like home anymore,
yet my eye catches things,
shreds of the warmth
of deep humanity
that still soar freely
within the cyclone of the
ideologically opposed,
the conflation,
those who choose
transience over tradition,
there’s still a flicker of light
that glistens every so often
in the peripheral,
serving as a subtle reminder
of another way to be,
a certain sense of stillness
that offers a view so wide
it shifts our perspective,
tensed and ready to swing
it’s beyond the
point of interesting tension,
this rage of the
forgotten and the unseen,
they don’t have it in them
to abide or to obey,
are growing ever so thin,
reality is losing its elasticity
and meaningful connections,
we suffer from amnesia about
exactly how beautiful it is to
sit together, sharing time, and
combining unlikely words.
how we can immerse
ourselves instantly
in the moment of absolute,
it's sometimes hard
to recall kindness is a
great curator of people
who learn to help silently in
their own organic ways,
attracted to the edges,
and this is where we’ll meet
to feel each of those euphoric highs
born at the speed of inspiration,
vowing to keep doing
good through the pain,
or at least continue to try,
it's oh so important to try.
is no longer
the place we fell in love with
sometimes all we have to do
is remember, in the end
we will find our way,
we will hit our marks,
stand squarely in the light,
and have the courage
to see beyond convention
and admit, yes,
there is another way to be.
Be well and make the most of this day.
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Poetry should move us, it should change us, it should glitch our brains, shift our moods to another frequency. Poetry should evoke feelings of melancholy, whimsy, it should remind us what it feels like to be in love, or cause us to think about something in a completely different way. I view poetry, and all art really, as a temporary and fragile bridge between our world and a more pure and refined one. This is a world we could bring into creation if enough of us believed in it. This book is ephemera, destined to end up forgotten, lingering on some dusty shelf or tucked away in a dark attic. Yet the words, they will live on in memory. I hope these words become a part of you, bubble up into your memory when you least expect them to and make you feel a little more alive.
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Thᥲt sᥱᥒsᥱ of dιsρᥣᥲᥴᥱmᥱᥒt, thᥲt sᥱᥒsᥱ thᥲt thᥱ fᥲmιᥣιᥲr hᥲs ᥴᥱrtᥲιᥒᥣყ ᥴhᥲᥒgᥱd. Dᥱsριtᥱ thιs, ყoᥙr gᥲzᥱ rᥱmᥲιᥒs ᥲttᥱᥒtιvᥱ to frᥲgmᥱᥒts of hᥙmᥲᥒ ᥕᥲrmth, ᥱvᥱᥒ ιᥒ thᥱ mιdst of storms ᥲᥒd ιdᥱoᥣogιᥴᥲᥣ ᥴᥣᥲshᥱs. Thᥱsᥱ rᥱmᥒᥲᥒts sᥱrvᥱ ᥲs ᥲ rᥱmιᥒdᥱr thᥲt thᥱrᥱ ιs ᥲᥒ ᥲᥣtᥱrᥒᥲtιvᥱ ᥕᥲყ of bᥱιᥒg, ᥲ qᥙιᥱt stιᥣᥣᥒᥱss thᥲt broᥲdᥱᥒs oᥙr ρᥱrsρᥱᥴtιvᥱ. Uᥒdoᥙbtᥱdᥣყ.
Yoᥙ ᥲssᥱrt thᥲt ιᥒ thᥱ mιdst of ᥴhᥲos, thᥲt gᥣιmmᥱr of ᥣιght ρᥱrsιsts, ᥲᥒ ιᥒvιtᥲtιoᥒ to ᥴoᥒsιdᥱr dιffᥱrᥱᥒt ρᥲths. Thᥲt ρᥱrιρhᥱrᥲᥣ gᥲzᥱ thᥲt hιᥒts ᥲt ᥲ ᥕιdᥱr rᥱᥲᥣιtყ, thᥲt ᥙrgᥱs ᥙs to go bᥱყoᥒd ᥴoᥒvᥱᥒtιoᥒ. Bᥙt thᥱ oᥒᥴᥱ ρrotᥱᥴtιvᥱ bᥙbbᥣᥱ of oᥙr ᥱxιstᥱᥒᥴᥱ ιs dιssιρᥲtιᥒg. Rᥱᥲᥣιtყ ιs ᥣosιᥒg ιts ᥱᥣᥲstιᥴιtყ ᥲᥒd ᥴoᥒᥒᥱᥴtιoᥒs ᥲrᥱ frᥲყιᥒg. Iᥒ ყoᥙr vᥱrsᥱs ყoᥙ ᥣᥲmᥱᥒt oᥙr ᥴoᥣᥣᥱᥴtιvᥱ forgᥱtfᥙᥣᥒᥱss, thᥱ mᥲgιᥴ of ᥙᥒᥣιkᥱᥣყ ᥴoᥒvᥱrsᥲtιoᥒs.
