Seasons of Mourning

Seasons of Mourning. Season after season….

A dark Summer
A burnt Autumn
A literal Winter
A starved Spring

A gray Summer
A barren Autumn
A punishing Winter
A colorless Spring

A windy Summer
A dry Autumn
A slumbering Winter
A green Spring

A weathered Summer
A speckled Autumn
A quiet Winter
A purple Spring

A clear sky Summer
A storybook Autumn
A sculpture Winter
A kaleidoscopes Spring

A deep Summer…

The Season Cycle is Earth’s clock. Healing is on Earth’s terms. Years may pass before a day feels ordinary and mundane. A small victory is not noticing a regular schedule. With every season functioning will improve. But it takes season after season after season….

IMAGE: ?

It’s The Inside

It’s The Inside. It’s the inside that counts.

“It’s the inside that counts” is a barren affirmation.
A person is not 2 people, nor 2 halves.
There is not an inside and an outside.
We are a whole package.

We market the inside when the outside is in question.
Or we sell our “curb appeal” over a dilapidated interior.
Nobody gets to cherry pick another person.
Nor should anyone sell themselves short.

We have as many varieties of our species as there are human beings.
Enhancements here, disadvantages there.
Opinions and judgments aren’t real.
When presenting oneself, proclaim, “It’s all or nothing!”

Something got under my skin. This is less of a poem and more of a rant. 

IMAGE: ‘You Blew Me Away’ sculpture by Penny Hardy

Peaceful Moments

Peaceful Moments. One, two, three.

Peaceful moments
Are like pleasant dreams
Few and far between
I stand in the center
Of a labyrinth
Crowned in trees
A bird sings
One, two, three
Fall back onto my knees
Crawling home to reality

When inner peace is random and infrequent, and turmoil is the norm, we are a collection of bad decisions. We underestimate the ego boost conflict gives, and serenity is confused with surrendering to an enemy. Who am I without a fight? Probably a better person.

I want inner peace and outer quiet to be my normal. I want chaos and restlessness to remain on the fringe. I don’t know what that looks like, and I can’t name the feeling. However, when I am absolutely present, such as writing this now, I owe nothing and am owed nothing. One, two, three.

IMAGE: Santiago Caruso

Cement

Cement

Descending stairs
In the cement dark
Not cold but stifling air
Cannot see one cement stair
Would a florescent flicker show
Blood unknown?
Splattered, smeared
A red cascade rolled out for
A VIP
A guest of honor
Keep out any light
Guess the way down
Cement wall
Cement hall
Inside of anywhere
Cannot see a single thing
The smell of a diamond ring
The unseen bloody scene
Cannot keep cement clean
The descending cement stairs
Blindly leading anywhere

I don’t know where I got the imagery from. But there it was in my head so I wrote it down. 

IMAGE: darksilenceinsuburbia: Maryam Savoji. Steps Towards Love.     Saatchi Gallery