow spills,
Its inky stain on my reflection,
Such illusions quick distil,
I see the truth of love’s deception.
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(3 votes, average poem rating: 3.67 out of 5)
The Last Show
I’ve heard you before and I thought I was able to erase you permanently from my song book,
but you’re still somewhere in there, a piece shoved all the way in the back,
tap tap tapping on my nerves,
and strum strum strumming on my patience,
will you stop haunting me the second I’m not near you?
or will you keep following me wherever I go?
I only wish I knew why, you just won’t die, your song has played it’s last show,
and you will NOT ever play again.
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(5 votes, average poem rating: 4 out of 5)
strength
I am in the pursuit of strength.
Not in the physical sense.
The body is easily moldable.
But what i cant seem to shape is this heart.
Can I get some advice?
How do I temper it to steel
but still have the flexibility to feel.
If I leave it to soft it will be
defeated with ease
and I will go weak in the knees
for every silky liar’s seduction.
“what doesnt kill you makes you stronger”
well these puncture wounds left by infant playing with a bow
(terrible idea! someone should have gave this cupid kid a nerf gun)
dont seem to heal once the arrows been removed
so now a soft heart, badly stitched closed, is gushing love and life everywhere
and now im just sitting there thinking..SOMEONE NEEDS TO STOP THAT BABY!
or at least next time shoot me towards a girl that quilts
cause this heart needs alot of patches.
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(4 votes, average poem rating: 4.25 out of 5)
unclean hands
I can’t seem to keep these hands clean.
I wash them every chance I get.
I place them together to amplify the signal,
hoping my prayers can now reach a single ear.
Fear,
my motivation for prayer.
I fear if I dont drop to my knees and give Him
the credit / acknowledgement He wants and deserves
I will never be given forgiveness.
Forgiveness for sins I don’t really regret.
Every single sensation forbidden therefore done with passion
gave me life I struggled without.
My will is broken.
But I am not sad.
Without something to live for you are unbound.
Can he forgive a weak man who is defined more by his struggle than his virtue?
Stealing a chance to play his role my thoughts whisper
“This great father who made you imperfect and is placed upon a pedestal of forgiveness would deny you?
Where is the sense in that?”
But I know, who am I to judge with such unclean hands?
I feel like he doesnt understand me yet knows me too well.
I fear that insight. With a eye that pierces me heart he can see the corruption
that I know is there.
I cant fathom a being with enough empathy to look past every transgression of thought and action.
I guess that’s just another thing that seperates us.
So I will continue to wash these unclean hands.
My only prayer, “Father who made me in your image please make me of your heart and character.”
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(1 votes, average poem rating: 5 out of 5)