I heard a voice
from long ago
singing
Be My Music.
While I sat at my computer
working away
I found tears in my eyes
Grace would understand
how the music creeps
and pepper sprinklings of memory
burn
I am music
I am words
I am melancholy
I am bliss
I am
beyond this nostalgia
and today’s tune
is the best
song
I could have
sung.
.
Brevity is an art.
Poetry’s punctuated paucity
Of wisely winnowed words
Requires creative crafting
Lost in anonymity
flowing in a wretched sea
of tumultuous humanity,
I can’t find me.
.
(spent a few hours in Vancouver yesterday. A few too many! Man I hate the city. So glad to be home surrounded by nature, lakes and familiarity!)
Excuse the informal attire.
I suppose you’re used to
people taking this all a lot more seriously.
We’ve spent so much time
together these last few months
as you hovered over the ward
that I feel like we are old…
well, not quite friends exactly,
but at least… familiars.
I’m not planning to spend much
time with you, either.
I’m just walking through the woods
on my way to glory.
So I’m going to forgo the suit,
if you don’t mind,
and I’ll rest in this box in my denim
until the day I raise on the wings
of dawn.
.
.
RIP Daniel Ross Brown
Today I’m thinking about all those times when we don’t hear what someone is saying to us very clearly, because we have our own agenda. Hearing the full truth may open a door we don’t want to open, but glorious things may be inside if we have courage to accept difficult changes.
.
She’s gone this time
And it’s for good.
Don’t beg. Don’t cry.
Because it’s good.
I know you can’t
See past your pain
And you wish all
Could be the same
She’s gone this time
And it’s for good.
Don’t beg. Don’t cry.
Because it’s good.
.
You’ve tried before
To re-arrange
A month or two
You make a change.
But if it’s about
Getting her back
You’re never changing
The greatest lack.
She’s gone this time
And it’s for good.
Don’t beg. Don’t cry.
Because it’s good.
.
Quit loving her
And love yourself
Take your fragility
Off the shelf.
See who you are
And learn to be
The best you can
So you can see
She’s gone this time
And it’s for good.
Don’t beg. Don’t cry.
Because it’s good.
.
You’re better when
You’re not with her
With all the anger
In the air.
She wants to be a
Better self
And that’s why
She repeatedly tells
She’s gone this time
And it’s for good.
Don’t beg. Don’t cry.
Because it’s good.
.
It’s time for you
To push, to grow
It will be hard
Change is, we know
You’re worth the pain
You will endure
You’ll transform for you
And not for her.
She’s gone this time
And it’s for good.
Don’t beg. Don’t cry.
Because it’s good.
.
When you can smile and
See your strengths
And understand you’re worth
All the lengths
that others take
to make you see
You’re worth who you
Are bound to be.
When freed from all
Toxicity
That brings you down
And poisons you
And blinds you to
What’s really true
She’s gone this time
And it’s for good.
Don’t beg. Don’t cry.
It’s truly good
For both of you.
.
.
Here’s another blog post that reflects this theme beautifully. When will the message get through? http://deadpoet88.wordpress.com/2010/10/21/the-art-of-longing
Oh wow. We got a blog poetry award from the Thursday Poetry Rally! How cool is that?
And although this was posted in October, somehow we received an Honourable Mention for September…
So there she is,
tears pouring down the face,
having a conversation with an imaginary you.
There you are,
Still making observations that
…touch the core of things.
… Melt with their poignancy.
…Challenge with their truth.
…Encourage with their tenderness.
The voices of memory
still real
guiding and teaching.
I think we might as well
give up on waiting for them
to disappear.
The paper strengthens them,
and love echoes through them.
Despite…
well,
you know.
For Friesens and Bhatias who are grieving the loss of their fathers this week.
.
I followed behind him on the beach.
He turned with a smile and opened his arms
for me to run into
and he swung me schrieking
high into the air,
catching my laughter on the way down.
I stood on his shoulders as he
launched me into the surf
squealing and splashing.
Then screaming and thrashing
as I gulped in salt water
and my feet desperately
saught security
until his hands reached down
and pulled me into the haven
of his embrace.
You said she was the only one
You promised she’d be yours forever
You crafted a dream together
You raised children and hopes
But then
you walked away
You found another you inside, a
you who needed a voice, a
you who needed a new life
So now
You say she is the only one
You say she’ll be yours forever
You’ll craft a dream together
but how can
you be believed when
you’ve been through this before?
I’m standing here on the door step
Do you see me?
My family has gathered to send me off
Hoping my departure is gentle on my final journey.
I’m knocking on the door, Lord
I answered your knock half a century ago
I know it was a blink of eye to you
but now I’m knocking on your door.
I’ve waited so long to sit at your feet
and ask a million questions.
I’ve saved up a few jokes I’m sure you’ll love.
I know you’ve got a sense of humour
because I’ve seen the giraffe and the platypus
I’m knocking.
It’s getting foggy here on the doorstep
and a little drafty.
The family is looking a little worn from the wait.
I don’t want them to hurt on my account.
Going would be so much easier than staying.
I’m knocking, Lord.
Please answer the door and bring me home.
..
for Friesens
.
lub lub lub October 10, 2010
>>cough<<
>>sniff<<
A sympathetic sigh
and a late night trip for Neo Citrin
That’s real love.
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