Particular Moments

More Stars than There are

Tag: poetry

Your Own Reality

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

—Walt Whitman.

The Curse

Cutting ropes

and

Breaking ties

So to survive;

Those who do not

See your hidden

Saint

Will only hate

You

For bearing It—

They live

In a constant

Blinding fear,

and

Always spite

And ostracize

Their few

Neglected Kin—

Rare Souls

Tragically favored

By the Heavens.

The Conclusion

I cannot

Be a Watcher

and

A Doer

 

All at once.

 

My love

Does not forget,

And remains

 

Unlike the beasts

Of Burden

That surround

You.

The Gratitude

I am so very

Glad

 

To have

Heard the echoing

Chimes of

You—

 

Permeating

My waking thoughts,

And lulling me

Daily into

Pacified sleep.

 

Are you

Shaking your head,

Deeming me

No more

An easily seduced

Fool?

 

I am simply

Grateful

To have known

The very existence

Of you,

 

Teaching me

In your absence,

The liberating rescue

Of the unselfish

Kind of love—

 

To cradle it gently,

And not suffocate its

Divine flame

In a  possessing grip.

A Not Unfaithful Stray

Oh Love,

My summer muse

And blooming desire,

How I have longed

For you,

And placed my

Naked heart

Under

This simmering Sun—

So much so,

That the ruthless

Heat has wrought it

Wrinkled,

Barren,

And Hard.

The Pleading

Sick

To death

Of my nonchalant

Toughness;

 

Of concealing

What hurts

With a shrug,

 

Saying “there’s more where I come from,”

Shoving the shouts

And tears

Into back pockets

Until they are bulging

At the seams.

 

Emptiness is eating away

The best of yours truly;

Someone please

Spare your

Tenderness—

 

Bring me back to life

With your calming

Touch and Kindness.

 

Never White

“Black is the truth

Of my situation,

And for those 

Of my station

In life.

All other colors lie. ” 

—Suzanne Vega.

No Such Thing

As fair

and

Square.

 

Time contends

Duality

Over

Blunt equality—

 

The Loved

And

The Beloved

 

Rarely take

The same

Seat.

By Choice Astray

The clockworks of the underworld

Are easy to know—

 

Fuel all doubts with

Adrenaline and ecstasy,

Place an elusive smirk

Across the cheeks,

And be prepared to do anything—

 

Beneath its apparent safety,

There lies the devil

Of doggy dog

Full of animal instincts;

 

Play nonchalant,

Relax the shoulders,

And enjoy the circus.

 

But keep your eyes

Peeled;

Ready two-plus ways out

Lest it begins to prowl.

.

.

.

The cheap tricks;

The toxified glee;

Milieus of afraid and dangerous

Deadbeats.

 

You know your ways around it,

Have seen the poor bastards

Who were forced to bleed.

 

You were never one of them,

But never were you

One among the survival creatures

Of the suicidal, daily Races.

Swimming Bird, Misunderstand me Not

Yes,

I walk in a blindfold,

Most days

I do not save

What’s Right from foul.

 

And

I work in the Dark,

So my Callings

Never grow strong.

 

I am merely

A creature of stubborn habits,

Destroying the body

All year round.

 

But

Please

Turn your back not.

 

As bare are these flaws,

Deformed is this bag

Of brittle bones

That scantly moves along—

 

Oh my Kin,

Brother and Sister,

Have Faith in me,

For my Compassion sits

Like an endless Well.

 

If thirst shall befall,

I will not

Let you down.

 

Confide in my Embrace,

Oh Love,

For I only write

Of Tenderness & Hope

In your song—

 

My affection is

A stream that runs

Forever long.

 

Won’t you see,

Swimming Bird?

You have

Gotten me

All wrong.