Swayed by just an inch of song
My feet become unglued
And I am taken away
Like a kite made of branches
In an unrelenting wind
Strong enough to carry me
Moving me far too easily.
Like a pair of discarded stockings
No body in there
My pink polka dots dance
With that bohemian adventure
Heartbreak waiting on the wings
Of my desire for the plain
It’s simple, I am moved far too easily.
I glide across compass points
Hanging onto an objective view
Where notes are felt falling for the layers
And tears drop into the wild and untamed ion
Charging me with an electric fear
For the pending loss of your unspoken words
Tell me, even silence moves me all too easily.
A failed retreat from the depth
In receipt of your last death
The dust swirling around my waist
Longing for that one glorious taste
Of your safe landing space
Won’t you help me to be free
Won’t you love me… move me too easily.
Image (“Red Kite Moon”) courtesy of Dr. Joseph Valks at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Old poem called Moved Too Easily, for this Moon Series. Two more poems, two more days…and then! Onto the next project. Hope you enjoy the next series 🦋
July 19th, 2017.
“Grace is the beauty of form under the influence of freedom.” -Friedrich Schiller
I’m not trying to be a martyr.
I’m trying to be myself.
I feel the weight of this world…
It’s duality and projection and
Reflections of chaos and confusion
…And I’m just trying to be me.
But I feel the burden of the bees
I feel the burden of the workers
Trying to maintain comfort
Catering and offering catharsis to the queen.
I feel the burden of our connections
Our karmas, our time in timelessness-
I feel things most cannot see.
A part of me wishes it all away
I wish not to be.
But that is my ego
Trying to hold on to the me
It’s the ego experiencing
That none of this is actually free.
Spirit knows none of “this” Real.
What’s Real is YOU and ME.
The bees teach us to just BE…
To breathe and to live simply.
Still…the complexity has be
Come disjointed and over
The depths of our souls
They tell us who we are
And yet many rely on sense.
Somehow my senses tell me
That everything is
Simply a dream.
Image courtesy of Suriya Kankliang/FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Yet another old poem, called Teach Me To Be Simple, for this Moon Series. Almost at the end here. True beginnings of “new” are approaching. So. Much. Work. Happy endings to you. May they bring you new freedom + joy!
July 18th, 2017.