Bro stop it
you’re doing it again
slow down, ask, listen
there you go
undisguised and mercenary
but it’s a start
give her space give her time
allow her the space to rhyme
and allow the moment to blossom
if it will
for it won’t always and
you know what
that’s ok
Tag: random
Small Symmetries
she allows herself a moment
to gather
her thoughts
twirl about the room
a madcap extravaganza
upon which she smiles
in mild horror
before breathing deep
whispering lines of eternity
laying her hand upon the book
dreams of ancient stories
her heart sang in harmony
in strong swift music
upon which she stands
a sunlit autumn meadow
and a picnic feast laid out
she muses
open hands
broad lines down the highway
time stretches
A Little of This
Hello my friends! I sit here in a random coffeeshop this hour. Or actually not so random. Antidote, long time no see. I believe it’s been years since I’ve actually sat here with my laptop to write. It’s strange to be back again but also kind of homey and I have now realised I need to come here more often. Mayhaps you will fill this hole in my cosy coffeeshop craving heart that has not fully healed since the closing of EQ. We shall see. But for now? It’s kind of nice to feel comfortable and at ease in coffeeshop with partial grunge/industrial vibes. I’m weird I know, come out and say it. Anyways! What shall I write? It’s a luxury this afternoon, I have a bit of unhurried time in which I can simply sit here and write and/or read and I don’t have anywhere I have to be for a few hours. What is this wonderful gift that has been granted me!? So I sit here now with my hot decaf americano and sip slowly, grateful for a fully-charged laptop, a beautiful upright chair (why is back support so important these days – I suppose I am not in my 20s anymore…) and the beautiful buzz of background conversation that makes me feel as if I am in the midst of people living their lives and talking about drama and I feel most assuredly that as I type here and now I am not alone. Well, of course I know that and generally I do not give in to melancholia (please no one call me a liar, especially please don’t quote any of my poems), but sometimes the silence that comes with sitting in your own room can make one feel a bit claustrophobic and manic at times. You know? Is that just me? Hm. I have forgotten how alive I feel when I write at a coffeeshop. Of course all this typing now is just nonsense stream-of-consciousness perfectly geared to warm up my writing muscles and relax my mind in order that I might more sweetly seduce my muse into giving up some of her charms to me this lovely December afternoon. We shall see how successful I am and I am most certainly not promising anything profound. But do I enjoy writing just for the sake of it sometimes? A thousand times yes, even if nothing productive or beautiful results. So I make up the tenth person in this small coffeeshop (not counting barista – for some reason, no one ever does count the barista, hm) and as I sweep the small confines with my gaze, I feel my heart warm as I consider these wonderful men and women whom I share this space with this day. I wonder what their heart fills with as they sit here breathing the same air as I. I ponder what dreams rage within their hearts as their faces flush with anticipation for what their soul longs. For me, I am grateful that I can in peace and quiet write a few words. I feel my heart slow and my mind still as I prepare to enjoy this most beautiful afternoon. Peace and love, my friends.
moments counting
Many stanzas unrelated yet not perhaps entirely
We walk down those faded corridors
marked with water stains
and faded ink
and broken promises
hand in hand we go
with light steps
and broken hearts
the light shines down on your face
and your eyes tell the story
that your lips never would
as they move to count down
i raise a finger to shush
i already know the time
yet you move closer
She stands upon the doorstep
tilting her head curiously
and as i raise my hand
and start to pretend
i change my mind and say
let’s have a nice long talk
as we go for a walk alongside
the sea
hello my darling let’s not pay the toll today
for it’s been paid so many times before
surely it counts for something
the frequency of our visits
maybe a loyalty program of sorts
instead spread some jam and butter upon that scone
and i’ll pour you a cup of tea
and let’s open the book and dive deep into what we’ve read
and talk lit and art and most of all what it means
to be immersed in this systematic theology
Reading upon a sofa sprawled out all comfy in my way
and upon the table burns a candle marking the time since
and she walks in and stares at me and says
really have you moved at all?
and of course not i say although that’s not entirely true
for i may have gotten up to change the music once or twice
but in sentiment she understands and smiles and rolls her eyes
and leans over and pats my leg and tells me to relax
i wish i could fall into a book like that
how does theology affect our lives i wonder
and though some may say it really doesn’t
i would argue then what’s the point
for then your theology’s bereft
and all your thinking has no merit
true true they answer back and so why bother?
i turn to them and say consider this
if God’s real and true and all that?
and if furthermore he’s written to us of himself?
well i’d like to understand
at least in such feeble way as this mind dares to grasp
understanding they say is futile for how can what is finite
comprehend the infinite
it can’t
truly
for only when the infinite and finite has somehow married
can there be a listening to the radio that is now tuned
but how – there can be no such
and yes i also wondered until i considered that this question
has been answered
hence why i’m reading theology
and seeing the poetry of God
this strange, wonderful symmetry that is god made man
and sent down from eternity to walk this earth
and then die upon a tree
this sweetest simplest theology
of God who made a way to be known by feeble, finite, little ol me
she tenderly caresses the cover of the book before her
wondering if she dares to open the cover
will the writing match the gorgeousness of the artwork?
she hears a whisper
yes
taste and see
One more girl hangs out the 3rd floor window
and shouts down to me of what she’s found
what is that i say
cry louder!
and she says i won’t but i’ll do you one better
i’ll come down
the sunset ripples through the sky
and i breathe in deep the last remnants
and wait for my God to draw me nigh