In the creak and give of floorboards,
hollow of trees felled by storms,
fists of despots, palms of departing lovers,
click of deadbolts, swing of doors;
What if poetry were as recognizable to the general public as commercial jingles (The best part of waking up, is Folger’s in your cup), pop music, or celebrities?
Now that that holidays are over and I have had a chance to catch my breath and think about 2018 (I wrote a post about my goals for Capital Good Fund in 2019, which you can read here), I figured it’d be fun to quickly write down some of my highlights of the year:
Being a poet, and writing poetry, requires that one be capable of touching the taut, electric rope that connects the valleys and hills of Earth with the horizons and vastness of sky and space, and that one do so without recoiling from the pain or being overwhelmed by the view.
Throughout my adult life I have, time and again, tried to answer the following question: how much could I accomplish, how much could I experience, were I to not waste so much time and instead discipline and channel my energy […]
She isn’t loud, but neither is she quiet, the breeze.
Her whispers are parcels lost to time,
Her hem a memory that rustles upon the sky.
She carries a timeless correspondence
Penned by writer we cannot know,
Delivered to a lover we cannot see.
Where is the future? Surely not beyond my window!
Surely not in the leaves that listen to the past!
The breeze trembles before she is shaken.
I stand to face her, the breeze.
She reminds me of a nameless something;
She is a sieve collecting dreams in air.
I too am a breeze, I tell her. I too swirl
And swirl and swirl, ad infinitum.