At the edge

I am not afraid of heights

I can stand at the edge of a cliff 

and look all the way down 

unflinching, unwavering 

What scares me is the very fact that I am not frightened

Shouldn't I be?

I guess when standing at the edge for so long 

one gets used to the view

One gets used to the shifting winds

the constant readjustment of equilibrium

There is a strength that comes 

from finding sure footing 

maintaining your stance 

no matter what gusts blow by

Maybe it's the sound of my own voice 

echoing back to me after I shout it out 

letting me know that I am really there 

it's not just my imagination

Could be an adrenaline junky hidden deep inside

A junky with commitment issues

rarely ever jumping

Standing at the top 

watching others leap

Vaulting to their destinations

Soaring to new heights

Falling to destruction

Some float like a leaf 

gliding softly to the bottom

The bottom

That's what I am afraid of

What is down there

waiting for me 

What kind of landing will I have

How do I get out when I get there

Will there be someone to catch me

Will I have to climb all the way back to the top

Will I learn to fly 

or will I fall to my end

So many questions

that keep me frozen

time standing still

motionless, fear full, at the edge of the cliff

August 2014

Silence

Silence

The sweet cradling arms of silence

They are never empty

Silence always holds something

or maybe I have just never reached the bottom of it

As I sit in the middle of my life, my mess, I reach for the silence, I reach for the bottom

In the past it was often filled with fear, judgement, anger

Fury silently foaming over the edges

Like a river cleaning out the overflow of toxins

Funny how the raging rapids are fast and clear but the still pockets that gather debree bubble with emerging unknown  

I am still scared of the silence 

but I cannot run from it anymore

I need it

I need to lay at the bottom of me and let the silence wash over 

Waves of silence that hold stillness, that hold sadness

Waves that carry anger and grief 

That swallow me in pitch black 

and then fill me with light

Waves that break with understanding

crash into me with gratitude

Waves that bid adieu to the old me 

Waves that push forth the true me 

Lap after gentle lap

August 2014

Ridin' the bus ... When I can't produce visual art, poetry comes out...hmm

We ridin' the bus

Nobody makes eye contact

but we all look at each other when the time is right

Sizin' each other up

Everyone sits within the safety of their own bubble

YouTube bubble, music bubble, texting bubble, apathy bubble, insecurity bubble
all these fragile little traveling bubbles

just tryin' to float somewhere
without gettin' popped

In the past we held futuristic ideas of individual transportation devices

assuming they would be external

Instead they plug into our ears and draw us inside
disengaged

until no body sees no body

Except for that little girl
sittin' with her mama

She is watching me 

She is watching me watching

She is re-inventing time travel

Her existence is old fashioned

hearing the world swirl around her
her ears are unplugged

never averting her eyes

not ashamed of her own presence

or the strength of her stare

or the strength of mine

She and I

eyes wide open

we ridin' the bus

Completed in April, 2014