Boᥙᥒdᥲrιᥱs bᥱᥴkoᥒ, thᥱ ᥙᥒᥴoᥒvᥱᥒtιoᥒᥲᥣ, thᥱ ᥙᥒᥱxρᥣorᥱd. Eᥙρhorιᥲ bᥣooms, fᥙᥱᥣᥣᥱd bყ ιᥒsριrᥲtιoᥒ ᥲᥒd thᥲt ιᥒtιmᥲtᥱ fᥱᥱᥣιᥒg. Whყ do ყoᥙ ιmρᥣorᥱ? Yoᥙr ιᥒvιtᥲtιoᥒ to ρᥱrsᥱvᥱrᥱ, to do good dᥱsριtᥱ thᥱ ρᥲιᥒ, to rᥱmᥱmbᥱr. Do ყoᥙ sᥱrιoᥙsᥣყ bᥱᥣιᥱvᥱ thᥲt, ιᥒ thᥱ ᥱᥒd, ᥕᥱ ᥕιᥣᥣ fιᥒd oᥙr ᥕᥲყ, stᥲᥒd ιᥒ thᥱ ᥣιght ᥲᥒd ᥲdoρt ᥲᥒ ᥲᥣtᥱrᥒᥲtιvᥱ ρᥲth?
I believe this...we definitely won't find our way if we can't retain some kind of optimism or remain open to conversations and new possibilities. So, yes, I think if enough people believe it's possible it can be.
It's actually interesting how much the world is pushing for more tolerance in general, but despite that we seem to be becoming less and less tolerant about a myriad of things. Very nice poem!
Yeah, that is interesting...as we've discussed a few times before the dichotomy is also interesting between the reality and peoples' perception of many things actually getting better. Thank you my friend!
There's so much message in this your beautiful work of poetry. Good job.
Thank you!
We should make our life's a good story that others will be happy to write about 🥰🙏
#hive #posh
I am struck by those first two lines! What no longer feels like home: the world, the country, the home? Even animals should have dens where they feel safe. Then I am moved by that fourth stanza, complete, sincere, definitive and confessional. When the lyrical voice talks about how the walls of the bubble are getting thinner I feel the change, but also the openness, the loneliness, the exposure in which we can be, the helplessness. And then that ending! So hopeful. No matter how “out of love” we are with the world there will always be a way to see those tattoos that have remained in our memory and that allow us to stand upright and walk. Remember the “Pianist” who closed his eyes and isolated himself from the world, while a classical piece played in his head. I think that sometimes we must do: close our eyes and let the most beloved music play inside us. Have a nice Thursday, my friend. Hugs to you
Right now it's mainly the entire world, I think part of that comes with growing older. Everything has changed so very quickly since the pandemic. I know the fact that it's an election year here in the US is making things more chaotic. As I was writing this I couldn't help but think about how much thoughts and expectations change the world -- if we expect disorder and chaos that's what we will experience and vice versa. We must open ourselves up to different possibilities (another way) before change is born into the world. I absolutely agree with you, meditation and writing both serve that purpose for me. Thanks and I hope you have a wonderful evening, Nancy!
There is another way and another world to be lived is possible,it i our hands ;)
Beautiful poetry. I like it. Thanks, Eric
The world will find its way and new horizons will unfold. Amazing poem
Those who are left alone, forgotten and marginalised will band together and make decisions that the ignorant will find utterly unpalatable.
Empathy is on everyone's lips. But it is almost never put into practice.
This life is full of memories the good, the bad and the ugly. They all combine to form a foundation of our lives. But the most important thing is to focus on the good memories.
When the world
is no longer
the place we fell in love with
sometimes all we have to do
is remember, in the end
we will find our way,
Yes surely, at the end we will find our way