Let Go

When the moon rises high, like a celestial eye
a voice rides upon the whipping wind, saying,
“Let go, let go…change is coming.
“Bend, bend…be like the wise Willow and not the stubborn Oak.”
Before the witching hour,
every heart and mind drifts to the ruminations of the past.
All the what-if’s, the regrets, the should’s and could have been’s
cycle within the heart, like a clock upon the wall.
With every ticking of its hand,
hearts church with the fears and unknowns of tomorrow.
But indeed this is to be human.
But oh, to be wise…
To be self-aware…
One must allow themselves to ponder each emotion and every fear,
to journey the emotional gauntlet without shame,
so that their soul’s myriad of questions may be answered.
Answers that vary as vastly as the sands within the seas,
answers that already lie within every heart –
if one only has the courage to see them.
Hate wickedness, but do not hate your humanity.
Hate complacency, but do not hate the seasons of your preparation.
You will soar, but first you must run  – light and free.
Leave the burdens you bear behind you.
Memories are a beautiful gift, but they cannot hold you,
or embrace your tear streaked face.
Let go of all that swallows you, and look up.
Change is coming.
And in these hours of pensive thought, the gentle voice whispers again,
“Let go…  let go… be like the Willow.
“Bend with the wind that would break you.
“And you will stand stronger than the oldest of Oak’s.”

 

9th out of 12

Monsters

There’s a monster in the mist

Dark shape looming

Arms reaching

Teeth snapping

Coming through our world from lands unknown

Roots in the ground

Leaves on it’s arms

It’s just a tree

 

There’s a monster in the closet

Shifting in the dark

Eyes glowing

Throat growling

Slipping through the back doors in dimensions

Buttons

Air vents

Just a coat and an air current

 

There’s a monster in my head

Whispering softly to me

Dreams of blades and blood

Wishes for my own destruction

Smiles at me

With familiar eyes

No easy explanation for this one

It really is a monster

And there is no escape

TRUMP TOWER

Stick and suck,

the glass is slick

perfect to stick and suck

58 floors of glass

to fame and fortune

the ultimate huckster

draws the worlds attention

to me, a little bug

with suction stickers

rhythmically,

carefully,

climbing the slick surface

slick as the surface of the wizard who lives here

whose magical powers have enchanted the kingdom

holding all in thrall

a fat bug casting a spell

seeming to be shiny and smooth

I will climb this surface

that reflects all looks

the mirrored surface

opaque

but fragile

easily cracked and broken.

Stick and suck

the glass is slick.

I climb to fame and fortune

it is all a fairy tale

but where is the knight pure of heart

where is the wise fool

where is the innocent maiden

who will slay the loathsome bug?

not me.

I just want to cut me off a hunk of this jive.

 

Pantoum (my attempt–totally got lost in it)

You said you didn’t want me to keep it

and that pushed me to the edge

because initially you said that you did

now you say it is because I am so far away

 

so you don’t want me to keep it

like you didn’t want me to take birth control

and you would put it in your hands and god’s

but now you say its because I am so far away

 

so I decided that I didn’t care if you didn’t want me to keep it

because you pushed me to the edge

you didn’t want me to take birth control

and said for me to place trust in your hands

and god’s

so I did

 

You aren’t a bad guy

I just learned to be my own friend

and now that you see my strength

and that I’ve flown out of your hand

Now you are on board with me keeping it

and said you would definitely stand up and be a good dad

Hour 9 Trails

Barely solid ground,

bits of the walkway splinter

and sway.

Mired to the hip on the right,

possibly bear bait on the lift.

Will you still run

when this path is your only choice?

Fulfillment

Every day is filled with unplanned events

Some are good, some are not

We are forced to deal with each

In the moment

 

Anxiety and depression

Color each, making it bigger than it is

It can be consuming

And overwhelming

 

But one must decide

And deliberately react

In a way that will lessen the blow

Letting it stay surfaced as it belongs

 

Taking the good, the bad,

The hard to understand

And focusing to stay above it

Learning from it and accepting it

 

Discovering along the way

That each has a place

And can lead to growth

If we are willing

 

Until we accept life

Embrace the changes with resolve

Welcome the unpredictable

And realize that it all leads to fulfillment.

 

The real-ness. 

The emotion.  

The questions.

Life.

Hour 9- Glass

Glass echoes

Silent in shatters

Windows of the soul

Concrete opacity

I step lightly onto a path

Made from transparency

Not quite willing to be seen

But my soul visible

If someone throws a stone

Or an insult

Or dares to walk too close

 

 

 

Hour 7 – Insomnia

Prompt for Hour Seven

Government agencies have recently started distributing
Bunnies, kittens and hamsters
At retirement homes and infant hospitals
In a bid to promote understanding of furry mammals
And mitigate their suicidal tendencies

Last night it was reported that infant groups had blockaded the streets
Waving banners and screaming undemocratic unhearables
Demanding chocolate crispies and bubble wraps, choking-hazard or otherwise

This evening, reports came in of elderly people breaking into mental health institutions
Taking over exclusive padded cells
Trying out strait jackets
Laughing with manic abandon
Making tea
Slowly shuffling along unauthorized corridors

Sombre spokespeople on the TV grimly contemplate the tense situation
There is talk of a possible recall of the furry mammals program
Some have suggested bringing in reptiles and amphibians
To promote the values of ennui and introspective silence
After all, who cares for marginalized dissent when you can sleep

Summertime

We recall the days
When we were happy
How we used to play
In the sun
Chasing fireflies
At night
Beating the streetlights
Home
How happy those day were

Fields of France

Fields of France

 2015-07-19 05.22.24

Those millions of nameless faces

Feeding the acres of French wheat with their bones

Are sold by the dozens to strangers

From dust-filled, cluttered antique stores.

 

Feeding acres of Belgian wheat with their bones,

Century-old, beautiful boys,

From dust-filled, cluttered antique stores,

Fade into the blood-soaked fields of time.

 

Century old, beautiful boys,

The great sacrifice of an entire generation,

Fade into the blood-soaked fields of time

At a great risk of being forgotten.

 

The great sacrifice of an entire generation,

By majors and generals who couldn’t care less,

At no risk of being forgotten,

Unlike the lads who had no choice.

 

For majors and generals who couldn’t care less,

Thousands of pages were written,

Unlike the lads who had no choice

But to march and to kill and to die.

 

Thousands of pages were written

For those millions of faceless names

Who went to march and kill and die,

Are sold, by the dozens, to strangers.

 

(c) R. L. Elke 2016