My Golden Shovel Poem

The art of losing isn’t hard to master – Elizabeth Bishop

When you told me the
lines I drew in my skin were art
intricate patterns of
pain you saw as love, and the blood that I was losing
as sweet elixir, I knew this isn’t
the way to treat a hard
case so determined to
make pain its master.

Art

Art is theft
It steals time
It steals sanity
It steals clarity
It steals health
It steals wealth
It steals breath

Art is life
It fills the time spent doing nothing
It gives voice to the deep secrets inside
It pulls out our darkest parts and makes understand ourselves
It feeds us on cold nights of the soul
It spreads to others who appreciate and purchase and beg for more
It reminds us to breathe when we have run out of breath

Dear Future Lover

Dear future lover,

I am something you may have met before
But I am not certain

I am a bag of anxiety and uncertainty
They are specific and general
Sometimes they can be soothed
Sometimes they can’t
I need you to believe me
When I tell you what I need

I have baggage
It is clearly sorted and labeled
I can give you a guided tour
There are some dusty hat boxes in the back
That rarely need to be inventoried
There are trunks near the front
Battered and often opened
That should be reviewed first

I have people in my life who are non-negotiable
I have my limits
I have my boundaries
I have them with you too
I expect you to have them too

I do not respond well
To passive aggressive bullshit
Ask me
Tell me
Compromise with me
You will find me infinitely more agreeable

There are nights you won’t be able to touch me
There nights I will rock your world
I expect the same will be true of you
Please tell me
And let me tell you

My brain is my very own enemy
And I live with it every day
If you find me difficult
I find myself even worse

I will give my opinion
I will argue my reasoning
And I will tell you what I think
I expect the same of you

We won’t always agree
I don’t expect us to
Relationships are far more sticky and complex
And far more simple and easy
Than people seem to think

But I love you

Being Chased by Love

The colors swam
Before my eyes
Purples reds and golds
Kaleidoscopic visions
That solidified into one

It was her
In the middle of it all
The most unattainable goddess
Of beauty, light, and love
And she was holding out her arms to me
The most unworthy of supplicants
To hold me
To cradle me
And tell me that I was hers

I turned away in fear
I ran far and fast
I saw blacks and greys
I saw the whole world in blacks and greys
Nothing could compare to her
Nothing would correct my vision but her

Still I ran
I ran fast and far
I ran to the highest mountains
I dove into the blackest caverns
I saw the world in shades of white and shadow
Still nothing could compare to her
Nothing was as beautiful as her

I was walking through a field of flowers
On a windy day in spring
I cried because I could only see white and grey
I turned
My vision was filled with her red hair
Her porcelain face
Her green eyes
The swirls of purple and gold on her dress
She held out her arms to me
And held me in a field of daffodils

She had chased me
Her most unworthy supplicant
Through every trial and and mountain and valley and cavern
She had chased me
She healed me
And now she holds me
Tight
In arms that I never want to escape

Hold My Hand When the World Ends

The world has come to an end
It’s a sea of black
And I can’t find my friend

The world has come to an end
There was a bang and a crash
My cell phone rang

The world has come to an end
He managed to get one word to me
Mountain

The world has come to an end
I pack only essentials
I wear my trusted shoes

The world has come to an end
We are a moving caravan
We are all heading in one direction

The world has come to an end
People fall
Others give up and sit in the road

The world has come to an end
We are pushing each other uphill
The strong and the weak alike

The world has come to an end
I reach up and grasp a hand
And I’m pulled into arms I know

The world has come to an end
But I’m holding my friend’s hand
As we watch the whole world burn down

Magical Nights

I saw people I haven’t seen
In years now
Living in the same city
But absorbed in our own lives
We come together in happiness
We come together in joy
Scattered throughout my life
We hug
And whisper proclamations
Of love and adoration

I saw doppelgangers
Of people I dearly miss
So completely similar
I nearly called out their names
They are wishes
Desires to embrace those
That I haven’t seen in years
I want to hold them close
Tell them they never left my heart
And they never will

Magical nights like these
Are my favorite nights of all

Eternal Mother

The land knows you, even when you are lost
-Robin Wall-Kimmerer

While wandering
I lost my way
But I found I did not care

The trees unfamiliar
The trail long gone
But still I did not care

I laid down in the moss and leaves
Staring at the sky
I have no will to care

The earth embraced me
Cradling and soothing me
Whispering that there is no need to care

I am loved
I am remembered
This land will always care

Metanoia

Metanoia
I am on the road to Metanoia

Things cannot stay the way they are
This no longer works
This is no longer sustainable

Metanoia
I am on the road to Metanoia

Standing before a mirror
I no longer like what I see
I no longer like what I am

Metanoia
I am on the road to Metanoia

Talking gently to myself
Is a task I am unfamiliar with
Is a task I have to learn

Metanoia
I am on the road to Metanoia

Scales falling from my eyes
I have nearly killed myself
I have nearly rebuilt myself

Metanoia
I am on the road to Metanoia

Packing for a journey with no destination
This is what has to happen now
This is the only option left

Metanoia
Let them know
I am on the road to Metanoia

A journey of changing one’s way of life
Because nothing else is working

We are Louisiana

I can smell if you are from Louisiana
Something in your blood
Calls out to mine
Something in your eye shine
And gentle face
And the color of your skin
No matter the shade
Something always tells me

I am yours
You are mine
We are lovers
We are family
We are far from home
We always carry home with us
Where two or more of us are
That is Louisiana

Private Morning

Putting moonbeams in my coffee
To make it taste sweet
I step into the fog on the porch
The whole world wrapped in a collective hush

Even from this distance
I can smell the fir trees
Their thick aroma combining
With my dark liquid and clandestine cigarette

I add to the mist surrounding me
As the smoke slips from my lungs
The cold concrete bites my bare feet
Punishment for my quiet sin

I hear the clatter of a canteen on the dock
Followed by a shout, “Damn thing!”
Just an old man heading out for the day
Just as he has done every day

I turn back to the house
Rest my cup on the shelf
Flick ash into the cut glass receptacle
That I took from my grandfather’s house when he died

This quiet morning
Before the day begins
Is my greatest joy
My private ecstacy

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