Solitude,
I sit alone blankets covering legs
As I prepare for night’s rest,
And still my tongue is restless,
Unworn from speech,
My mouth is an empty cavern capable,
But speechless,
Instead it is my brain,
The vessel that has been tasked with laborious burdens,
My mind that has tumbled and wrestled with the day,
And yet,
At the day’s end,
It is my mind that longs for the comfort of a used mouth,
For the melodic hum of vocal cords,
But yet there is very little of this song here,
The mind is alone,
With no accompanying music,
The mouth stays in silence,
But for the occasional chewing on idle tongue,
All are in individual silos of solitude,
As am I,
In my bottom bunk,
In an almost empty room for 10,
Thus begins, and begets,
Life of the minister in making,
Here in
Solitude.
Category: Poetry
Tender Root
The ashen ground lay still hot,
With memory of fires burning,
Of life force curling in it’s flames,
And yet,
A silent revolution takes place,
Deep under burning soil,
Is a last hoorah for life in flux,
Root erupts
Supple and moist,
From a fragile,
but protective encasement,
Root unravels,
Tendril uncoils in and through rich packed earth,
From the depths it tunnels up,
up,
Closer to the light,
To the day,
To the fire it longs to challenge,
New life finds a way,
As if to say,
No,
No,
Not today
Walking with the Ancestors
I feel you here,
Ancestors,
Wordless you whisper in my mind,
Letting me know I am never alone,
That you reside beside my soul,
Ancestors,
I know you weren’t perfect,
You were human,
Now as spirit,
You are lessons,
Guides,
Wisdom,
Perhaps what I know is not from my mind alone,
But the culmination of your knowledge,
You have been here always,
Now I am just wise enough,
Open enough to see,
Ancestors,
May your continued existence be blessed,
I am grateful for your gifts of presence and wisdom,
As you walk in step with me.
Write On
I have run to you,
I have run from you,
In fear of self,
In fear of the unknown,
I have deleted my poems,
Confessions,
And such,
Fearing the power of others hands they might touch,
But who am I?
Whose feelings could be wanted?
So needed to be manipulated?
I am no one.
And therein lies the rub,
If I am no one,
I am nothing,
But I am something,
I am someone,
I cannot be no one,
And thus,
I am important,
I am unique,
I am valuable…
And if so I have much to protect,
I can either refuse to live, to preserve ever being harmed,
Or I can revolt against fear and oppression,
Determined to preserve my existence and living,
And thus,
I wage my own internal battle against uncertainly,
And pledge to live;
And so I write on.
Identity
I am
Who I am
Despite how others see me,
I will persevere with my identity,
With my abilities,
With my disabilities,
I am,
Because I exist,
Because I am here,
And that is good,
In whatever plane I reside on,
My identity defies convention,
Challenges boundaries,
Stretches imagination,
Ensures my breath is not wasted,
Promises promises,
Of something grander than believed possible yesterday,
My identity is, was, will be,
And when I go to my next destination,
I leave behind a legacy,
That I am building with the creation,
The priceless artwork that is my identity.
Missed Full Moon
I missed this full moon,
But I felt it,
In my heart,
In my hips
In my hunger for words
From your lips,
I missed this full moon,
More importantly,
I
miss
you
She of Letters 