Alone with Myself

I know people say this a lot, but change isn’t always a bad thing.  I used to think that everything that resulted from change would make my life worse in some way.  I admit I was wrong.  But, to say the least, change isn’t always a great thing either.

It’s like finding the balance between light and dark in a photograph, or between black in white in a charcoal picture.  Art is as unpredictable as life.  Or, the other way around:  life is an unpredictable as art.

The creative thinking behind every work of art, whether it is a poem, a painting, a sculpture, etc., is unique to each individual person.  Everyone’s thoughts are as different as they are (which is a good thing!)  If everyone’s hopes and dreams were the same, how would anything ever get accomplished?

 

Red Flower

So many occurrences down by the river

The swing, hanging helplessly from a tree, creaks

A napkin left alone from a picnic fluttered in the wind

The river runs all the way across the land

But who knows where it will end?

 

Age-old ruins still stand tall

A mountain top overlooks the valley

The sunflower stays open all through the night

A hopeful star shines brighter than the others

Sometimes crazy hopes and dreams aren’t so crazy after all

 

You cannot judge a book by its cover

It will take you where it wants

Like the water in the river

How it takes the red flower, following the river

 

A lighthouse seems to see the beginning

The beam of light stretches all the way into the ocean

But who knows where it will end?

 

What Goes Around Comes Back Around

Have you ever felt like one day, there is no point in doing anything?  Nothing at all?  Even when you are sure that no matter what you do, something will come back around?  One word – Karma.

I am a firm believer that what you do, how you act, how you present yourself, and in what ways to you share your talents will always come back around back to you, for better or for worse.  I try to live life to the fullest, but sometimes, it seems like nothing you do will make anything better.  But you know what?  Then I always think of one word: Karma.

I wrote this poem on a day when it was windy, a bit foggy, and I was in a really depressing mood.  But somehow, through my deepest thoughts, I came up with this.  I hope interpreting it isn’t too much trouble.  But hopefully it will make you think closely about the words more than you would have during a day when everything was going your way.  🙂

Further

A maze of uncharted territory

Lost in a sea of words

Common life, strong gestures

A maze of occurrences in

The common word

Outside, like in the middle of the desert

Willing eyes looked into the maze

The center of the maze looked back

A maze of words that want to be written

The thread follows each, and I try to grasp hold of it as it passes by me

The Shadow of the Day

Each new day brings a new beginning.

Sometimes it seems like everything is falling apart, but honestly, doesn’t the next day or two always seem a bit better?  As I’ve learned from experience, that rough day (or week, in some cases) will always improve, no matter how difficult is seems to be.

Find your common ground, and glue your feet to it so it won’t move out from under you when you aren’t paying attention.

 

The Shadow of Petals

The sun streamed into the windows as morning broke

Like when you see a flower bloom for the first time

And how it seems as if an uncountable number of petals will fall before it does not grow anymore

The sun decided when it wanted to shine though the slightly opened window

But you cannot decide when you want it to leave you alone

It will leave you be when it gets tired

But no sooner, and no later

It notices you too, you know

How much longer will you wait until you have the chance to become familiar with it?

Names and Lost Songs

My day was going pretty well, until I found out that my one of my best friends was in a bad mood.  One of her family friends had passed over the weekend.  I felt so sorry for her.  But, there was really nothing that I could do at the moment.

So I’ve decided that I will make her brownies for herself and her family to enjoy.

But, in the meantime (while the brownies are in the oven), I wrote a poem.  Not really related to the tragic day, but you may be able to catch a glimpse of my thoughts.

There are so many voices in my head – the only way I know how to keep them all straight is to write poems.  My train of thought may run off the tracks a bit, but that is what traffic lights are for.  🙂

 
Names and Lost Songs

The river flows through and through, consistent with the tribal words that sing into the night

But the riverbank no longer hears the sounds of the many ghosts that whisper in its ear

It cannot remember the names of those who were only recently forgotten

If it weren’t just a river, it would have gone all the way into the larger sequences

It held on tight to the names it remembers

Although the river moved into the heart of the riverbank

The lyrics to the tribal song were flowing into its mind

It has not lost the names

The names of the souls who had returned

Returned to the riverbank, where so many were saved, but so many forgotten

The Letter Never Received

When I am tired, I tend to write poetry about something that I would normally not write about.  It’s like a different side of my writing.  When I wrote this poem, it was supposed to be snowing outside…

But nothing happened.  The sky was clear, no clouds in sight – a beautiful day, really, but not what I expected.  So I sat down and wrote a poem that takes place in the snow.

But I am still waiting on those snowflakes to come down and shower the earth and grass until no more green is visible.

This is a rather short poem, but maybe I will add onto it later.

 

The Letter

Who knew these blackbirds would sing through the snow?

The snow graciously landed on their tail feathers, not waiting a moment

Before covering the land with a clean blanket

It caught the attention of the lonely blackbird

He sat on the frail branch of the tall, bare tree

And past him flew the letter that was never received

Its ink showed itself to the snow-covered bird