Tag Archives: poem

Enough

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Some things are so painful they have to be remembered in reflections,
whispers,
the imprint they left on the glass,
the bruises on skin or heart.

The moment in time when the fist hit… no.
The words that carved you empty… too raw a wound.
But you, my heart, my anchor, myself:
you did not deserve these scars.

That does not make them go away.

And yet, here you stand, brave, vulnerable,
alive.
You formed your bruises into stories of strength,
acknowledged the whispers as the lashing
of another’s insecurity.

You know their pain does not make you less than.

You are more than the words whispered in the dark of the heart,
more than the wounds you didn’t earn
but healed from anyway.

You are the joy that transforms your smile when you nurture a loved one,
the hope and wonder you face the future with.
You are the silly moments, the cat cuddles, the way
you refuse to compromise your worth.

You are enough.

Prism Blooming

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I.

I thought you were a prism – the birthplace of rainbows,
the hope for a future far from my grief.
You showed me a world built of color:
sunsets and deep conversation and dreaming;
emotion, electric with light.
But in the end, you were just a kaleidoscope
a jumble of broken parts I tried to make art
that never quite fit the way we planned.

I don’t blame you. You were trying to make yourself art too.
Our pictures were just too different, focus hazy.
The light fractured. The sun set. We rose separate.
I’m learning.

II.

Days passed, then weeks. I don’t remember much – it was all a blur
of staring, of crying, of not crying and staring empty some more.

Then a bud. A crack. A bloom of life. One night
spent among strangers who awoke as friends.
It wasn’t a prism, but it was light.

III.

As I stumbled through the next days, the bud grew
until the blaze, tended sweetly, became a garden.
Staring in the mirror, I forgot it was reflection
and I saw the colors for the first time.
I wasn’t looking for imperfection, and so I didn’t find flaws
just the prism radiating,
rainbow blooming through and beneath.
All along, the prism I needed
was me.

Mosaic Heart

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I.

When my heart fractured, it wasn’t beautiful. It was just broken. The edges cut deep into muscle and soul. I was more exhaustion than man, brittle and shaking. But if there’s one lesson my childhood taught me, it’s “don’t leave a mess.” So I picked up the shards, letting the tears bleed.

II.

Can you glue a heart back together with whispers of hope and the memory of dreaming? Or will it always be broken, even if you can find its shape again? I didn’t know. I fumbled the pieces into shape, and I hoped.

III.

It became a meditation, fitting one piece with the next, bridging colors and atriums, reconnecting arteries and emotion. Sometimes I lost the thread of hope and had to start again. Sometimes the tears washed a piece free. I may have fractured, but I did not crumble, and slowly, I became art.

IV.

Maybe I was always a masterpiece and you just taught me to forget. My heart casts a thousand reflections, every one of them beautiful, as I learn to love again.

V.

I start with myself.

When Beautiful Things Come Together With Time

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Eli is coal. Built from a million memories and past experiences,
he is what happens when beautiful things come together with time.
Charcoal meets paper. The past and the present collide
and art is formed from their touch.

When you are lost in the darkness, call for him. His light will guide you home,
forming brilliance from broken moments and hope from scars.
Why coal was named darkness when it forms such gorgeous light
is something I will never understand.

Still he burns, moment to moment, creating art from shadows and blood.
His heart is fierce in its love to those lucky enough to receive it, and I
bow down to the resilience in its touch.

Maybe beauty and time
can be enough.

Solar Flare

I tumbled off a cliff into your arms.
You swore you’d keep me safe from harm.
Twenty steps away: the ocean spray.
I’m so ashamed of my choice that day.

I held you, burying scars
from all the promises of our previous wars;
every false laugh an arrow to the heart,
but I just wanted a fire to start.

I wanted to feel the burn;
the flame and warmth a way to learn.
It was so cold. I just needed relief.
I forgot solar flares do more than just heat.

You burned me to ash. I crumbled to dust,
my old life gone with a single touch.
Everything stopped, even my heart.
There’s a little bit of glory in all new starts.

But glory doesn’t stay amidst bitterness and decay,
and every time my heart raced, it was anger, not grace.
You danced a great dance. Oh, so light on your feet!
But every dance ends, and ours did in defeat.

There’s no such thing as destiny.
We weren’t “fated” or “meant to be.”
Still, there’s grace in the effort; in building a dream,
but our grace was more drunken tragedy.

I tumbled off a cliff into your arms.
You swore you’d keep me safe from harm.
Twenty steps away: the ocean spray.
I’m so ashamed of my choice that day.

We grew up two blocks
from a lifetime of regret,
and though it never claimed us
I can taste it on your breath.

With every deep inhale,
every silent scream,
I know that I am losing you
and it rips me just to see.

But perhaps it is better.
Dreams don’t build a heart,
and we’re both so miserable, dear
every time we start.

Love takes hard work:
devotion, not just dreams;
so I’ll carve my initials
into my own damn arteries.

We grew up two blocks
from a lifetime of regret,
and though it never claimed us
I can taste it on your breath.

Razzle Dazzle

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I recently had to put a pet down for the first time. I’d had Tazzle for 7 years, since she was almost a year old, and she was a loving, loyal cat who got rapidly and inexplicably sick, losing much of her body weight, her ability to walk, and her ability to control her bladder in a matter of days. I made up a little ditty as I drove her to the vet, and sang to her the whole way there, then petted her until the light left her eyes.

I don’t know that I believe in an afterlife, but I do know that she was loved, and she’s no longer in pain. I can’t really ask for more than that.

She used to love being called Razzle Dazzle Tazzle, and I’d call her over to me with that and she’d come running, purring up a storm. This poem is for her.

Razzle Dazzle

I’d like to say I remember a day
when scattered hopes are gathered,
but the pounding in my head
leaves me far too bruised and battered.

You’ve been gone for two days
and already I’m a haze
of bad dreams, restless sleep
and a numbness I can’t beat.

I search for happy endings
whenever I try to write,
but tonight tears pour too free,
water drowning my sight.

Tazzle, you were far too young
to be given to the Reaper.
He laid his claim just the same,
no longer here to suffer.

Razzle Dazzle, dance on stars,
but remember me someday.
Find me when I leave this life,
old and wizened gray.

We’ll tumble down a rainbow
together that day.

<3

The Big Bang (Poem)

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From Pyrite: Tales of Promise and Deception

In retrospect, we shouldn’t have called you our son.
The sun is a pale fire in comparison to your brilliance.
No, you are a neutron star,
densely packed dreams spinning their way to fulfillment.
I know that light gleaming brightly enough can burn,
but your flames are such a glorious way to go.

Lately, though, your glow has dimmed,
and sometimes I wonder whose light you reflect
and if there’s any of your own left.

Nowadays, you’re more of a moon,
small and wan, orbiting others,
far too afraid to be free.
But I know that someday
the universes inside your heart will burst into motion,
and as they expand,
life will once more grow behind your eyes.

You are creation
And I, simply the creator.

Ignite!