spontaneous thinking

I step up,

I step down.

The beat in my ears compels me,

every step is an ensemble.

Sometimes I pause.

I try to stay in limbo,

on a different plane

where the only thing that exists is atmosphere,

for as long as I can.

I sense kindness

coming from the rail,

I pick up notes rising through my body,

they say the journey’s worth it.

My skull vibrates in a way

I cannot say,

I suppose it’s joy.

Like the smiling face of an animal

or the happy routine of nature,

the constant,

the stable presence of mother.

I have many faces

for all the different places I appear,

it can be hard to know if I’m truly there.

I convince myself I’m being real

but it’s not always true.

I think about what to do,

I listen to music.

There’s education, there’s advice,

there’s pleasure, there’s motivation.

When I hear it,

I want you to know what I’m thinking,

I want you to know what I’m feeling.

The euphoria I get from every piece of life

does not equal the times

when I see your eyes aligning

with mine.

Even if I can’t meet them for long.

When I thought

what I thought

about you,

I wasn’t wrong.

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out of sync

I’d like to think

I am a tree

but I’m not as kind

or resolute.

 

Strip some bark aside,

look inside,

the heart’s not hard to find.

You’ll see it beating,

hurting,

squeezing some stress

out through the cracks.

 

If people aren’t cutting it down

they’re digging it out.

Either way it’s a sick feeling

and a horrible sound.

 

I’ve been looking for earth

to hold my roots,

a placed called Settle

is where I want to be.

But the more I reach for the soil

the less there is

holding onto me.

Towards Clarity

When someone speaks,

do you ever pause

to consider the sheer number

of possible replies?

It can be paralysing,

crippling,

trying to form the right one.

Hesitant,

like nature’s early risers,

you shape the letters on a dry tongue

but they have already moved on.

Only your petrified eyes

and the furrow of your brow

can describe the ease of which

you were left behind,

always catching up.

 

A newborn in the morning,

a sapling

raising it’s mottled neck

through the forest undergrowth.

There are too many choices to make,

too many ways to lean.

Do all paths lead back to each other

or are there some the sun never touches?

Some the warmth never heals,

some remaining licked by darkness?

And what of the wind?

Where will it come roaring in,

from this direction here

or that one there?

 

Angelic or fierce,

a river cannot decide.

Murmuring or coursing,

simply different states of mind.

Whispering lightly

at the feet of passing mammals

and crashing uninhibited,

washing rocks clean.

And making laughter,

all kinds of fun,

for the rafters.

Beautiful in calm

and arousal,

a river wants to be it all.

 

A fresh gem dug from the earth,

a nice prize

or a dangerous surprise?

Wonder and puzzlement.

Scared and awestruck,

your brain is stuck

with creases,

like in misplaced sheets of paper.

Do you hold on,

move into an exciting future you can’t predict

or tuck it back into the dirt,

stay where it’s safe

and you can’t get hurt?

 

The pain is real.

What you feel

seems enduring,

unbeatable

but I have learned it’s curable.

This does not have to last.

Fear and confusion fade

into the past

once you become familiar with it.

The gem is shiny,

you just have to polish it.

 

Leaves

I’ve been trying to figure out
If leaves have a life of their own.
When they fall are they simply done?
Do they just get blown with the wind
Or do they navigate?
When they leave home is that the beginning of the end
Or an escape?

Are they individual
Or are there too many to possibly distinguish?
Extinguish one,
It only hits pause on the fun
Before the rest realise they
Need to make the most of their time,
Especially if it involves making a dime
Into more.
We understand the crunch under our feet
Means they’re gone but we don’t mind,
They weren’t ours to think of.
And it’s probably more kind
To chop down the tree when it stands empty
Then to let it live without family,
But the tree is the only one that really understands the loss.
Despite the others moving in empathy,
It’s impossible for them to care
As much as they make out they do.

When a leaf is loose
It may fly for a while
Until eventually it spirals down,
As sad as the end of a good song
And the tree from which it came
Can only stand so long

defined

The quieter times-

 

when dew runs the length

of a spider’s web

as eight legs work to wrap a fly for safekeeping,

 

when an old dog still raises his head for

his owner and they press gentler than they used to,

 

when two faces are open to each other

and their eyes cross the divide unclouded

 

when a child locks in the last piece

of a jigsaw and their smile

purifies the surrounding air,

 

when looking at the expanse

of the sky doesn’t offer fear

but comfort,

 

when the soul seeks solace

and finds it

in music,

 

when under the ocean

you feel it crashing

yet hear nothing,

 

when thoughts

are just thoughts

and can be brushed away

by the touch of a kind hand,

 

when on the grass

and it puts maps on your skin

an ant climbs and traces the roads

and you let it pass,

 

when you see virtue in someone

who doesn’t see it in themselves

but trusts you

when you softly convince them,

 

when you understand you may be different

and you can’t please everyone

but aren’t afraid to write it down,

 

when it doesn’t matter what time it is

when it doesn’t matter what you look like

when it doesn’t matter what you wear

when it doesn’t matter what you do

when it doesn’t matter where you go

when it doesn’t matter what you think

or say

 

-are the ones I wish for.