poetry

“Whitney”

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One Last Time..

Just one last time…

I promise it will be the very last time.

Just this once and then I’ll stop.

What’s the harm in one last time?

Done it thousands of times before.

Really what’s the harm in just one more?

If I’m gonna have to stop forever.

If the rest of my days I’ll live without!

If the Just One More is replaced with Never…

Then what is all the fuss about?

Tomorrow is a new beginning.

Tomorrow is the day I’ll start.

So tonight I’d better do it up,

Fill myself with toxic art –

The kind that makes the artist feel…

Without producing any art.

A gift, disgraced.

Heads shake, “A waste.”

You must have been in so much pain.

Remember that song you sung?

The one about The Greatest Love?

A shame you never really heard the words you sung.

Because you were worthy of every one.

Just like everyone.

And I bet you said,

“One last time,” tonight.

Just one last time.

I promise it will be the very last time.

And it is sad –

How you were

Right.

What Cannot Be Understood

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Who are we to take the seat of Judge

When the Universe itself does not?

Who are we to cut down our own highest ideals

By ripping apart the beliefs and values of our fellows?

The Circle of Life does not start at birth and end at death.

For a circle, if you will recall, has no points at all.

Our limited human view makes us pick a moment on the wheel:

We call it Birth;

We call it Beginning.

We break down the unimaginable, the unknowable,

The Mysterious –

Into small, digestible, human fragments of False Wisdom

That claim we can know something which we –

Quite simply,

Cannot.

Consciousness gives us only so much.

Science, Psychology –

Gifts that offer brief flashes of Knowing.

And for these we are grateful.

But we must not mistake gratitude as some Fixed Truth.

All That Is,

Outside of those knowable points –

Is The Unconscious.

It is The Great Awe that is

Every.

Other.

Unseen.

Point.

And so, we may seek to Know

But may we remember, on our journey,

To lay down our judgements of ourselves.

This first.

And in ending that internal war,

We will find peace with our neighbor –

And Freedom instead of Fear

In the beautiful, dark Arms of

What Cannot Be

Understood.

 

Wonder

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Oh! It strikes me silent.

No. I cannot speak.

Wonder – almost-violent.

Awe – an Awe-some thing.

Instills a kind of Lifted Pause:

I breathe but I am not breathing.

Defying Reason’s silly laws,

Leaving Logic seething.

And so I am like Alice

In this Wonder land –

Been drinking from the chalice

Held in Goddess hands.

And Oh! It strikes me silent.

And no, I cannot speak.

Awake, at last, from slumber

Gone – unconscious sleep.

You Know

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You Know.

You say you don’t.

But I know

You Know.

It is high time,

Darling

To be The Wise.

After so many tries

You say the same thing –

And it is getting old.

Because we both know

That you Know.

Deep down in that

Beautiful Soul

Is the Knowing

Behind the I-don’t-know;

A Fine Mind gets twisted

And lost sometimes…

Inflated by it’s own, sexy

Fine

Like it’s got it all down pat

But we, well…

We Know better than That.

The seeds down in the seat of the soul

Burn as eternal embers,

As forever-regrowth;

An entire forest ready to grow!

If only you would stop saying

I don’t know.

Dive further, yes even further

To touch that living, breathing coal

The one that says,

“I do Know.”

It will never leave you

Or deceive you.

That intangible thing that Dickenson

Said,

“Perches and sings”

Is infallible and Divine.

It is time you claimed it and said

“I make It mine.”

You

Know.

The Child (a poem)

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“Dance with me, oh little one!”

Said the deepest, darkest Night.

“I will twirl with you and swirl with you —

Make wrong turn into right.

Oh starry-eyed child, look this way –

And close those perfect eyes.

I’ll take away the pain of Now

Replace it with lovely lies…

With black forest cake, and chocolate hills

Angel dust, and sexual thrills…

Magical tricks and plenty of sweets…

Trade me your soul for these endless treats!”

The child was sad, so lost and alone

Knew of a King and a Queen —

But they’d abandoned their throne.

He was hungry and tired,

This starry-eyed being…

Could not comprehend

All the pain he was seeing.

In his childlike, innocent, unassuming way –

Sealed his fate with the Night:

And said “Yes” to the trade.

And so he danced with the Dark —

Oh, was he swirling and a’whirling…

But – Alas! –t’was the Night who was controlling his twirling.

Soon the child grew…

Was no longer small…

No more starry-eyes, or fantasies

Or, well…any dreams at all.

No more thoughts of the freedom

His own life could be

He had given it up

Quite unknowingly

To a thing that could never love him back

A thing that was only a sick-cycle-trap

And we exclaim,

“How unfair! What they’ve done to this child!”

“He had no chance!”

His potential, defiled –

But lo! We must realize –

And THIS is the thing:

In this story,

You and I

Are the Queen and the King.