Archive for December 1st, 2010
Be Still, Be Slow, and Be Real
I speak to my chest,
“Breathe.” I ask
My heart to be still
And be slow.
When I say it’s okay,
There is a part
Deep inside that knows:
It’s never all right.
There is nothing left
But final surrender.
I’ve tried surrenders.
They are temporary.
Why does evil presence
Continue to beat me
Hammer blow after
Hammer blow. It returns.
I will try to accept
Harsh operations of others.
They do not love,
And I must not love.
I surrender my passion.
I must be real.
I must pay the bills.
I must not love.
Posted by Carl in Finding Purpose on December 1, 2010
A few people are so incredibly important, I can barely withstand the power, but then I remember that they, too, work in a small financial institution in a small suburban town in the special flyover-land known as Kansas.
Empty Holiday Boxes
At the office, why do we fool ourselves
With “holiday” decorating?
Empty “holiday” boxes
Litter our paths. Plastic greenery
Muddies every hallway, every wall,
Every cubicle row, every eve,
And there is one large wreath
With the sick and wilted red and green ribbons
Leaning against the recycle bin.
Every thing is plastic. Our souls
Join this dishonest array of junk.
Outside of the Ring
I spread warmth and affection,
And spend minutes and minutes
And minutes floating my gentle touch
All over her body. She’s warm, but she
Might as well be dead. There is no reaction.
Affection’s butterflies are not
Her style. Charging bull is her style,
But I cannot join her in the ring.
Suddenly, I wish it were you. You would
Come back at me with your electric, warm,
Gentle breath. You would moan
Just to show that you were fully present.
You would shower me with the convulsive blanket
Of your love.
And then she leaves in the morning,
Says have a nice day, but there is no intention
Behind the frail words.
There is no action, no hug, no kiss.
I am left with a tight chest and
A frightened heart. She gores with her
Horns, and I wonder amongst the planets,
Looking for you, not able to join you.
You freeze me out because
You have a million lovers,
And I am a child. For moments
I am a nice child for you. I join you at
The feast of tragedies, but mostly
You want to send me to my room.
My heart tears at my ribs, but
There is no flesh left. My room
Is a blue prison. You have discarded
Me with your pile of broken toys.
You are too good for those old toys,
And you can always find new toys.
I am torn plastic and my heart
Freezes in the melting ooze of