Friday, July 27, 2012

finding lines

i gotsta find
some divine lines...
...for somewhere,
deep down
is a reservoir
of dammed lines
squiggly lines
straight lines
jagged lines
wavy lines,
that flow against
my denial
and challenge my idle mind
i know they're there
lost in the bustle
raked into the corner
disguised as cinders
but amid the rubble
lie my poetic troubles
and all i wanna do is
gather them up
and splay them neatly...
i gotsta find
some divine lines
silver lines
punch lines
hooks and lines
fine and shined,
gleaming against
my shadowed
self portrait...
distressed and hard
drawn from short pencils
leaving my hands
and thoughts cluttered...
i gotsta find
some divine lines
amid these here lines
i'm digging
down deep for...
the kinda lines
that climb
and swing
from mind to mind
like zip lines...
i gotsta find
some divine lines
clearly defined...
that leads to a bottom line,
so i can breathe
and recline
... and be blessed that i...
am still able to find
literary gold mines
through rough times
right now...
i'm finding lines.

lost art

i've never felt this helpless
lost to the art
and afar from the center
so estranged from inspiration
...i don't want
every poem to be a non-poem
of poetic pain
a plea to the god of bards
to lift the weight
off of my pen...
i can't tell if it's due
to lack of paramour
or presence of apathy
either way,
i've never been here so long
it just doesn't feel like me

not only are poems stilled
and erotica chilled...
books won't bind
stories won't end
things begin...
and end again against my will
when i see works
of fellow quills
i burn with envy
for my own passions
to be fulfilled
...i can barely read
the scribes of others
while my own muse's heat
is snuffed and smothered

i feel as if this helplessness
can't be helped
...and just when,
i think i've missed it
i shrug with indifference
and nestle comfortably in it
i wallow in silence
i slop in muddled thoughts
an eerie acceptance
of aimlessness and loss

i count the pieces of me
that have broken and been cast away
all of the events remembered
like white noise on repeated play
and i know
that somewhere adrift
are the words
that escaped to be free
traipsing hand in hand
overjoyed and over me

maybe they're in Tahiti
on my dream escapade
tanning, swimming and floating
basking in French Polynesian rays
i might be able to locate
a few in the family i never made
or took up with another poet,
spoken words on a stage
it's possible,
they grew wings
and became angels
with "mi abuela"
all fitted with little halos
some stuffed in a box
interlaced around a ring
or maybe they've become lyrics...
waiting for me to sing

i just wish i didn't feel strange
a stranger to it all
i want to find my place again
i want to do it all
i want poetry
and novels
and erotica
and blogs
i want it easy
like it once was
before this overcast of fog
find me...
return to me,
i miss my inner bard
i want words, stanzas and depth again...
i want to find my heart

in the butterfly net...

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