Stubborn

 The rose-colored glasses lay on the ground

cracked, slightly, still functional,

and with it, the unrealistic enthusiasm.

The last blow was the last:

No more bending over backwards

to pick them up.

No more desperate attempts

to peek at the world

through a monochromatic distortion.

My stubborn spine refuses to bend

like it used to, to the whim of love and lovers

My stubborn neck refuses to look 

over my unburdened shoulders

to brood over a past that exists no longer.

The world in its true multitude of hues

lies ahead for the naked eye to embrace.

Distorted Senses?

 The wind blowing through the madrones,

oaks, Douglas furs, the redwoods

sounded like the ocean waves

thrashing on the eroding Californian cliffs

The fire crackling in the night

in front of a tent

in Oppenheimer on a big screen

sounded like water

poured down from a height

on to a cement floor.

Questions Provoking Thought

 What would I spend my time on

if I'm not spending it on love?

What else would I look for

if I no longer look for love?

Where would my dreams take me

if I'm not dreaming about love?

What would I do with my life

if I'm not sacrificing it for love?

The Loosening Corset

 The tight laces tied back

holding the guards

that are up

like tall walls looming

over and around my heart

are coming undone tonight.

With a finger's pull

the laces loosen

the walls move farther

the cage of ribs fills up with air

conquering space, expands

and my heart leaps forth

through my breasts

like an untamed horse

through the ocean parted.

Living in Boulder Creek

How do I get this boulder

off of my chest, my shoulder,

This boulder that's daming up the creek

yearning to flow ever so freely?

Walking

Walking beside another

we learn the pace, the rhythm,

the perspective

of another soul's earthly dance.

We commit to an unspoken covenant

to dance together, side by side.

We slow down or speed up

to harmonize our moves

to keep that silent promise

out of sheer curiosity

to learn the pace of another life,

what the ticking of another heart

can be like.

The Saint of All Things Lost

 

I light a candle

at the feet of St. Anthony for you

The patron saint of all things lost

thinking of you,

the boy from St. Anthony's.

I should have known.

Going back home has turned into

this whole mixture of emotions

because of you.

You hugged me tight and long

and left

looking back at me standing there

over and over

till we were no longer in sight

of each other.

It was my farewell

but you were the one that left.

The warmth of the fondness,

that sat on the luxurious couch

in the living room of my mind palace,

at the center of my heart

has left, like you.

The pain, the fear, the grief

the emptiness, the weight, the silence

have taken its place

instead.

How wonderful would it be

to have you now...

We would have drifted apart even

if you lived.

But now that you are gone,

you are more alive

roaming in the maze of my mind.

Lucky you...

-Nush-