* untitled, unfinished

A room, and then another,
while the nurses come and go. To where, unknown.

Monitors beep. Blink. Interruptions of this time,
forever stamped in our minds.

Another hallway, to another room,
yet remembered differently, individually.

Hurried, without rush, the moments passing slowly,
with every clock’s tick.

Peace grows from one to the next
Slowly, in its sinking.

* initially written during a workshop held by John Sibley Williams on the Poetry of Place at the Sandy Library.

As grief settles...

Tomorrow, never near.
   Loss, never imminent.

Handled like an unknown storm,
   Logically, ever approaching.
   Emotionally, distant and far.

Death, crushing, here, now,
   The path unknown, yet we walk.
   Taking steps darkly, focused.

When grief settles, unsettlingly,
   Seemingly isolated, yet permeating.
   Whispy, unreachable, while everywhere.

All is frozen; a defined before and after,
   Held tightly in time.
   So fast, quickly in the moment,
   Slowly in retrospect.

Here. Gone. Somwhere between.

Meadow's Mourning

The horse sighs in the meadow,
   The meadow of my mourning.

How is it that I can see it everywhere out there,
   But when I look for it within it's never nearly as clear.

I write it, seek it, but it cannout
   Be found though trying.

Only by resting into a place of peace and quiet will it come,
   For it cannot be sought.

So I quiet and wait and expect,
   but that, again, quite looks like effort.

Through it's letting go and release,
   The only way into mourning's meadow.

Photo by Omar Prestwich on Unsplash

Simple Solitude

Sitting along a quiet brook, silent sounds fill my soul
Or watching windswept waters, waves spray and warm my heart.

Deeply in a forest's grasp, cool dampness ever drips.
Quietly paddling waters at sunset, while fickle fish ignore.

Give me a desk in a dark, warm cabin. Room. Library. Cafe.
Pen to paper, soft sounds to ears as the ideas born to the world.

Many blossom amid the noise.
As I live an internal life, through a contemplative lens.

Some speak and boast and revel and dream.
But yet I simply watch, content in the mind's explorations.

I never fit who I thought the world said I should be,
until I accepted an internal existence in reflection of its ways.

A solitary place, one that fills my soul, worships my foundation, 
admires the world, and enables me to love shall find me be.

When Hearts Speak

Listen to just the words and know little.
Listen for the words of the heart and hear fully.

Common words full of fear & pain & despair, though they may not always sound like it.
Find & embrace those who speak words of love, hidden in their heart.

In this place that is rare. Everyone everywhere, distracted, burdened, busy & off-course. 
Words of the heart speak wisdom. From an unknown place deep within us all.

Be quiet & listen, hear examples & inspirations. Look for the heart in every word.
Do not be pleased to simply hear just the words, but seek the heart.

Many speak without saying much. Happy is an ear to hear that which speaks truth's meaning.

Listen to the words, listen to the eyes, listen to the heart. Hear them inside you before they are spoken. 

Pause often to listen. There is no rush, although it always seems there is.

Through The Eyes

I see through are not my own, this worldview revealed
  the perspective earned with pain & agony

Long held, its grip tightened by an ever frenzied world
  remorse built, dreams left smoldering, ashen & burnt

The world I see through eyes that are not my own,
   beauty, color, love, exhilaration, hope

The world built through pain, suffering & misery
   this world of anticipation, expectancy, and joy today held

But with these eyes, the ability to see remains. In others, in
   passing glances with fleeting insights into hearts and souls

Through these eyes I see, others nearly too deeply, fully, actually
   one cannot hide the pain and truth within and under them

Watch closely, look insightfully, seek depth, explore them
   for they will not tell, of their own

For what they are and what they hold not simply there
   but only seen with perspectives gained, through toil & pain