Dear Kevin (this probably won’t be a poem)

It’s funny how you jump in and out.

Jess said you show up in her dreams every few months,

I said, wait - me too. Though in truth 

I think it’s only been two or three times since.

We kind of laughed a million miles away from one another, about how easy it was to imagine 

-you-  doing that to everyone. How many people do you visit? Making the rounds? Is it one each night or do you bounce like tigger between each pillow

Into people’s sleep-

to this one you say hi,

to this one you share news,

this one sing a lullaby,

for this a hidden truth,

I think I’m still mad at you. 

Like I’m mad at everyone who died too early. Krystin and Hallie, Tyler and my Uncle. Whether I was close and personal or distant… sad at the loss of what could be. Pissed at the emptiness where you should be. 

But death is also funny like that. Because you jump in and out, and sometimes it’s a sadness, and sometimes a laughter, and sometimes an anger and sometimes a memory that can’t really be categorized so easily. And in between, these days I don’t remember… and that’s ok. 

But keep visiting, sprite like, as long as it doesn’t tie your soul to some agony. I know a lot of people would be happy to see your smiling face. 

Sloth

 

What good are my thoughts and prayers, 

when the children were shot while praying?

My empathetic heartbreak, my sending good vibes, my words spoken or unspoken, 

when they were bombed while their heads were bowed? 

My learning, my teaching, my shouting from the roof tops,

when they died with G-d's name on their nutrient deprived lips?

My holding space for, consoling, and rage filled grief, 

when news of the next preventable tragedy is already breaking?

When the sin is not that the devil took up arms in the mind of an individual, 

but our collective inaction, without malice, stumbling into utter negligence, 

witnessing each tragedy unfolding, and doing nothing,

when the creator has given us all the ability, tools and reason...

and we can't be bothered to raise a finger. 

 Near my home 

There is an anorexic Eiffel 

A radio tower cousin, dominating the skyline 

I can see it from my office a mile away

But today

As I approached

It had nothing on the beauty 

Of the creator’s sky, the reflection of the sun on the clouds behind,

And I wonder if that French tower knows the same truth.

Note

 I just saw the funniest thing, a poem from a long time ago got flagged with a content warning. I'm not even really sure why, it was about feeling hurt, left out, ashamed, guilty, defensive, etc... angst? drama? relationships!!! I don't think there was even anything in it that was like violent or sexual. 

But it's funny that someone would take the time to flag that one since there are posts on here about violence and sex and other "adult" topics. So weird...  I don't even really know when this post was flagged... maybe it was way back in 2011?  I wonder if it was a single word choice. Kind of like how the administration is banning things based on a word list and not really looking at the content.  I don't really care to repeal... seems silly. I was just looking at the content guide, and it said they can erase your blog and your google account for violations. I can't even imagine... I mean... maybe I should be printing this stuff or backing it up elsewhere. SOOOOO WEIRD. 

Maybe my poem for today should be about censorship and burning the american flag (it is in the news again). 

Anyway, this is a blog of personal poetry and creative writing. It's not meant for everyone... and reader be warned... it's bad poetry, so much so that sometimes I don't call them poems but flowings... as in, flowing out of my mind.

 On the 466th day, or just each yesterday since 1948, or the crusades, the exodus, the unfortunate story of humanity…

I heard a story on the waves of another hospital bombing,

And I noticed I didn’t say my customary prayer,

               As I would, had an ambulance sped by

               Or a bus gone off road

               Or a shooting (with disgust on my tongue)

And I was reminded of what Alyssa said about holding too much empathy at once,

Short circuiting the system, burnout, compassion fatigue

And how Ani said rather than holding anyone to account, we’ll drive out of range

And how my anger, sometimes, is the only thing that remains

To hold the line,

 

And when I asked what we should do, (when tearing everything down is the only real answer,)

- we could only come to an agreement, to ask of ourselves, of others

to keep the worry, the outrage, the prayer on our lips.

To seal their deaths with a kiss

(Missed yesterday😒 wrote this this morning about yesterday, I guess we will see if I write another tonight) 

Social anxiety

If you had seen me today,

I might have appeared triumphant,

Arms spread wide,

In my casual stride, 

With a smile just as bright and eyes sun lit. 

And on the inside, I was rehearsing lines, 

affirming my life, 

Softening the tight knotted 

muscles of my stomach

I walked the block for 15 minutes, 

Arriving too early for our summit,

And when you arrived

I wrapped my arms for a hug 

And pushed the thought out

That I’d already buggered it

And for two hours I fought

with a backstage thought 

About the volume of my voice

Amongst the clamoring noise

And the croaked choked passage  

where by breath caught

Like my pancakes, my stories were half chewed

No punchline to make, cart besting the horse 

Dismissing the intrusive thought to turn the joke lewd,

My tongue jumbled my words,

 and made the awkward worse.

But as I faded into mumbles to end it, 

You left me with a compliment…

said I’d been the best part.

So I should have left -a full heart, instead

My mind spent the next part

Worrying…

Have I given her the wrong impression?