Spirit

Tags

compassion, dreams, empathy, forever, free, kindness, love, mystery, personal, sighs, unconditional love

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Sun shines through
a pickerel sky,
loons
rock on the water.

I feel a presence
by my side,
hear whispers
and some laughter.

I know that if
I turn my head
I’ll only see
the cedar.

My eyes I keep
on trails ahead
in hopes
that I might see her.

Spirit, you fill
my heart with love
yet, nowhere
can I see you.

A glimpse (perhaps),
or in my dreams.
I long so
just to touch you.

Your hand to take
within my own,
my lips
to kiss your fingers.

Please grant to me
this simple wish.
I’ll remain
forever grateful.

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Three Ravens

Tags

birds, free, mystery, nature, personal, ravens, universe, world

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walking to the bus stop
I’m welcomed
by the squawks
of ravens,
as I am every day,
same time, same place.

further conversation
is avoided —
we’ve said it all before,
there’s nothing new.

they accept my presence,
scratch themselves,
snuggle
in snow-covered branches.

without warning
one drops
and soars into the distance,
another follows
then the third.

they land far away
on a telephone wire
three commas
on a line.

_,_,_,_

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Manhattan Dance Bar, Saturday Night

Tags

1950's, back seat, bar, dance, fighting, music, romance, Saturday, sighs

Notes: These are song lyrics to accompany music similar to that of the Ricky Lee Jones song “Danny’s All-Star Joint”. Events are true, names have been retained to reflect the guilty.

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It’s great to be young, so long as you get older.
Don’t lay it all on just one bet.
You’ve got to go easy, if you go to the Manhattan.
If you want to see Sunday, better watch your step.

Jake the Snake is sneaking in the alley.
He’s got dobermans’ to keep him safe.
He’s also got Roberta, struttin’ on the dance floor.
Mess with his, Jake will mess your face.

Shakes and Weasel looking for some yokels,
gonna break heads, gonna cut someone.
Stay in the light, stay out of corners,
gotta be nice, or you won’t see the sun.

Me, I’m loose and I might get lucky.
Got my arms around a woman and she’s holding tight.
Out to the car, passion in the back seat,
sleazy and sweaty on Saturday night.

It’s great to be young, so long as you get older.
Don’t lay it all on just one bet.
You gotta go easy, if you go to the Manhattan,
sleazy and sweaty with no regret.

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Careful With That Axe, Eugene

Tags

compassion, delusion, despair, desperation, emotion, empathy, fantasy, free, mental illness, music, psychedelic rock, schizophrenia

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Eugene had a mind of his own,
not, as some would say, a sound mind,
but his own mind, nevertheless.

“It’s awfully considerate of you
to think of me here.
And I’m most obliged to you
for making it clear
that I’m not here.”

Eugene was a great musician,
taking music to the limit;
his songs will always survive.
Eugene took drugs to the limit;
he’s now in Interstellar Overdrive.

When we observed him with an axe,
you may understand our concern.
Was he in danger, or were we?

Eugene had already left us in spirit,
but he wandered away that day
and was lost to us forever.

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This poem is dedicated to the memory of “Syd Barrett (born Roger Keith Barrett; 6 January 1946 – 7 July 2006) who was an English singer, songwriter, guitarist and artist. He is most remembered as a founding member of  band Pink Floyd, providing major musical and stylistic direction in their early work, although he left the group in 1968 amidst speculations of mental illness exacerbated by heavy drug use.”

Axe is also British slang for guitar. Pink Floyd’s use of the title Careful With That Axe, Eugene may refer to “Barrett’s behaviour (which) became increasingly unpredictable, partly as a consequence of frequent experimentation with psychedelic drugs such as LSD. Many report having seen him on stage with the group, strumming on one chord through the entire concert, or not playing at all. At a show at The Fillmore West in San Francisco, during a performance of “Interstellar Overdrive”, Barrett slowly detuned his guitar. The audience seemed to enjoy such antics, unaware of the rest of the band’s consternation.” (Source: Wikipedia)

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Now and Forever

Tags

dreams, fantasy, forever, imagination, lifetimes, longing, love, mystery, personal, romance, sighs

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lavender breeze
through lilac and lace
evensong, windsong
let’s find a place

just off the trail
look for an evergreen.
memories we’ll make,
we’d never dream

soft on a blanket
from branches hang lanterns
raspberries, blackberries
shadows make patterns

stars in the night sky
just us together
kisses will find us
for now and forever

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Danced with Angels

Tags

dreams, fantasy, forever, imagination, longing, love, nature, personal, romance, sighs, spirits, unconditional love

 

 

I’ve danced with angels —
the horizon and my heart
smouldering and blazing with fire

I’ve heard songs of sirens
crooning, moaning, lamenting
orgasmic cries of ecstasy

I’ve followed woodland nymphs
into secret, sacred circles
of overwhelming abandonment

I’ve flown with the chimera
beyond the astral plane
felt her fire on my loins

Like butterflies, they dance
to each erect, expectant flower
coming with their love

 

Cocoon

Tags

Buddhism, compassion, despair, empathy, empowerment, homeless, kindness, panhandling, unconditional love

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Over the past years
we’ve sat together
sharing a blanket
on the sidewalk.
You wrapped
in your cocoon.

