Sunday, October 16, 2011

more than

i love you more than
the stretch of my arms
or the capacity of a human heart
or even...
the span of an angel's wings
i love you more than
my mind's scope
or my soul's hope
more than the furthest reach
of the longest rope
i love...
more than love can be defined
more than the infinite
space of time
more than a sky's height
or an Alaskan night
more than
and fiercer than
and greater than
a lioness' fight
and even then
its rougher than
but easier than
a kayo on fight night
that is
i love you
the stretch of imagination
and a dream's escalation
the force and pull
of a planetary rotation
with showers of fire
and atmospheric changes
resulting in novas
and supernovas
of super loving explosions
*catching breath*
is a mere display of
i love you...
that i love you
more than the shells that hold us
and the experiences
and life
thats taken hold of us
more than the eons
that separate our past lives
more than
all the love stories ever scribed
more than
the heaving cries
of broken hearts
stuttering mouths
in awe of art
more than the echoing pains
of a child's birth
more than
the heat contained
at the core of the earth
when i say,
i love you...
know that
its more than
even "I" know...

Thursday, October 13, 2011

love notes

you ever hear a song...
drawn to it's title
reaffirmed by it's lyrics
wanting to share it,
but afraid
that if you do...
that one set of ears will think,
it's them to which you dedicate it?...
a musical ode
with perfect words
you could've composed yourself,
as if they'd be wrong..
when they wouldn't be
at all...
i saw a song,
i'd never heard
drawn by it's title
to which mimicked
the exact sentiment
that echoed my heart...
and as i listened,
intently to softly tickled
piano keys
playing back up harmony
to a voice
with delicate vibrato
my heart stilled...
i heard a line,
that seemed like
it was plagiarized
from the story of my heart
and i felt chills...
that this song
i'd never heard,
entitled just for me...
plucking free my feelings
from strings and love
what i want
just may be mine to have...
it's just a song, right?
not possible
that the lyrical arrangement
was arranged for me,
to one day hear
and feel the message
crystal clear...
that in the conception,
of this art
the purpose
was deeply hidden,
to be a "message in a bottle"
set to throttle me
i don't know
i didn't mean
to get deep...
i guess that song...
those lyrics...
just wrote love notes
all over me,
and i just want to
hit repeat

Wednesday, October 12, 2011


high anxiety sets in,
shoulders tense
head down,
worries up...
my attempts to smooth away
the kinks in my neck,
fall short...
my fingertips
not long enough to
trail my spine's length
i'm in heat
skin overly sensitive
to flashing thoughts
hands cupping,
kneading and needing...
wantonly wanting...
receiving nothing
performing moments
that haven't happened,
reliving the ones
too faded
to satisfy the urgent stirring...
falling in and out of love
with the imagined touches
and the deep thrusts
someone pushing me
over the edge of my ecstasy
past the point i can't see...
it ain't enough...
what is keeping me up
past dawn
has little to do
with the cold side of the bed
and everything to do
with the warmest part of my heart...
i yen for soul mate zen
the center of me
created to be
half of love's pinnacle
is restless...
it's like,
the closer a presence nears...
the louder the "silence" becomes
the tingling,
vibrates highly
almost void of sound
or human exposition
a sign of impending arrival...
it's like,
your spirit's tuning fork
he's coming,
and the sensors
located at the base of my spine,
nape of my neck,
center of my cleave,
the circumference of my navel...
is sensitive
to rawness
and all i can do is...

Sunday, October 9, 2011

heart condition

the absence of love
doesn't always breed desperation
the separation from love
at times conditions...
prepares a void
to be refilled
by the One who
garners our implicit faith...
i learn to live
with just the blessing to give
that He may,
take his holy ewer
and fill me up again...
don't make it easy...
oh, do they complicate 
the simplest...
selfishly inflicting their right to be
on me
i abhor the cliched reply
"i am...who i am"
when the truth is
that you are who He's made you to be
someone capable
of living purposefully
...beyond your surface vision
of self and ego
there lives the reflection
of that beautiful image
He created diligently...
at any time,
your power to ignite 
the fires of agape love
can spark and change your immediate world
the things you want to renovate
will tumble down
when you supplicate
and then rise like a building
as a new line in the sky...
who you are
is who you choose to be
maybe it's who you are...
to safely hide the sensitivities
and to justify the inability
to trust you... and not so much me.
and so the beat goes on...
that i'm loving humans
to the point of emptiness,
until i lean...
head back...
eyes closed...
mouth open...
to receive the love He spills into me
and that there,
isn't a thing i can explain...
not the why i do it,
not the why "they"
don't always reciprocate
just the truth,
that His vessel,
feeds my vessel,
and i, in turn feed yours...
and if more of us fed love
to the unloved,
and...put down our cups
and picked up our ladles...
no one may ever feel like,
in order to deal with absence of love...
they had to condition themselves to do without it

writing my way through...two

this is redundant
this longing
to scribe...
looking intensely
for the right vibe,
playing music
and reading...
reminiscing on when
words came easy
i just want to write...
is the thing i scream silently,
so what is it?
why do i get stuck in prose
looking for a poem?
why do i find myself,
free-styling stanzas
of vexation
to force OUT of me
what used to flow like
fountain springs?
i've been doing inventory
drinking up what drops fall
as liquid incentive...
yet i ache at the stillness
is it me?
am i changing? what i ask,
has my muse
left to bring blissful whispers
of worded pleasures
to another?
is my time up and over?
have i squandered
my poetic account?
or am i a lifetime member
of the torture and ecstasy
that comes with the artistry?
or have i become too used to the enstasy
...spending too much time
inside my mind,
rummaging through
experiences of old,
instead of creating
new slide shows
and new tides to row...
even though,
i do feel it...a little
that purge pushing past
smoke screens
and veils of veiled attempts
to ignore the tickling
at the base of my spine...
and if i had to be honest,
i'm may be in denial...
that what begs to be written,
ain't what i want to be scribbling...
hiding out in this question
when the answer,
lies barefaced
with glaring eyes...
that i need to quit trying to make it
bend to me
knowing i'm it's slave...
and not the other way around
i knew when i started asking,
two entries ago...
that i was rebelling
with my sun's stubbornness
my rising's detachment
and my moon's oblivion...
against the truth...
the truth...
and it's naked ways
beseeching me to see it,
causing blush...all the same
and now,
i'm sitting on the fence
pen ready and unsteady
afraid to see what's left
when the ink dries
blinking blankly
at the reveal...
throwing back the comfort
from what i've tried to conceal
[deep swallow]
i suppose if i obey it
give way to it
and sway with it,
that i'll unblock the passage
and my spirit will stop shimmying
and my head will quit spinning
and my heart will stop seizing...
if i'd only give my muse a reason
to return again...
to write my way through, this too
so, now
i guess i owe y'all a damn poem...
about love...

in the butterfly net...

i ink...i flow...i pen,
my soul, my words, my zen