Here in my Purlieu

In My Purlieu

I am
short frame
bent body
grandfathers crooked fingers

Grandma’s depression
dark memories
fathers hate

I am water catcher
breeze mover
sky gazer

Now my fingers are wet
now I move stones
here I find shapes

Here in my purlieu
here in silence
now I am 

The smell of damp
I hear rain
small drops on skin

I am
small moments
maker of life
mother

Grandmothers smile
grandfathers skin
mother’s frown

I am shape shifter
story maker
bird watcher

So I see movement
So I have feeling
here I touch ground

Here in my purlieu
here thoughts ensue
so I am

Step aside for the birds

He declared “this is mine”, charging past.

An insignificant speck in oversized puddle-stompers,

on the attack, full speed.

    “This” 

        (the sand, the surf, the land),

    “is” 

        (the earth, the ground, the surface),

    “mine” 

        (your blink of an eye existence).

I look up to screams of victory 

amidst a scatter of black

feathered flight, 

loud disgruntled caws, 

an unwelcome disturbance

mid snack in the lo-tide.

The father stands back 

I am not sure if he’s overwhelmed

by the the explosively overt entitlement 

his young offspring just announced 

or 

proud at the hostile take-over 

of this small patch of beach.

I make light casual eye contact, 

trying hard not to judge 

but thinking hard on the matter.

I look back over to the scattering crows, 

seagulls and migrating fowl. 

Their displeasure’s become 

an aural assault in the sky.

I secretly wish for a downpour of bird shit to fall from the sky. 

I don’t even care if I am caught in the middle.

I look back at my small patch of sand 

that I’ve been occupying.

I’ve moved some shells and rocks 

here and there to make a shape.

Who am I to say I don’t secretly claim my ground.

That this small patch of time

is mine, this thought, this lifetime.

All Mine.

But I’d gladly step aside for the birds.

I like to think I would.

Clarity Comes in Waves

Clarity Comes in Waves

 

There's no use looking too closely,

You're looking for it, so,

you know it will appear.

Maybe not today, and not yesterday,

but because you are looking,

it will appear.

Everything you imagine,

is happening.

Maybe not here, or to you, or your love,

But, you thought it

and it becomes.

Maybe the clouds just arrive

in clumps of endless gauzy skyfulls.

Molecules of ideas, thoughts, and possible tomorrows,

percolated essences of sentient evaporations.

Droplets fall into gravity.

You look in the mirror 

for a way to defy the pull.

But clarity comes in waves.

And by counting the waves breaking over the rocks

Instead of finding the pause,

you feel the force of each passing year,

everything happens,

you see it all,

so let go.

.

You Are Still Young

You Are Still Young

Today I remember you are still young. 
I reached to hold your hand today as we walked across the street
Forgetting that it might embarrass you, 
I say all the stupid things walking with you
that I'm not supposed to say aloud, 
and you never hesitate to enlighten my faux pas. 

I look at your soft brilliance, fresh like spring sprouts, 
I forget that your mind is like an autumn wind shower reorganizing,
 shedding last years growth. 

And in between each moment when I glimpse the infant you were, 
the you that's become has
unwavering power on my heart. 

As the vibrant color of the fallen leaves reveal, 
this time we have to love never takes pause, so
we must find the pause for ourselves. 

You are still young, and we move forward not in a straight line, 
but in and out
of seasons, past and future, together and alone. 

We move like color fading from an old photograph. 

The brilliance doesn't need to last. 

I've already felt it. 

Three Leafed Clover

Three Leafed Clover

Why are we always looking for a four leafed clover to bring us luck? 

As if more brings happiness. 

We know that is never true. 

Isn't the magnificence of any growth enough?

That we endure even in mundanity and simplicity. 

With just what we are given. 

Just leaves, each held by each other connected at the center, 

rooted together for strength. 

An untold number of four leafed clovers exist underfoot, 

trampled would-be lucky charms, never to be wished upon. 

Like every day that's lived asleep, 

we wander unaware that we're enough. 

This Little Dance

This little dance,

A small song,

A short breath,

With limited sight.

This little life,

Its small spin,

And short days,

With extended nights.

A Game of Cat's

Isn't it perfect that 

life is just a stream of X's and O's?

Each one blocking out the other as they go.

..

Doesn't it just makes sense 

that all that we see in front of us are 

cancellations, one after the other?

..

It's a string of blackout-poetry, 

and we didn't know that all the words we obscured 

and covered up contained the original meaning of life.

..

Haven't you wondered if it was true 

that who you are is just replaced 

moment by moment with someone else?

..

And this abstract version of things 

that you're trying to understand is just 

an infuriating game of cat's

that no one seems to be able to win.

Words that Confuse Time and Fall Off Pages

Where do the words come from?

As they slip 

and lisp from 

deep places 

and twist into sounds.

As they arise from 

inhabited thoughts 

that are illusions and 

illusive interruptions 

of space. 

And they have 

the capacity 

to bite and cut 

and jab into 

soft fleshy realities, 

while multiplying 

and propagating 

into overpopulated emotions 

and anxious breaths. 