I’ve observed,
as your spirit
(once battered
and cowering in fear)
emerged brave
and purposeful.

Gradually,
layer after layer,
your past fell away,
until now
your true beauty
shines forth.

I’ve grown with you,
learned from you,
opened my heart,
cried with you,
been comforted.

I celebrate with you
your transformation,
and (in friendship)
proudly accompany you
in your reincarnation
as a butterfly.

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Paranoia

Tags

anxiety, bipolar, fear, imagination, low self esteem, mental illness, obsessive compulsive, Paranoid personality disorder, psychiatry, psychology, trust

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“…telling an alcoholic to control his drinking is like telling a guy suffering the world’s most cataclysmic case of diarrhea to control his shitting.” ~ Steven King

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“Paranoid personality disorder (PPD) is a mental disorder characterized by paranoia and a pervasive, long-standing suspiciousness and generalized mistrust of others. Individuals with this personality disorder may be hypersensitive, easily feel slighted, and habitually relate to the world by vigilant scanning of the environment for clues or suggestions that may validate their fears or biases. Paranoid individuals are eager observers. They think they are in danger and look for signs and threats of that danger, potentially not appreciating other evidence.[1]”   ~ Wikipedia

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Somebody said to me, “…you feel the need to place yourself at the center of every word so that every hurt seems aimed at you.” This poem is meant to answer this concern.

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I don’t trust people.
There are medical reasons:
bipolar, obsessive compulsive
and paranoid personality disorders.
I take medication for them,
and practise daily
meditation.

I do irrational things;
even while I’m doing them
I know they’re irrational —
I do them anyway.
I can’t help it.

Usually, I live
a relatively sane existence;
then a trigger goes off
Bam!
Somebody’s talking
behind my back.
Somebody’s writing about me
for all the world to see.

Sleepless nights
rereading
what did he/she mean by that?
more sleepless nights
more rereading
more anxiety.
Why,
are they doing this to me?

What do I do?
There may be other explanations.
There are other people in the world
that may act the way I do,
say the things I say,
fit my description…
But, all of this,
all at once;
impossible.

So I ask,
“Are you writing about me?”
They say, “I sometimes write about people,
but not about you.”
Problem solved —
or is it?
They write about people —
I’m people…
more sleepless nights,
more rereading,
more anxiety.

I don’t trust people.
I’m not acting rational.
I’m not rational.
I know, I’m not rational.
I’m acting paranoid.
I am paranoid.
I know, I’m paranoid.
I should control my paranoia.
I should control my shitting.

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Welcoming the End

Tags

bipolar, Buddhism, depression, love, obsessive compulsive, personal, philosophy, psychiatry, psychology, suicide, therapy

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Visions of my crumpled, lifeless body
haunt my aimless footsteps.
Spectres from the grave welcome
this life-weary traveler.

Tomorrow, that will not come, denies
upturned eyes, the soft rains of hope.
Flames of sorrow and rage sear
this tortured soul.

Ragged hell-cries of desperation rip
and pierce my mind.
No sound is uttered,
since there is no ear to listen.

Grief rises and swells
like the limitless ocean,
swallowing this helpless, solitary victim
in tides of comfortless tears.

Mother earth, take this flesh, these bones
to your rocky bosom;
pull a cover of earth
over this last weary day.

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This poem represents a very bleak period in my life.  After expressing my feelings on paper, I sought psychological and medical help.  I am now pleased to report that suicidal feelings have been left behind.  Bipolar, obsessive compulsive and paranoid personality disorders will always be with me; however medication and meditation allows me to live an intermittently happy life.

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What Do I Mean?

Tags

abandonment, death, despair, desperation, emotion, fear, free, personal

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I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
He said to me, you must not ask for so much.
And a pretty woman
leaning in her darkened door
She cried to me, hey, why not ask for more?
(From “Bird on a Wire” by Leonard Cohen.)

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“It is impossible to say just what I mean.” [1]
The truth has many viewpoints
each painted by the brush of experience,
trauma, abuse — the list goes on.
What we see and what we hear
depends on who we are and where we’ve been.

