poetry

After you leftI stared at the drivewayFeeling its emptinessWondering if you__ return.After you leftI thought about your questionsWishing I hadn__ been so bluntWondering if I scared you away.After you leftI remembered how you felt in my arms.How you fit so perfectly there. Like my guitar.Wondering if I should have kissed you when I had the chance.After you leftI sat in my roomRemembering all the things you said, andWondering about all the things you didn__.After you leftI sat in silence.Missing you in a way I didn__ quite understand.Wondering if you__ ever come back.

I am not a mechanism, an assembly of various sections.and it is not because the mechanism is working wrongly, that I am ill.I am ill because of wounds to the soul, to the deep emotional self,and the wounds to the soul take a long, long time, only time can helpand patience, and a certain difficult repentancelong difficult repentance, realization of life__ mistake, and the freeing oneselffrom the endless repetition of the mistakewhich mankind at large has chosen to sanctify.

Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace'One grand boulevard with treeswith one grand cafe in sunwith strong black coffee in very small cups.One not necessarily very beautifulman or woman who loves you.One fine day.

I Hear the sledges with the bells - Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. II Hear the mellow wedding bells - Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! - From the molten - golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle - dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! - how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! III Hear the loud alarum bells - Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now - now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale - faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging, And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling, And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells - Of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - In the clamor and the clanging of the bells! IV Hear the tolling of the bells - Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people - They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone - They are neither man nor woman - They are neither brute nor human - They are Ghouls: - And their king it is who tolls: - And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Rolls A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances, and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells: - Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells: - To the sobbing of the bells: - Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells - To the tolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, - To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

I was coming together...limb by limb, after being brokenfor an infinity.

Tchingis, if you determine this is to be so, who can withstand you? You are poetry after an ugly day, and heal wounds I didn't know I had.

But time brought healing,Downsizing of ego,And freedom from bondage.Alas, neither damnationNor salvationWould come__o terror of some hellish fiendOr apocalyptic furyUpon his command.There was nothing to fear,And there was everything.

With support from the women in Nia, I decided to take white belt and realized that I could come back into my body. That I did not have to stay out of my body, That I was safe coming back to myself,That I could love my body again,The connection was madeThat it is safe for me to be in my body and to love myself, That I can express my true feelingsThat I can sound and tell my truth

do not look for healingat the feet of thosewho broke you

There will always be the facts of life to contend with, and there are times when the facts can become overwhelming. Yet, there is a poem at the heart of things and a mythic story in the heart of each of us. At certain times it is the poetry of life and the mythic imagination of the soul that become necessary in order to heal the wounds inflicted by an excess of reason or an overuse of force. When we unfold the story wound within our souls and untie the knots within us, we add presence to the world and contribute to the spirit of life in a specific and authentic way.

Let go, let go, let go,Just let it go,Let the tears come out,Stop fighting the tears back,Stop wearing different masks,Let yourself be seen,Let yourself be the real you,

You have survived so muchthat no one remembers.And you still spread warmrain on all your overgrownlots. And you still get dressedin the morning. You stillopen wide for the sun.

I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.There is no happiness like mine.I have been eating poetry.

A message from Love: Write my name in silent script upon your heart; and then_ go anywhere, and be what you have written.

Celebrate one soul, touch one heart, light one lamp; and the whole universe moves.

It is in the last step that one finds the unfathomable beginning; it is in the aloneness that one discovers himself never alone; it is in the deep silence that one hears the hidden music__he chant of eternity, the illuminated whisper of love.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;Weep, and you weep alone;For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,But has trouble enough of its own.