Tag Archives: courage

Caged Birds and Flowers

Flowers fade

bee lay to rest its days of care

fox slips into dreamless sleep unseen

even the song must cease

– that song the caged bird sings

and yet

Breath comes in

Breath goes out

strength renewing

for I drink in the air

you breath – last, new, and still

your fear is mine

your courage is mine
mine is yours as well.

Un-aged advice for living

For all the ways I could say life is this or that
having yet to live until the age of experience gives me title
I shall simply say what has guided me thus far: Live your life in truth, be who you are and do so with courage, ferocity, and joy. You will stumble, fall, doubt, weep, mistake, mumble and crawl
but you will be you with all the rights that accomplishment contains. Wiser women and men have regretted not living, doing, or being so let us honor their regret with none ourselves and where they fell short, let us honor them and succeed.

Yes, even poets fear.

I have not written a ‘spit’ in quite some time. Plenty of material has landed at my feet but nothing has dragged me kicking and screaming to the door of my mind ready to slam conviction at a piece of paper and thus an audience.  I have written pieces inspired by the people who have ventured to my facebook and wordpress pages.  Words both holding messages and some simply off the cuff little miracles. Some slip over the skin like a lover’s longing and others simply warm the heart like an old friend sitting with you on a cold night.  I have been writing, just not slamming.

I have wondered, am I afraid?

Perhaps.

Even poets get scared. Poetry exposes the author and the reader. It is one of the few ways to tap both sides of the brain and come out the other side beautiful, exposed, and vulnerable. Poetry IS the poet and hopefully becomes the reader. It is an intimate dance without touching – connected only by words and visions, painted sometimes skillfully other times not.  I digress.

So why can’t I write a slam piece? A spit. Plain and simple. I am afraid of something.  When fear happens, the pen hesitates. It shifts to safer margins. It avoids edges.  It seeks blue lined, wide ruled, pre punched holed paper, and waits.

I question, what am I afraid of?

Truth? perhaps.

Spitting is about truth. Poetry is about truth. If you really look at it. If you really dig deep there is no poem not bathing naked in a poet’s truth. Every line slips out a secret. Every period, comma, or lack there of, undresses her without care to the state of the poet at all. But that is the lure of poetry – that is the poet’s obsession. How to move, be moved, and stay one syllable ahead of the reader or audience.  We are a morphing bunch. We are a soul few who long to trip through the world, taste it, devour it, caress it, love it, flip it over and dive into it. So what the hell am I afriad of?!

What if. perhaps.

What if truth is not what I want it to be? What if, I discover some of my long standing beliefs I no longer believe? What do I do with this?!  How do I proceed?  Is this even about writing a spit or is this about finding out I am lost and traversing my way back to my path?  Is this about someone else finding me? Is that what this note is about? Would someone even look? or know where to? Who would it be…. and if they knew the truth of me, would they try?  Would I?

Why am I afraid?

Me.

I am afraid becaue I know, without a doubt, I am not being completely truthful.  That is not to say it is intentional, that is to say I am just aware.  I realize I am holding my pen to the middle of the page and hesitating.  I am not sure how I got here.  I am not entirely sure what courses of events or “lies” even moved me to this position, but it is clear I am not pursuing my passion to its fullest potential, which is Poetry in its hardest form. The hardest form of poetry is truth.

One truth is – I am afraid but I am going to figure this out anyway. I have championed #Be_____  courageous, awesome, authentic, brave…  and I must, without a doubt, be willing to do the same things I ask / demand of others.

And so I shall.

What am I afraid of?  I am going to find out.

Inconsequential

Delight in moments inconsequential

billowing across blue watercolor skies

breathe in the vision

close your eyes and draw them on memory

for these are treasures waiting

to reveal themselves when consequential

days gather weight and storm

Upside Right Thinking

earth circle round

get pushed up

get back down

the world is sometimes up

side right and

Somedays we lose

all our fight

but just when

the when is too much

to think about

the sun rises

the moon sets

and another day

dawns with another

chance to take a step

towards courage

us, change.