Emotions are unreliable —
they may be triggered
by childhood fears of abandonment,
years of bullying,
disease, alcoholic parents.
We all wear our visible and invisible scars.

Some scars we wear with pride,
others we try to submerge,
yet they rise to the surface unexpectedly
like putrefied corpses.
Their corruption taints everything we see
feel, hear or experience.

Worst of all is the insecurity,
inability to trust, unexplainable emotions.
Fears which no longer have relevance
can pull our carpet of security
out from under our feet and leave us sprawling,
helpless as the children we once were.

Is there any hope for the future?
Is there an escape from a haunted past?
Perhaps, for some of us, there is hope —
“Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir” [2]
We can try in our way to be free.

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(1) From “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot.
(2) From “Bird on a Wire” by Leonard Cohen.

Journey

Tags

compassion, desperation, emotion, empathy, homeless, kindness, love, loving kindness, personal, philosophy, unconditional love

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I’ve embarked
on a journey of discovery.
I’ve ventured into a foreign district
with its own set of laws and customs;
they speak a different language.
A ghetto, fraught with danger —
even death.

I have friends
who’ve got my back,
and whose back I’ve got;
friends, who’ll fight for me,
for whom I’ve fought —
my family.

There is no map —
a journey of uncertainty.
an underground to fathom.
Each day a revelation,
new understanding,
precious gift,
of love.

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Please, Take My Hand

Tags

Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, emotion, empathy, fear, homeless, kindness, loving kindness, psychology, unconditional love

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There you are
an almost stranger.
Who am I to take your hand?
What I give is almost nothing –
but the heart to hear
and understand.

You tell me
you’ve been beaten,
stabbed with a machete,
made some choices
now regretted.

Sparking
eyes of azure blue
show a spectrum of emotions,
happiness, frustration,
pain and sorrow,
but, always
love.

Arisen
from behind a dumpster,
to living in a clean, safe house,
your life in order,
independent —
a miracle.

Inspiring
to me, and to everyone
fortunate enough to know you.
I would like to introduce you
to a wider audience
so that they too
may take inspiration
and see the miracle
that is your love,
that is you.

Please,
in friendship,
take my hand.

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i do what i can…

Tags

Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, despair, desperation, emotion, empathy, homeless, kindness, love, philosophy

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i’m sitting on the sidewalk
as a woman, huddled in a blanket,
a patterned do-rag on her head,
sobs on my shoulder.
i put my arm around her
and say, “it’s okay.”
knowing that nothing is okay,
it will never be okay.

i’m beyond my depth.
i don’t know what to do,
or what to say…
anything that comes to mind
is shallow and meaningless.
this woman’s experiences
are completely foreign to me.
what do I know —
about alcoholism?
about motorcycle gangs?
about sleeping on the streets?

all i can do is let her cry,
tell her that she has forgiveness,
that what saddens her,
what keeps her awake,
or gives her nightmares,
is all in the past.
it’s time to forgive herself
and love herself
and live
in the present moment.

she can’t go on.
she can’t stand the pain.
she can’t do this any more.
drink is the only thing
that numbs her mind;
enough to endure,
enough to pass out at night
and do it all over again
the next day.

i can only do
and say so much.
it’s always a pleasant surprise
to see her sitting on the sidewalk,
knowing that she’s made it
through another night;
that she hasn’t been taken
by violence, sickness
or the police.

i do what i can.

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Tulips

Tags

compassion, desperation, emotion, empathy, homeless, kindness, love, nature, personal, philosophy, spiritual

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For sentient beings, poor and destitute,
May I become a treasure ever plentiful,
And lie before them closely in their reach,
A varied source of all that they might need. ~ Shantideva

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They’ve transplanted
the homeless
to make room
for tulips —

they’re a tourist attraction.

We’ve all read
the statistics
on homelessness.
There’s no need
to be reminded.

There’s no need
to see their faces,
or look into their eyes,
see the hurt, the pain,
the tears —

they’re not a tourist attraction.

Perhaps, if we spent
as much time, money and effort
dealing with the root causes
of homelessness —
as we do on tulips —
there wouldn’t be
a problem.

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Sitting On the Curb

Tags

compassion, desperation, empathy, homeless, kindness, love, loving kindness, personal, philosophy, spiritual, unconditional love

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I sit cross-legged on the curb
with my friends, my street family,
panhandlers, alcoholics, addicts.
We talk about the past, mostly;
although, trials of the moment
sometimes come to the surface:
who will go on a liquor run,
who got out of prison,
the problem of bed bugs,
an appearance at court,
a ticket for a liquor violation
or for jumping a bus.

