In progress, first layer...

Crayons

I am a box of crayons

That is what she said I smelled like

It is not the first comparison 

I've been told that is what I look like

My closet is a rainbow 

There are layers to my being

I am a painter

I have a palette of many colors

Some are vivid and bold

Some pale and soft 

Hues of dark and dense

or earth and clay

All are rich with texture 

The perfect sharpness 

of the unused tips

are so easily softened

as soon as they are pulled

Out of the box

As they are meant to be

Out of the box

Worn and misshapen 

Out of the box

Broken and paper torn 

Out of the box

Eventually naked and unlabeled 

Out of the box

Identified only by 

the cones on our retinas

Eliminating the need for category 

or organization 

All resting together 

in an old coffee can

Being

Chosen by 

Instinct 

Preference

Desire

Willingness

to make a mark 

with the color that comes

from the loveliness 

that calls my name

In its smallest

Purest

Raw

Used

Form

I am learning 

to trust wonder

Like a child 

to take a chance 

on a nameless chroma

To risk the open ended possibility 

of how the scribble that comes from the mystery piece 

may alter the layers that are already on the paper

Risk turns to trust

One crayon at a time

until the pigmented wax

is rubbed away

Creating image after image

until a new box is needed

And I hope 

when that time comes 

I will open them up

pour them all out

undress them from the very beginning 

and throw away the box

Fast Forward

My mind wont shut up

My heart is pleading with it

but the thoughts just keep rolling out

Someone just pushed the fast forward button

on my life

and now the pace of my days

matches the breakneck

of my brain activity

What if I don’t have enough time

it says

I have so much to get done in such a short amount of time

and here you are….writing a poem, dumb ass!

it shouts

What if I make the wrong decision

it whispers

What if I cant go

I already know I cant go

What if she is disappointed in me

What if she needs me

and I am letting her down

What if I cant be there to hold her

What if I cannot bare not being there to hold her

What if I am too much to handle

What if I am too insecure

What if I am too confident

What if I am not interesting

What if I am trying too hard

What if I am annoying

What if I fail

What if I don’t have enough money

What if my truck breaks down

What if the river floods any more and all my stuff floats away

What if I am being ungrateful

What if it is too late

What if they are disappointed in me

What if they don’t understand me

They don’t understand me

I have spent the last 6 months alone

No one knows

I have no witnesses here

Only me

What about me?

They dont ask that question

Its not theirs to ask

Instead

they ask

What are you going to do

What about your future

Where are you going to go

What about a place to stay

What about your career

What about your finances

What about all that you have worked for

What about your reputation

What happens if you don’t have enough time

What happens if you don’t have enough money

What if I make the wrong decisions

What if I am too much to handle

What if I am too insecure

What if I am too confident

What if I am not interesting

What if I am trying too hard

What if I am annoying

What if I fail

What if I don’t have enough money

What if my truck breaks down

What if the river floods any more and all my stuff floats away

What if I am being ungrateful

What if it is too late

What if they are disappointed in me

What if they don’t understand me

What if I cant be with the one who understands me

What about my future

What about a place to stay

What about my career

What about my finances

What if I don’t have enough money

What about all that I have worked for

What about my reputation

Stop

Fuck my reputation

What about me?

I have spent the last 6 months alone

No one knows

I have no witnesses here

Only me

They don’t ask that question

Its not theirs to ask

It is mine

I have so much to get done in such a short amount of time

and here I am….writing a poem

Because I hurt

and it is the only way I know to soothe myself

The only question left to ask is…

what about me

The only person that needs to ask it…

is me

I know

When I was 13

I used to say

‘I know’

