SIMPLY BEING

Category: Poetry (page 1 of 6)

To Love

To love is to be a flower,
Dropping lightly on the cheek of the beloved, grazing their hand like an invisible feather,
Leaving behind not a petal, or an ounce of pollen, or a whiff of fragrance.

Or maybe a faint scent that lingers a bit, then disappears entirely,
Making you wonder if it even existed.

To love is to be camphor,
First visible, then invisible,
Bleeding into the air, blending in with space, enriching presence fully, yet not.

To love is to be invisible, silent, weightless
To envelop without touching
To breath alongside without vapors
To allow for expansion, both for self and lover.

Better Half/Whole Pie

Sometimes you are the better half, and then you are the whole pie, and then you feel like you are missing THE better half, but the missing is all-sweet, nothing sad or bitter about any of it, and parting/meeting is a bit like waves rushing to the shore, then pulling away. We meet in silence and we meet in celebration, we inch ever so close, even closer… and yet we are universes apart. Love is never complete because there are two halves to the pie. And yet it feels that I am the dreamer who dreamed him up. And he is pure camphor, leaving no traces behind. And it is I who dreamed him up, swallowed him whole, and all his traces are in me alone.

The Weightiness of Paper

Paper is light and heavy.

As it flutters at a mere glance, yet weighed down by the HEAVY thoughts that are borne aloft Morning Pages each day,
It shreds in seconds, no heft or substance to it.

But it holds volumes of thought, fresh off the bed, sleepy-eyed and all in a mess or tangle,
Struggling to make sense, and the effort is a bit much.

So I let it all out on the light paper, transparent and flimsy,
No pretense or excuse of any kind.
Endlessly unraveling the morning memories and sighs and imaginings,
Holding them all in, letting them all out.

Only the shredder knows the truth.

A Tanglesome Approach

The approach to you is rather tanglesome —
A thin cotton quilt, two thick, woolen blankets, a plump comforter, you.

It’s all layered nice and neat as the lights go out
And thereafter a little unrest ensues.

As the layers meld, then separate, splitting apart
Splitting us apart.

I reach out through the gaps, clasping and grasping at your bony elbow
You are better at this — because your arm makes it through.

It is far warmer nestling in the crook of an elbow.