Mad Poetry Tuesday

"Read books," they said. Like it was just  A story. Like it couldn't shape you, Rearrange your thoughts, make you feel More than ever.  But opening a book was Opening yourself. Inviting the words To remake you. "It's just a story," I repeat, broken at the table.  Pieces of me, pieces of an author, Mixed like a pile of jigsaw  Dumped out by a two year old And waiting for an adult to put it back.  I can rebuild this.  But I flip over the empty box, Trying to match the picture To what lies scattered.  It's not the same. I contain Multitudes, and questions,  And someone's version of an answer, And my version, and the truth.  And maybe I'll pour coffee on all the  Pieces. Reduce them to wood pulp That I might remake them into Paper, instead of something to solve.  And then I'll write some words As beautiful as the ones that unraveled  My being. And I'll sit at the table  Of life. Renewed. Rewritten, again.

Don't trust any ordinary honey, Sugar. You want to know where she's been. Make sure she introduces herself as Orange Blossom, Or Wild Flower. Make sure she tastes like warm sun, And spring rain, and sunflowers. You see, nature takes on its surroundings. Can you smell the peach and plum trees, In your cooling cup of tea? Can you speak of where the roots grew, And why you are worthy Of a sip?

"Do you have enough light?" I know, my dear, that you asked With concern for my eyes, As the dimness fills the room, As the book written with words like "Sometiendo" lays in my lap. And I say, "Yes." But what I mean Is, "I am light." What I mean Is "The light of all of you will Find its way." What I mean is "Yes, I have enough light To cast off this darkness, This night, and all nights." Yes, I have enough. We have enough.

I went outside to sit in the warmth, To drink in the heavy heat pouring down. I took books with me, half a dozen, truly, And I turned them over, page after page. The clouds moved in, scattering moments of cold, As those warm rays are held back, I wonder If I should go inside, but instead I wait For the shade to pass into light again, that distant fire felt. A chapter of fiction, a few poems about Being somewhere else, and I just want to be here On this deck, feeling burned by the sun and Uncomfortable by the things that tread overhead. My dog scuttles up beside me, I called him From playing in the garden. I'm going to plant Some seeds today. The wind picks up and he leans Into my legs, a force of warmth and smiles. "Have you read the one about writing yet?" His eyes ask me and I shake my head, almost Done with the poetry about being somewhere, I watch the birds drink from the broken sprinkler below. I don't think the sun is coming back. But he leans A little harder, m...

"I don’t know how to be an ocean,” she said. To become an ocean, Don't drown in yourself. Reflect the sky, as above. Feel the pitch black of night And the torches of stars, the only guides Until morning. Welcome those who would tread, And the urchins, and feel the trash islands Press you down. Press back, harder. Know the temporary. Be a receiver of boats, of Ships passing in the night. Don't let high tide Have any more strength than low tide. It's all part of the process. When the rage surges through your waves, Know the stillness that once caught you Breathless at the shore. “I don’t know how to be an ocean,” she said. Don’t hold back. Overflow, and Recede when you’re ready. But go ahead, Taste saline. And feel the wind against your back. Know you can be destructive, a force of unpredictability, And also the peace someone else is looking for. Do you feel your depth? There are pieces of you, so below, no one has ever seen, even...

Yo salto de libro en libro Como un pájaro vuela de rama en rama. Los dos buscamos comida, y conexión, y cantamos todo el tiempo. Pero a veces no puedo cantar. Descanso sobre una rama Por solo minutos. Veo que hay algo para ver, Pero no lo veo. En lugar, Estoy viendo todas las ramas, Las paginas, al mismo tiempo. Y no hay música. Hay silencio y asombro, Porque el día se ha convertido la noche. Y el sol, las estrellas.