Wednesday, August 27, 2014

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

Saturday, August 16, 2014


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

Tuesday, August 12, 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
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