Someone asks for a cigarette
a beer, a swig of sherry
or a combination of the three.
A joint is passed,
‘Don’t bogart it!’ someone says,
or ‘6 up’ if the cops are near.
We know that we’re looked down upon
both literally and figuratively.
We notice expressions
on the faces of passers-by:
fear, disgust, annoyance.
I won’t say it doesn’t bother me;
on the other hand, those passing by
are nothing to me, they’re entitled
to their opinions, as I am to mine.

I’ve learned a lot, sitting on the curb
a new language, friendship, acceptance,
compassion…
If I’m ever homeless, I have people to turn to
for food, a blanket, a place to sleep,
maybe couch surfing in a bug infested room,
or a piece of cardboard behind a dumpster.
I’ve got someone to take my back —
or my 6 o’clock — if needed,
as I would take theirs.
I’ve learned to appreciate these things
and the people who offer them.
It’s all they have in the world
and they offer them to me.

I hear of growing up
with abusive, alcoholic parents,
children molested, beaten, thrown out.
It’s no wonder where they are,
what they are, who they are.
Where they are is in a family that cares.
Who they are is individuals, not a designation.
What they are is human, sensitive, caring;
more like you, than you realize.
Most of all, they are my family.

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Compassion

Tags

compassion, empathy, homeless, kindness, love, loving kindness, mankind, personal, philosophy, spiritual, unconditional love

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Compassion is amazing —
when we give it freely
it doesn’t diminish,
it enriches our souls.

Joy, is a panhandler
(incapable of anything else),
she is also my friend.
Each morning
(on my way to work)
I eagerly anticipate
her greeting and warm smile.

I sit with her
on the sidewalk,
as witness
to her blackened eyes.
I listen to her stories
of beatings and abuse,
give solace
when she cries.
“Tears are a sign of weakness”
her father used to say.

I bring her tea
(cream and three sugars),
a bagel with cream cheese,
on mornings when frost
is on the ground,
and on the hearts,
of most passers-by.

She gives to me
her hand to hold,
an attentive ear
to my daily problems,
words of comfort
(when comfort is needed).

With her friendship,
Joy has enriched my soul
and filled my heart with tenderness.
She has given me so much
that I didn’t know existed —
I am deeply in her debt.

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Soup Kitchen

Tags

compassion, emotion, empathy, homeless, hunger, kindness, love, loving kindness, philosophy, psychology, spiritual

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The line forms at five o’clock,
mostly long-haired, bearded men
wearing dirty winter coats, torn pants;
some women with blackened eyes,
some with missing teeth,
each sliding a tray to be filled
with a bowl of soup
a hot meal.

The television is on.
Some stay for the evening
reading, talking, playing cards.
For the most part
the evening is jovial,
an occasional argument,
fights are taken outside.

I look on,
wipe tables when people leave,
take dirty dishes to the kitchen.
Everyone is out by nine o’clock
so that cots may be set up
for those spending the night.

Sleeping is crowded.
Someone comes in late,
starts punching the walls,
fights break out because of snoring,
someone tries to steal a cell phone —
a typical night
at the soup kitchen.

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Squirrels in Winter

Tags

compassion, empathy, fantasy, folk tales, homeless, kindness, love, nature, squirrels, unconditional love

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Occasionally,
Antonio
joins me for coffee.
He tells me
the most wondrous stories.
Sometimes,
I think he makes them up
for my benefit.
In any case
I am honored.

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Have you ever worried
about squirrels in winter?
I see them climb over snowdrifts
with their bare paws —
they have no winter boots.

I see them stop
to tuck their tiny front paws
into their armpits
for warmth —
they have no mitts.

When it rains
I see them huddle
under trees,
they still get soaked —
they have no raincoats.

They have no pants,
no dresses, no hats,
no warm winter coats,
no shelter or fires
to warm their bodies.

Even the homeless men
whose beds are the sidewalk
have sleeping bags
to keep them warm.
Squirrels have nothing.

Still they remain cheery,
hopping about
gathering nuts,
Who knew
it was such a hard life
for squirrels in winter?

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My Name Is Hippo

Tags

alcoholism, Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, empathy, homeless, kindness, spiritual, unconditional love, welfare

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My name is Hippo,
I’m an alcoholic.
Joy was the first
to call me Hippo.
My face swells
when I drink beer.
I guess, I look
like a Hippo.

Before that
they called me Farmboy.
I never lived on a farm,
but, I come from
a farming community.
I guess I looked
like a Farmboy.

