Poetry/Prose

Just Be Fame

fame1And I think you know it’s rare.

For someone to see.

You.

Facing insecurities.

Out of control.

In control.

In between.

Waiting in lines.

Wondering.

Crying in secret.

Chewing cheap gum.

Fumbling with your iPad.

Like everyone else.

How could you not?

When I saw you, I saw a person.

Not a picture.

Not a title.

Not a name.

I looked at you.

Heard your voice.

Answered your questions.

Wondered what you were hiding.

Because you had to.

Heard what you were hiding.

Despite you.

What you assumed about me.

It wasn’t.

Projected–it could only be you.

And I loved it.

The mysterious gap.

That revealed everything.

You thought you hid.

I spoke with you.

Measured.

Sincere.

As if you were a merchant.

And I tended to you.

As if you were my fleeting customer.

And I think you know it’s rare.

For someone not to care too much.

But just enough for you to know.

I do.

For someone to trust nature.

More than temptation.

To put you higher.

Than human.

There is no fame in a moment.

Unless I am famous too.

And when I turn around.

I see all the layers.

That separate you.

From everyone else.

And I wonder why.

Anyone would want this.

Fame.

And I sense.

You’re the kind who never wanted it.

As much as it wanted you.

Like a mother wants her child.

To come in and wash his hands.

And sit at his place at the table.

As much as it challenges you still.

To believe something it tempts you not to.

That you have nothing to prove.

Don’t worry; I see, and your secret is safe with me.

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Poetry/Prose

Assignments

Image and editing credit: mine

Image and editing credit: mine

Rolling over

He found her face

Asked without a word:

Did you want me to change you darling?

Because I’m afraid I will

When we say a thing

When we do a thing

We set it free

Why does it matter what it means, to you, to me?

Isn’t it such a pleasure, to know there is so much more, to anything, than what we say it means?

After kindergarten

We got all these assignments

Until we learned

To make everything

An assignment

Tell me

Love

Tell me

When do we graduate?

From yesterday’s meaning

Tomorrow’s fantasy

Listen here

What does any of it mean?

What did it mean, when it was not me?

When it was not you?

When everyone thought it was so damn good?

When people scorned and whispered that it wasn’t right

Just get under it

Immerse yourself in it

It’s everything

So why does it have to mean something?

To you, to me, to anyone

If it is

It is alive

Self evident

Waiting shamelessly

To overrule our little minds

Do you wrap the sacred in words?

In thoughts that struggle to be words?

In feelings that want to find patterns?

Do you wrap it in a pretty present?

Throw it in the garbage?

What do you do with it?

What CAN you really do with it?

Do you see now?

Nothing

And that’s what it means

Because it is

And we are, too

Beyond, beyond, so beyond

Assignments

Standard
Poetry/Prose, Yoga & Spiritual

Mr. Mister

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Photo/art credit–Desicomments.com

When I first became an expat I said:

Everything has changed, but I am the same

Days passed into months, months into years

Conversations into contentment into disillusionment into strategy into deeper surrender

Again and again, a drum, guaranteed

Same blood through the same heart, beating

Keeping time when I forget my watch, or throw it in the toilet

Different faces, different cultures, different priorities, luring me through a looking glass

To be born into a world

Where the masks all drop and love is always mine

Hands in pockets, eyes to the moon, now reflecting

Will I see you again?

Like I did the first time, when you were someone different?

More than anyone else?

Detachment–hundreds of feet in the sky, where your can see, so many things

Round and round, that race … like gnats in a jar

Looking at each other–seeing themselves

Was I doing that?

I wonder what scorpions eat …

Everything is the same

But I have changed

Standard
Poetry/Prose, Yoga & Spiritual

See

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There is a sadness in true love. A sadness I have come to depend on, inspired by separation. The closer we get, the more we realize we are somehow apart, and yet we strive all our lives to overcome this.

The meantimes, the space, fills with sadness and longing. Why are these feelings like bastard children? To me, they are at the table, feasting on my adoration and, in turn, feeding my dreams, my art, my imagination with all of their truths. Sadness reminds me we are born into duality. Longing reminds me have the capacity to see beyond this–into spirit–through the eyes of the soul.

Our unity.

We grasp for each other. But there aren’t enough kisses. There aren’t enough words. There aren’t enough tender touches. Silent moments. Shared breaths. There aren’t enough poems or paintings; songs, plays or films. There never will be. There never should be.

Look into my eyes. Stay. See. Now. Only now. There is enough of everything.

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