all the time

Drove my dad nuts

Maybe it was the eyerolling

or the long sighs

or the tongue smacking

which accompanied it

Coaxing the vein out

in his forehead

He was around my age

when I threw those words around

so carelessly

I now know

what he knew then

That I don't know shit

Certainly didn't when I was 13

and even less now at 38

One of the very few things

that I do know

is that the words

I know

can be two of the most

powerful words

in the English language

I know

can be a declarative statement

Whatever follows

holds the echoing

the ripple

the resonance

of defining who you are

Bringing waves

that wash away who you used to be

I know

can be a curtain

that when drawn aside

reveals what is understood

and what is not

filling the room with light

illuminating details that once hid in cast shadows

I know

can be clarifying

the meaning it claims to hold

is determined

by the difference

between

experience

and lack there of

coming into focus

through the lens of trying something different

Most importantly

I know

can be affectual

full of feeling

and being felt

I know

can be emphatic

locking each other's gaze

with silent nods

and outstretched hands

I know

can be sweetness

held between

the jaws of clenched teeth

and swallowed pride

I know

can be Surrender

the willingness

to let your heart break

under the weight

of what you know

and in the absence

of what you don't

I know

can be

the web

that gets untangled

by patient nimble fingers

waiting for the knots to loosen

tenderly pulling at the strands

silently studying

the woven patterns

to follow the path

back to where it started

I know

can be the thread

the thread that connects us

the thread that sews us

back together

the sutures that crisscross

back and forth

over the edges of our cracks

holding us together

I will hold you

through what you know

Please hold me

through what I don't

For it is only through this holding

that we truly get to know

anything at all

Because the only thing worth knowing

is each other

Death

I can feel Death 

hovering around me as of late

As the snow melts 

and the sun comes out

the carcasses of winter are revealed

one by one

I have always been able to feel Death

I was given an awareness 

at a very early age

of the ever present

possible impending 

As the end of this season approaches

As the snow slows it's accumulation

As the frost ceases invasion 

As the warmth blinks the sleep from it's eyes

a blurry image of a dying Gaul 

stubbornly insists on filling my view

Laying wounded at my feet

Pulling desperately on my legs

Trying to climb back up 

into the protective stance she has held for so long

I am afraid to let go of her hand 

which I have held for so long

afraid to stop leaning on the need for a body guard

afraid to let the armor fall around me

However, this battle is nearly over

This season of hibernation

that has lasted nearly all my life

has transformed in the womb of isolation

This tree

strong and tall

full of rings

has worked itself out of the ground 

roots exposed

ready to decompose

and become food for the newborn on its way

I do not need a night in shining armor anymore

Babies are soft

and vulnerable

and open

She will learn to walk and talk 

and discover the world brand new

Just 

as she is

baring the birthday suit of her soul

for everyone to see

broken or whole

whatever the case may be

For the dying Gaul is tired 

her job is done

and I shall lay her gently down

smooth the weary from her forehead 

softly close her eyes

and send her sweet dreams with a goodnight kiss

For she has earned this rest

she has earned this peace

yearning for transcendence

Death
shall be a sweet release

Lioness

If you want to have

the patience

the endurance

the persistence

the impervious grit

that it takes

to make it to your truly desired destination

then you have to feed your soul

If the Lioness is restless

pacing in the cage

you keep her in

then she must be let out

to wander the sanded ground

slip and weave through tall dry grasses

to envision the prey she is created to stalk

If she roars in your chest

again and again

until your arms ache

and your throat is sore

better perk your ears  

you best listen

because that means the lioness

is hungry

and you must feed her

You best listen

so you can decipher her language of pursuit 

an invaluable interpretation

for it may tell you what she is longing for

You best listen

and take note

of the hour

sun or moon

in which the growling starts

in which the howling stops

it is in your best interest to anticipate the frenzy of feeding time

You best listen

so you know what direction

the feline screams may be going to

or coming from

You best listen

so you can tell

which wise the thunder is moving

as it circles around the landscape

You best listen

so you can feel

how close it is getting

gage the quickness of approach

the elevating volume

the speed with which the intervals reduce

For if you fail to listen

to the lioness

If you do not pick up the intimation of her reverberation

lack the sensitive perception of her palette

If you neglect to learn the rhythms of the midnight hunting hour

disregard the patterns of the trails she is wearing through

the roar will temporarly, unexpectedly, mysteriously dissipate

only the rasping of desperate panting remains

Exhaustion has set in

Voracity will take over

diminishing patience

determining the inevitable

For if the soul is not nourished

if the appetite is not satisfied

then the lioness will redirect her gaze

twist back around

and the path leading to the prey

may very well

take her right back to you

Monumentous

Monumentous events can be everyday moments

and everyday moments can be monumentous events

the first time your eyes met mine

was a monumentous event

I will always

vivdly

remember

exactly how you looked at me

how easily your soft hand slipped into mine

Darlin, I think that is when your heart slipped into mine

When we are together

every moment is momental

because no amount of moments is enough

When we are 400 miles apart

I close my eyes and I am instantly with you

When we are 40 miles apart

I cannot catch my breath

When we are 4 miles apart

my heart beat sends earthquake shakes

that rock my body back and forth

and ripple down each limb

When we are 4 feet apart

my skin vibrates and stands up to reach for you

When you are in my arms

I cannot tell where my ends and your begins

When I am in your arms

my thoughts relax into slow motion

The scent of your skin

makes me breathe you in

so deeply

so slowly

so completely

as if I have never smelled anything before

savoring every nuance to store
in my monumental memory

never to forget

When you are in my arms

the radiance of your heat makes me melt into you

makes me melt into me

letting go of any self conscious thoughts I may have had

For in those monumental moments

I am not one person anymore

When I am in your arms

I can hear your voice through your chest

through my chest

Every inhale, every sigh, every murmur

seems to go through my skin

as if I do not even need ears

I hear everything you are saying

and everything you are not saying

Feeling no need to respond

only to listen to the sublime reverberation

When you are in my arms

I count the soft brushes of your eyelashes on my cheek

I watch the blues continuously change

Diving into the deep ocean

every single moment I get the chance

Kiss the lids when they are closed

every single moment I get the chance

When I am in your arms

your cheek softens into mine

your lips soften into mine

your muscles soften into mine

your skin softens into mine

my pulse races

my mynd fills with the momental moment

and my soul comes home

every single time

I long to lay next to you

fingers entwined

with no where to go

nothing to do

but count momental moments

I long to sit at the breakfast table

fingers entwined

coffee cups to lose count of

dishes to leave for later

I long to ride in the car

fingers entwined

waiting for a kiss at each red light

until we get lost

I long for every introduction

fingers entwined

standing proud next to you

meeting each pair of eyes

I long for every twinge of pain

fingers entwined

counting each difficult momental moment

as a gift of time that I get to be with you

I long for the deepest of sleeps

fingers entwined

legs entwined

waking to constellations

that trace across your shoulders

I long for the sound of you laughing

fingers entwined

the silence of you crying

fingers entwined

the sharp of your anger

fingers entwined

the still of your peace

fingers entwined

I long for every moment

I can imagine

I long for every moment

I cannot

I long for all the moments in between

For if every moment

is lived with this fullness

with this ease of knowing

with this natural union

with this reverence of presence

then monumentous events can be everyday moments
and everyday moments can be monumentous events