Three Poems “the Soul/the Heart/the Mind”

 

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 134 hosted this week by the incredibly talented poet and my friend Shay!

Come join us!

What matters is not the idea a man holds, but the depth at which he holds it. ~Ezra Pound

The Soul of a Poet,

 

Lately I have been thinking a lot about life and of death

pondering upon what is held between every sigh and final breath

Is it the caged canary or the crow with broken wings

that carries the greatest misery

and holds the deepest sting?

there in the asking poetry surrounds me inked in the color of night

it stains my heart and hands and then fills my truest sight

I long to find answers so I reach out with thirsty hands

 and head into every wall that blocks the place in which I stand

it is a painful journey when answers are not always found

and questions get lost between the silence and the sound

for lately I have been thinking a lot about death and of life

and I believe all the answers are poetically before my eyes

Is it the convict or the paraplegic in a chair

that carries the greatest misery

and holds the deepest cares?

I shall ask these questions as long as I can speak

to anyone listening

to you

 and you

and me.

******************************************************

 

Crashed Cars,

 

hard hearts always hit us with the most force

crashing into us like cars

we end up seriously injured

while they seem untouched

yet we have the strength to heal

while they are the ones that remain stagnant

covered in the same old callous

and that is the most broken a heart can be.

************************************************************

Conversations I Had with My Husband,

 

You can talk till you are blue In the face

 but if someone is not listening

it is all waisted breath

and talking to walls never got anyone anywhere

except walking to the medicine cabinet for some headache medicine

and making an appointment with a divorce attorney

turning the conversation around

from husband to

an Ex.

For All The World To See

"The Sea Inside"  Painting by Samy Charnine

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 105

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am.”  ~Sylvia Plath

My heart was always in a fish bowl

for all the world to see

  you did not see it streaming down my face

for it flowed throughout my poetry

this world is a poetic ocean

deep with sorrow

yet filled with blessings inside a net

we swallow a whiskey bottle full of lies

to spit out a glass half empty of true regret

life can be like swimming lessons

with a teacher that cannot be found

that is how I learned to swim in tears

and hold my breath uttering not a sound

yet even in my silence

I learned how to be truly heard

painting feelings across the page

filled with the written word

for my heart was always in a fish bowl

for all the world to see

you did not see it streaming down my face

for it flowed throughout my poetry.  

The Heart is a Cat

Linking with The Sunday Muse for Muse # 65 Hosted today by Shay, one of my favorite poets in the whole world.  

A dog, I have always said, is prose; a cat is a poem. ~Jean Burden

The soul is a dog in the garden at day

running through flowers

under the sunshine it plays

but the heart is a cat

that searches all night

like the hunter it is

catching what it can on sight

longing for something to savor and share

wanting the thrill

 and taking the dare

but both get weary

and in need of a rest

some time to spread out

like butter on bread

needing true tranquility

 in a quiet spot

sprawling on blankets

 they finally plop

Then eyes closed

The mind wanders in sleep

for the brain is a bird 
that always flies free

So sweet dreams to you

And the great dreamer you are

May your hunting bring plenty

And your dreams take you far.

Cause Your Heart is a Trailer Park

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse # 64
Come join us!

There are memories I choose not to live with, but we occasionally meet for a drink. 
~Robert Brault

North Texas is a land of storms

And in 1970 so was our living room

And when your 6 years old

You can’t just pick up and leave town

Your stuck like a fence post

In the middle of tornado alley

The rain is going to come down hard

The winds may knock you down

Cause your heart is a trailer park

That is just the way it is

So you learn to pray

And sometimes look the other way

Like the eastern window of an old house

Then no matter how you try

Part of it follows you

Down the road are pieces of your past

Like remnants of a tornado’s destruction

And you find yourself sitting

Back in that same old place even if it is just for a little while

I look back and I see that 6-year-old sometimes

And find she is not that far away

Just another rain storm away

From remembering

What not to say.