What are words

but outbreaks of 

viruses that contaminate, 

confuse and 

consume time 

with their prolific 

verses and stanzas. 

Their offspring 

committing suicides by 

falling off pages 

too small 

to 

contain 

them. 

Every Moment an Instinct 30/30

Oh, how we compare ourselves to caterpillars.

But it’s like the moths gravitating towards bright lights 

then dying that we mimic.

How we tell children that dreaming is where happiness is made.

That when dreams come true, 

wings unfold with unimaginable colors and take flight.

Yet, the lives of birds, insects and flowers are not so beautiful as we are told.

Every moment an instinct. 

They are not joyful for their magnificence.

Our happiness on the other hand has the habit 

of transforming like clouds to tears.

It’s not true that rain comes from the sky, 

and rain is not falling to the ground.

Why do we lie to ourselves?

At the top, will the view will be enough?

From the top, there is only room for one, 

looking down,

                                              looking down.

From the top, 

       there is 

                only 

                              looking 

                                         down.

Staying Takes You Somewhere 29/30

Which-

ever 

the 

way to 

go?

Up, 

down, 

same thing. 

Depending on

what you're looking for. 

When to move? 

But even staying 

takes 

you 

some-

where. 

The only 

constant is 

constantly 

going. 

Suffering 

is trying to make it stop. 

Stopping is like perfection; it doesn't exist.

Ephemeral Architecture 28/30

Life is a delicate structure,

Built upon ephemeral architecture. 

This transient space 

we call time; the framework. 

A short-lived experience endlessly eclipsing itself. 

For Something Pure to Bring Home 27/30

From far away, 

Squinting sharpens your features,

Brings definition to your edges, 

But you are still too far to touch,

Comprehend,

Have. 

I listened to the music that 

Tickled your ears 

And softened your heart. 

But all I heard 

Was the droning of a tired bee 

Out looking for something 

Pure to bring home. 

And all that squinting for the future 

Brought tears to my eyes. 

No Thing to Tell 11/26

There is no thing to 

Tell you,

No thing to tell,

It's not to late to find your feet

To get you through this spell. 

Take your steps,

Step with care, each footprint 

Makes a dent.

Reflections move and change their views 

With every rivers bend. 

For All Creatures of Good Heart 25/30 for Chai & Bamboo

Todays Poetry prompt from NaPoWriMo is a clerihew poem. Although, they are usually only 4 lines, I needed an extra quatrain for the benefit of all sentient beings.

For goodness sakes Madame Woodland Park Zoo,

You've made a gargantuan travesty of the lives of chai and bamboo,

These sentient beings and the other zoo lot,

Aren't just novelties like dodo birds or triceratops. 

It's time to do right Monsiers and Madams,

Letting go of your money, your accreditation and stand.

Send Chai and Bamboo to retire in peace,

And for all creatures of good heart to be released. 

In this Air I'll Shine 24/30

From water I'll come,

To breathe a new kind of light.

In this air I'll shine.

I Am Enough 23/30

It's a simple tweak

Gentle touch and

Barely noticeable smile. 

The one just underneath the skin

Like maybe because it's always there,

Always tilted up without effort 

In a thought of kindness 

Or swoosh of sweetness. 

An Illusive opposite of shadow

A sensual passing through. 

What is that rising flutter in my heart?

A infinitesimal shift

With a colossal effect. 

A momentous rejoicing

With the smallest of sighs. 

Enough, enough, enough!

I am enough.

What If? 22/30

What if the rain never came?

Drip 

                  drop 

                               dry. 

There'd be nothing to wash 

The tangles from your hair,

Or the soot from your pores. 

What if the sky never filled with clouds?

Drip 

                  drop. 

Each lost droplet a lost idea 

For the clouds are the accumulation 

Of all the ideas and dreams 

Of the people down below. 

What if the thoughts stopped coming?

Drip. 

                                    Drip. 

                                                                     Drip. 

                                                                                                   Drip. 

What if?

Puddling is Not a Simple Matter 21/30

Napowrimo.net prompt for today was to make an erasure poem.
This was much more difficult than I thought it would be...
try it...you'll see what I mean!

When I Heard Your Heartbeat, I Cried 20/30

#NaPoWriMo Challenge: Write a poem that states the things you know. 

The ground beneath my feet is really layers 

and layers of time.

Stepping softly won’t slow my growing old.

Walking in circles only makes me dizzy.

I know I need to embrace this journey. 

The sun doesn’t choose whose eyes to shine in -

I am here as witness to each glimmer. 

Your spring hydrates my crisp summer leaves.

When I heard your heartbeat I cried,  knowing 

The flood was on the way - and I knew how to swim.

I had thought I knew what love was,

I had thought I knew,

But love is like time,

beneath my feet,

with each step,

I grow wiser.

Leaving Marks 19/30

Of worries I've shared many. 

Some thrown to winds,

Some dashed to dust,

Leaving marks,

With ancient rust. 

Today's #NaPoWriMo Prompt is write a Landay. 

Landays are 22-syllable couplets, generally rhyming. The form comes from Afghanistan.