Scuttlebutt

There’s a thousand different ways

I could spin it, slant its effect

My version of what happened

But truth has a way of seeping out

Even in depictions we try to hide

From the world and ourselves

Only a fool would dare bother- now

 

It seemed a bit odd and yet

Fashionably accepting, for even us

Maybe even too accepting

To look forward to a bit later

Like hours later, each night

As being some quick triumph

And then again further onwards

As in like tomorrow morning

Being somehow the new summit

To aim for, to conquer if but only

In the space in our convoluted minds

As far as getting over- it all, again

While we steep- in muck

 

Maybe in some foolish respects

That kind of mess we lived

Replaced what we had- and lost

And thereby replaced reality

Any sense of normalcy or love

And getting from here to there

In love was all a bit more perfunctory

Like breathing, unnotably

In our most mundane of daily’s

 

Perhaps along our heart’s pathway

We lost what it meant to be us

What it meant to love one another

When we threw the compass overboard

And simply headed to new horizons

Braving those head on waves

Unconcerned of the weather or hunger

As our souls simply sought

To bestow something greater to another

Without concern of what we might gain

Lacking any fear of landing anywhere

Least of all- here, in this place- today

 

All I know now, was in that moment

When our ship of love went down

Was seeing your image swim away

Until you were merely a mirage fading

You- never looked back once

I’d bet my life you would, I would’ve lost

Oddly, I feel now as if I won

 

I clung on the mast, and our loves flag

As I choked on waves of bitter truth

My body, my mind slowly grew numb

Floating off in the tide’s changing currents

Almost as if I remained, in nights darkness

Never setting anywhere close to-a bit later

As if they were tiny islands of refuge

That we had become so accustomed to

Until the charity of a drier shoreline

Bequeathing granules of time, spilt over

Offered me a place far from the wreckage

Of that shattered little sailboat of- us

Where the illusion of love existed

Far more than reality of love…for one of us

 

Poet of the Light © 2019

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Understandably

Love- is not painful by nature

Human perversion does that

Taking away its unique beauty

In order to claim ownership

Of love itself, all that it derives

Crudely etching one’s inscription

Across some fabric of delusion

 

Pain itself is discreetly infused

When the enchanted emotions

Of love is discolored, then abused

Only those who wish to misuse love

Would dare promote its wreckage

As being a necessity in loves quest

When the truth is, love only- loves

And humans, well they do the rest

 

Lust is who wears that false face

The true thief, of human hearts

Boldly stealing what otherwise

It could never obtain- or touch

Dragging us all most unwittingly

Into depths of sheer darkness

After tethering our deep fears

Submerged, we’re wet embers

 

It is there, in that dark palace

Where we are left abandoned

Far from where love intended

And the only thing we dare rein

Is our own infected imagination

Whilst our hearts beat onward

Its distinct song in silent hope

Our true lover will come along

And rescue us and truth of…love

 

Poet of the Light © 2019

 

 

 

Strangelove

Oh, how most deceitfully

Love is tooled- and betrayed

Wearing the face of a friend

We thought we’ve known or

Worse yet, yet to meet before

We are unexpectedly forced

To wear loves twin face: the fool

 

Never have I loved a stranger

That I permitted access within

Which lead to open humiliation

At least whence a stranger did

Break my heart in two or more

They be unaware of their power

Deaf my heart beat…their name

 

Poet of the Light © 2018

 

Phobic

I fear now- even your most faint

Of whispers more than you know

For they may steal away remnants

Beheld as my treasures of heart

Like massive arched headers

Scattered amongst the ceiling

Resting on old slim tall timbers

Stress cracked alone in darkness

Sleeping spider webs do hang

Still clinging to lost fragments

Of your scent, kiss, warm touch

Along with pictures and even

Yesterday’s shattered dreams

When your love…knew me

 

Poet of the Light © 2018

 

Fingerprints of loved

 

I need something greater than most dare offer

I must have that utmost real raw connection

A kind that starves for my soul gasps- betwixt tears

 

I don’t want to live some whimsical storybook

On life’s pages we call days and or nightscape

While we’re all real pages to each other- now

 

I don’t want a kind of connection the world craves

Living lies as a world pretends a truth went untold

I want the one filled with everyday sacred nuances

 

I don’t want to love you for your blonde dyed hair

I need to love your dark roots- fearfully kept hidden

Not to shame, because they stem the realness of you

 

I don’ want to kiss colored animalistic lipstick

As it serves like some glass wall form of your lips

And thereby cheating us of our true intimacy

 

I need to trace my fingertips over your bodily canvass

Touching every blemish of your true flawed rawness

And thereby honestly touching the scars of your soul

 

I must know your ideology is a way of quotidian living

And not some culture fade of feeling excluded- so

I can respect our differences as truth, not ignorance

 

I want to tear with you when your plant prematurely dies

Not because of your feeling undeniably incompetent

But because you’ve earnestly cared enough, to love it

 

I need to love you for all the mistakes the world made

Of you while you were learning to become yourself

In your share of foolish choices, trying to correct theirs

 

I want to know smirky you can’t answer my question

Because you childishly swiped a chocolate caramel

Knowing full well they’re from my favorite stash

 

I need to feel the corner of your grin in my heart

As we speak over long distance space apart

When your image is beheld within my imagination

 

I want to see the grimace on your face

As you silently admit to losing a position

Yet refuse to utter defeat; resolve of dignity

 

I want to know your best learned knowledge

Came from tearfully watching the movie

Not some book you stumbled through in silence

 

I want to catch the stench a smoked cigarette

Clinging desperately to your perfumed skin

Not because your guilty, because your human

 

I want to embrace all your broken shards

That have become a mosaic facet of you are

In the way multicolored petals do to a flower

 

I need your perspiration to flow naturally

As we entertain each other’s lustful bodies

Thereby accepting animalistic indicative scent

 

I need to believe when life abandons my body

That you be there, still living, embracing my soul

Not because your alone; because you’ve known- me

 

I need not to be nakedly embraced void of honesty

I need to be ensnarled in all your innate perplexities

Only then will I feel finally loved…for those of mine own

 

Poet of the Light © 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Half-Finished heaven

(c) Tomas Transtromer

Despondency breaks off its course.
Anguish breaks off its course.
The vulture breaks off its flight.

The eager light streams out,
even the ghosts take a draught.

And our paintings see daylight,
our red beasts of the ice-age studios.

Everything begins to look around.
We walk in the sun in hundreds.

Each man is a half-open door
leading to a room for everyone.

The endless ground under us.

The water is shining among the trees.

The lake is a window into the earth.

Reflection-

My personal take when I first read this poem to me was; I think in one aspect it serves to tell us that despondency is like water; where it fills and feels at home within the vessel that holds it so closely guarded. Perhaps in part because despondency may well be for some of us, the last of our feelings we can still manage to feel within the eye of a storm we alone have become and out of an earnest love, we refuse to share it.