How intriguing to fathom the labors of love, This love is in the rhythm of earth’s revolution.
Whether it comes to rest
or forever spin without friction.
No living thing that stirs its surface
Will alter a second in time
The sound of your heart will only be heard
not by meteors or comets, but mine.
A fatherly sigh, of divine breath lifts us,
Like dust from the planet, so gently
As two souls collide out of billions who tried
Finding peace on this braided journey
Revolutions in swirl around a steadfast sun.
As two once lost beings come sweetly as one.
Step by step now.
I cannot suffer a man who deftly climbs the shoulders of idiots to vehemently purport his wisdom. For a wise man well versed in the ways of a fool, finds useful similarities for both, rather than useless differences for himself.
I’ve picked up many a stone, etched with words of encouragement…but none so fulfilling to me as those I’ve scribed and left behind
Lies are the salt pressed into the open wounds of truth…
I’m just a reluctant bon vivant with 10 unruly typing fingers who apparently conspire with the warped underworld of my mind.
One need not purge an experience that has let them down, in order to heal. There can be no regeneration of spirit, when the injury is discounted – hm, emotional “corpus delicti?” Or is it “esse causa doloris remedium esse?” Where’s a lawyer when you need one?
Imagine cause and its effect like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich… One is too sweet, the other leaves you dry in the mouth – together, not so bad – especially with cold milk (unless you are lactose intolerant – then I recommend cherry Koolaide)
Everyone has a magnetic north – sometimes we just need to examine the metal filings left in the path of another to realize it..
Health care, health reform; my taxes, their taxes; 90%, 10%; constitutionality; bla-bla-higher, bla-bla-lower; yes, no; da, nyeht; Those who make up all the questions, make up all the answers.
I’m always confused by traffic…and nuclear physics. but i’m drippin wit “yo”
The weight of the beer in my hand became less stressful with each sip.
I love a good storm, whiny midwestern girls, bicycling witches, and spitball sized dogs name Toto….I’ve sealed and barricaded the doors with the children. It’s all good.
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| Art by Ruby S. Bernardo |
Faith is respite for those who brave the stormy sea of expectations.
It’s the answer in the wind, that fills a questioning sail…
onward over the crests we go,
urging us to reach our destination,
long before we…arrive.
Consider the origin of being as seated firmly
in the dark and pristine epicenter of the body –
holding every fleeting and persistent thought, fantasy, and raw reflex.
How close do you allow another to get to the core –
what within can be shared,
and what must be simply left
unheard, unseen, unfelt by another?
How is this gravity measured – in weird blackness?
Perhaps there is some element in the relationship
between two that must be left still and alone…
within the depths of their individual being.
It is unfathomable and multihued –
anything imaginable and it’s opposite are there
in the crackling shadows.
Somewhere, at some time,
along the length of those released vines of energy,
we allow some part of ourselves
to intertwine and tangle with those of another.
But just as the tips of the sun dance warmly on our skin,
so the source of these rays would sooner incinerate us.
The melding of cores as a union of one
requires the destruction of two.
Protecting what you are seems at times
to be the antithesis
of cultivating what you’ll be with another.
But it is balance…
from the black center to the many shades of gray.
Yes, love springs forth from lips
before they are kissed .
mi bicicleta es muy negro
mi bicicleta
mibicicleta es muynegro
Quietly sighs the dawn
long and languid through the hours
All to come about lies in wait
Per chance, to say
Something sagacious,
Something great.
Dreamers wide awake;
So erudite and perspicuous.
As if their dreaming
were to dream
Away the smothering Incubus
That sponges up the will to act
by a forlorn soul expecting
that fortune’s grin will have it’s heart
as effortlessly as it’s wanting.
Stock-still and stunned of mobility
Tipped teaspoons heaped with emptiness
Into steaming cups of void
Sipped by thirsty lips of young
on blarney stone, a kiss and tongue,
to speak their yearning with sang-froid.
I never questioned the prognosis my own gallantry
until taught the word bravery,
I knew nothing about success
until I experienced failure,
I never feared death
until I overlooked life,
and I never knew a friend,
until I was called one.
