approach
Think too much
or nothing at all
if it has to be
everything works
involvement of brain
can destroy the pain
heart does not listen
where to gain
So chuck them all
do what makes you happy
at the moment
Close
I’m still here awake
against what my body tells
I’m still there awake
Holiday
We only want a beach with white sand,
something we can sift through with our fingers
the way sunlight filters through the trees.
But something else will be at work here as we,
too, pass through the warm days like waves
weighing nothing.
Perhaps it is the water that will pass through,
clinging to our bodies, seeking to fill us with
what we’ve lost, that fundamentality city life
has robbed us of, clothing us with its own
brand of affection, embracing us, reminding us
to return to what is less.
We will live again in a hut, waking with the sun,
forgetting for a while the rush of all that we are
not, the dark office walls, the callous desks and
chairs, the indifferent floor, the department
voices, the hands holding phones and tools, the
feet encased in steel boots.
Near the beach, we will eat each day, closer to
the earth, closer to the water and the sky, necks
not needing to strain, fingers to grasp, eyes to
pierce. We will speak gently again, genuinely,
meaning even every word we do not say, giving
more room to own time.
© Ella Wagemakers, 12.55 Dutch time (= 6.55 EST in the US)
Poem 15: After All This Time
I would still stand helpless,
wanting to talk about Hillary,
just as we talked about her
in 2008, deciding it wasn’t her
time yet. We were right about that,
but wrong about everything else.
We parted company and both
worked hard for Obama, our
hearts far apart, but our souls
still connected, deep purple,
women of faith, capable of depths
only imagined in dreams.
Mine, not yours. Do you still think
I’m too young for you, too impulsive,
too intense? Go ahead, then. Head on
into old age without me. Wade in, deep
end of the pool. Tread water as long as
you can. After you finish forgetting me,
I would love to take care of you, brush your
hair, bring you Irish Soda Bread, and soup.
A Non-Traditional Love Poem
I love myself
I truly do
It’s just about time someone else
Did too.
(c) Gemma Hinton 14/6/15
hour 17
For give me father I beg of you
I left you there this is true
The nursing home I come to visit but in that wheel chair is not my dad
I look,I talk, I hold your hand, but with that blank stare you can’t remember the fun we had
You were a jack of all trades, and the world’s best provider
Now this disease has taken you away, no memories of anything I wish things looked brighter
Dear dad I’m sorry for the wrongs I have done, it wasn’t your fault when I did those bad things
My punishment is this watching you die, it tears me apart will it be today in my head that thought rings
Dad you are the greatest man that I know, a role model, a hard worker these values you’ve taught me
Well you need your rest and I must now go, but dad your the man I will always work harder to strive to be
I cry once I leave and slowly fall apart
I miss you and love you dad with all of my heart
Love
Calling our souls
Angel holes
Self completion
Shows
Vibrating bowls
Within
A grin
What We Share
The feelings we share
are meant to be
You give me the strength I need
I see myself in the reflection of your eyes because you are my angel.
I give my all for you
You are my everything
You are my dream come through
You are my rescuer from the shadows
Each moment together
It’s a bitter sweet taste of heaven.
I don’t want nothing different then
What we have now.
I won’t settle for a regular love.
I want explosive moments the shake us and break us down and we find our way back up, I want to hate you so much the it turns back to love.
I want us to know the all we been through has a meaning. In my eyes you came to my life to open my eyes and show me the way. I no longer afraid of you walking away. I’m happy to say I would be here into the end of our day. It’s been say is not safe to say I breath the same oxygen as you, but you are the perfect equivalent fraction. I don’t want a broken soul
I’m in the best part of the relationship
Because catastrophe hit the fence and almost broke us part and tears roll down our faces.
the end felt so near, but we stand strong now. We know to keep holding hands and giving each other the breather and space in between of it all. I like that in the end, I’m not a broken soul. Thank you my love…
—Meriyen Marquez
There are places that feel like the center of the universe.
We had our time in Jerusalem, 2009.
Suddenly everything slowed down a there was nowhere else to think to be.
First week in the old city I couldn’t stand the light,
Every brick acting as a mirror throwing fists kept me inside.
I needed some distraction or the all consuming fire of location would burn me whole.
Just moments away from the nexus of prayer, Al Aqsa Mosque and Kotel Ha’Ma’aravi.
The holy sites for book bound souls and I was afraid to see.
Slowly I climbed the steps, checked rooftops and found the passageways. Old city snakes it’s way into hearts, inspires war, “drain the blood but do not stain the street.”
I saw the very map of separation and felt safe on the wrong side of segregation.
Some time later, upon my rooftop in lotus position,
Krisha in my sky, and the god of Ezekiel.
The muezzin summon all the faithful.
I feel the pull of worship,
Confused in my belief but trying to unfold every meaning.
With the burden of another day,
Before the sun’s full scorch,
Peaceful people make the walk,
To shule or mosque or church.
Clouds can also hear the call,
Aords shake the heavens high,
And in my seat I feel the worship,
Of raindrops from the sky.