Incredibly Unincredible (poem/ thought)

But now and then, and once for a long while,

the right one pulled me in close,

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I’ve made so many mistakes

it’s incredible as many amazing things have happened as they have.

To have been so blessed

as to feel bliss w/ someone

even for a while feels such a gift.

Maybe I was bound to mess it up

with my worry, my intensity, my perfectionism

which make most feel separate from me.

But now and then, and once for a long while,

the right one pulled me in close, tingled my skin

& the heart of my depth and my truth;

brushed up against me,

a comfort beyond words.

But I couldn’t sustain,

even though I wished to,

maybe because I wished to.

I pushed it, and questioned it;

by trying to form it,

killed it

with unnecessary need and

unincredible words.

190918 lf

Lit (poem)

Once lit never truly extinguished

We are not born once

but in a million ways in a million moments

made & chosen, lost & broken

in a brilliant spectrum of

truth & denial,

of light & trial

Sudden or slow

the awakening

shapes & makes us

ever different than the moment before.

 

Death is different

It never feels as complete as birth

The memory holds

It cradles the past in soft palms & fingertips

or in tight clutches

But never again wholly unknown

as the birth of a new connection

 

Neuron to neuron, pupil to pupil

once lit never truly extinguished.

 

190815 Aug. 2019 lgf

Petty (poem)

Time to return

to fully enhabiting myself.

To feel intensely had drifted

We had lost our charm

through petty words & actions

Sometimes we forgot

the daily wonderful,

the gift love is,

silent acceptance.

But the core remains

solid & aware

as it was in the beginning,

is now

and ever shall be

 

 

Memory wonders (poem)

Bones are carved, fat is stacked and people lean on what is there to support them

Keeper of the backbeat

Sometimes it feels there are only the surroundings that form

nothing sticks yet nothing passes, nothing to touch which is known to be my own

no sincere smiles meant to enliven

bones are carved, fat is stacked and people lean on what is there to support them

the blood runs circuitous and forgetful of it’s force and import

the brain strolls and scrambles, scratches at murmurs of past facts and future functions

there is little use to what’s been done and more often than not none of the millions of actions enacted serve more than a revolving process

Retreat in expression, for there are no receivers in sight

Memory wonders if it’s ever seen that which it wishes were whole the world over

Pinprick (Poem)

If life were like a map laid out before me

i would still pick the stars to press my pinpoint into

and watch it unravel the fabric,

more brillant with every indention

evidence of my absolute intentions

and my penchant to aim straight for perfection

One pinpoint can hold my map up on the wall

why do so many take it out and watch it fall?