Why do I drink?
Welfare asks me that
all the time —
I’m also homeless —
I don’t know why I drink.
I have bleeding ulcers;
I shit and puke blood.

I drink because
that’s who I am.
If I didn’t drink
I wouldn’t be me.
If I didn’t drink
I’d die…

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Antonio

Tags

compassion, emotion, empathy, free, homeless, insecurity, kindness, loving kindness, nature, personal, unconditional love

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My friend, Antonio,
greets me
with a salute and a bow
(it’s his way).
I am very glad to see him
and very honored.

I don’t see him very often,
he has his own schedule,
not necessarily
corresponding with mine.
He is a free spirit.

Through dark glasses
he sees the world
(so not to offend).
He is very conscious
that his appearance
may cause concern.
He wears a beard,
his clothes are ragged,
all his belongings
follow him
in a shopping cart.

He feels uncomfortable
in enclosed spaces,
so he sleeps outdoors,
summer and winter,
on a park bench
(with his friends
the squirrels),
when temperatures
are well below freezing.

He is not immune
from assault,
beatings
(having his teeth kicked out),
not because of what he does,
but what he is,
how he appears.

I usually see him
in front of the library,
one of his favorite places.
He likes to look at books
and see pictures
of kings and other people
he has studied
in school.

Occasionally,
he joins me for coffee.
He tells me
the most wondrous stories.
Sometimes,
I think he makes them up
for my benefit.
In any case
I am honored.

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Betrayal

Tags

compassion, despair, emotion, empathy, homeless, kindness, loneliness, longing, love, loving kindness, unconditional love

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I look into your eyes,
grey with tears and sorrow
from the Arctic Ocean.

I feel your hurt deep inside,
hear your thunder,
see your rain.

With your fist at your chest
you open your heart,
tell me of hardship,
betrayal and pain.

I listen
with my heart
as one who has been there.

With my arm around your shoulder,
as a brother,
I urge you, to act with patience
and with love —
to be love.

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Lost Brave

Tags

compassion, despair, desperation, destiny, dreams, emotion, empathy, homeless, loneliness, love, spiritual

 

 

a lost brave
leans against a building
(tho he is unwelcome)
beside a busy walk.
everything he owns
fills a pack
upon his back

he is far
from his fishing boat,
an ocean teeming with fish,
from the majestic forest,
from his children,
his clan

his eyes reveal
a story of hurt and pain –
the uncertainty of the city.
a sidewalk for a bed,
charity of strangers
his only grace

a challenge
every day –
a new beginning.
beyond the fire
that tames his demons
the only plan that matters
is to survive

far from home
he can scarce remember.
a lost brave, fighting back tears,
pride in the knowledge
of his ancestry,
his place –
his blood

 

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Street Angel

Tags

compassion, desperation, emotion, empathy, homeless, kindness, love, mystery, personal, spiritual, unconditional love

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I met a woman
who lives on the streets.
All her belongings
fit in her backpack.

She has sparkling blue eyes,
a smile that would light heaven itself.
She looked cold.
I asked her how long
she’d been on the streets.
She replied, “I don’t know….too long.”
She is forty-four,
but looks older.

She told me her story.
I won’t repeat it,
but, to give you
some idea,
recall your worst fears,
your worst nightmares
rolled into one.
That’s the way
her story starts,
it only gets worse
from there.

I brought her a sandwich
and a coffee.
She said, “God bless you.”
He did
immediately,
A wave of joy spread
throughout my body
and stayed there
all day long.

I have been blessed
by an Angel.

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Where You Pass

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where you pass
your words fall
as gentle flowers
perfect
in imperfection

gathering the blooms
i embrace them
where they sing
directly
to my heart

up ahead
a woodland wren
leads me
to my destination,
to our home

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Open Minds

a beautiful poem, beautiful sentiment. ~ Dennis

scottishmomus

 

This sadness knows no end it seems.

Drenched in it,

Soaked into seams.

Drowning world

From unreal dreams.

Ears so closed

To others’ screams

For justice,

Equality,

An open ear.

We cry alone

Who cry for fear

Of closed-in world,

No listening ear.

 

But we will shout,

We will be heard,

We are not animals

Coralled as herd.

 

Where others fear to plough a furrow,

Remember, please, that come tomorrow,

When your chaos reigns and help is sought,

Who counted others’ screams as naught?

 

Diminished earth in space and time

There is no time to tread a line

Of non-commitment to a cause,

Upholding unjust, archaic laws

That seek to separate and blight

The human race in hate and spite.

 

Open minds to all you see

And hear and read

So you may be

A better Man than he. Or she.

 

Video reading. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=1430638027161369&l=8639054162534248407

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