thepoet-ry

[thepoet-ry]

-in the dream-

In the dream, its much like it is in the poem. anything can happen.

There may be birds and there may be something far more terrifying. There may be something you'd never considered in your waking life. Visions of your mother feeding you black milk or your father coming at you with a dagger. Diggings into your chest in an attempt to find your heart that reveal a withered white and puss-filled sack, more like a miscarriage than a brave, beating vital thing.

In the dream, it is much like it is in the poem. You find yourself walking in green fields, sun on your face, only to fall off the edge of the world like you did in a video game you played while you were still a child. Rainbow roads fade and evaporate just as you were approaching the checkered flag. The end doesn't matter as much as how you got there. Journeys and childhood games look less alike than they really are.

In the dream, it is much like it is in the poem. There is no end in sight and it lasts much shorter it seems. You feel your way in the dark, some unknown watcher guiding your hand. Pressure nonexistent yet you are drawn into the depths of yourself. Finding all manner of creatures and thoughts believed extinct or mythical. You find the leviathan. He swallows you whole. You are in his belly with a candle. You find that ancient fear, that archaic flame. Where is the guide?

In the dream, it is much like it is in the poem.

#poetry #poem #dream #dreams #horror #family #childhood #deadpoetsociety

[thepoet-ry]

-ceremony-

I know the place where the ceremony begins,

where we are together again in tides

of laughter breathing and breaking

on the shore. The stars and satellites

revolve around us the starry dome

of heaven encases us, holds us in its hands.

Danye comes up from behind us

through beach grass and we laugh

and wave as he tells us he wants to spin

his poi, glowing colored balls from strings

and he is now the universe and the stars,

glowing and burning in flow for our eyes.

Two figures from the known right emerge

and ask to share our fire. They are from

the past and cast no shadows. They sit

and watch the movement from Danye,

him with the pins in his hat flashing

reflecting firelight, a reminder of the flame.

A woman with cat ears emerged from aether

do you know who she was? I feel like

she once told me I was a wizard

we had shared nights of wine in comfy beds

but she had fallen asleep as i told her

I loved her.

A silhouette came from the darkened left

beyond the bluffs then disappeared,

with stories of mad meth dances

in his wake, his sound swept away

by the waves and the smell of his memory

washed away by the wind.

We sat sipping booze from the bottle

and felt like new incarnation of uncles

Allen and Jack, of grandfathers Li Po

and Tu Fu and we heard the waves

call our names, tasted the buzz and cellular

singing of nicotine.

I reachedfor my water without looking

and found it like that. We talked

with the sharers of our fire about epic poetry,

Homer, and the Greeks. "Sing in me, O Muse,

of that traveler who strayed so far from home."

Those things we need, always at hand.

-march 12 2020-

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#poem #poetry #writing #poems #old poem #new poets society #dead poets society #poets corner #words #poetsandwriters #ocean #beach #ceremony #pacific ocean #pacific #pnw #dream #meditation

[thepoet-ry]

I have a Patreon. Check it out for all my newest poems and releases!

#poem #poetry #writing #poems #new poets society #dead poets society #poets corner #patreon #ry downey #flowers leaning toward the sun #fltts

[thepoet-ry]

-a beauty poem-

I want to talk about beauty--

no, not talk--

I want to show

you beauty,

make it felt

in the heart,

somewhere beyond the reach

of words.

Because words

are not

the thing itself--

words are fingers

pointing

toward the thing

itself.

My mother used to collect

unicorns

because, she said,

they have mystique

and beauty.

She wasn't wrong,

and what's more,

she said it

simply.

Beauty strikes us in places

words can't reach.

A cloud

or a sunset

or a painting of them

is more

than the words we have

to name them

will ever be.

We recognize these things we see

not with words

but by the feelings

ignited within.

What then is ignited in us?

The same unknown spark

inside

that helps us

lift our arms,

dream our dreams,

and reach epiphanies--

the essence of all that is

is reflected

onto us.

We witness without

what is within--

as above,

so below,

within,

without.

Cascading sequences of succulents,

spaces of emptiness

between

every

note,

the light at the end

of the tunnel.

All beauty begins

and ends

in harmony--

unity

borne

in unspoken recognition

that All

is One.

-december 2017, seattle wa-

#poem #poetry #writing #poems #old poem #new poets society #dead poets society #poets corner #words #poetsandwriters #beauty

[thepoet-ry]

-october 1- poem

-october 1st-

The leaves are on the lawn again.

It seems the time has come

again. October 1st is here again,

cueing thoughts of cabin fever,

they return like droves of birds

to the south, the little magnets

in their brain flipping round

pointing them the opposite

of north. Warmer climates the goal

for all those untethered, feathered

symbols of freedom.

I haven't grown

roots quite yet, unless you count

my lease and invisible tendrils

of emotion. The birds fly south,

I draw the Hermit from my Tarot

deck and I wonder if my friends

will understand when I don't call

them back for the next few months.

It seems like every year I write this

poem where the fact of the winter

becomes real. Its clouds cover the sky

my eyes suddenly the flaming

colors in the trees the razing

of the last of my automatic peace

of mind. My lazy boat floated easily

these past few months, auto pilot

engaged making being alive so much

easier. Vacation season ends now

and the real work begins.

Sun is waving goodbye for now

and my eyes linger on its fading

rays. My part of the earth turns

its face away and the time has come

for my own turn into myself.

Delve deeper, the winter says

to me. Dig for the places that hurt.

Dismantle walls that entomb

your heart. The real work begins.

[thepoet-ry]

-to a mentor-

Take my hand, guide me through the halls

of words and lines and tell me how

to write a poem that's not about poetry

or drifting through life by trying not

to make any decisions or action whatsoever

unless it involves sex or food or poetry.

I've learned how to see too but in different

ways. I might explain more than the average

poet but the flower isn't just there.

I'm holding it in my hand. What do you call

that, if not poetry.

I need to find a classroom, I need to find

a temple. Don't tell me what to see,

teach me where to look.

The infinitude of glances, the angles

the eye can take make me dizzy,

vertigo is not just a movie with Kim Novak

with shock white hair. It moves

in the world and in my brain.

I want to know which way is up.

Show me please.

The journey is everything but it is lonely.

The woods are darker and deeper

with nothing to light the way.

I am a hunter with no lantern,

no hound to call or fetch when I say.

Is it possible to be all of these

at once?

I need you (do I?) to help me string

these images like beads along

the line of these lines, make them

more than the sum of their parts.

#poem #poetry #writing #poems #old poem #art #words #poetryisnotdead #dead poets society #poetscommunity #new poets society #poets on tumblr #poetsandwriters #poets corner

[thepoet-ry]

-it takes time to become a god- You know it's time to read some poetry and it's gonna feel good too after it feels terrible. Watching these gods of the word do their thing. And it comes in entropy of ease and weightlessness you know as of now you only achieve in your dreams. But you never see the slashing and cutting done-- hours and years, grains in the hourglass filtered downward as their mountains in your hands grew higher until they became the Olympus you witness, the book in your hands, the lines that slay and eviscerate your sense of yourself as a poet. You are a fake you are convinced as the book shakes in your grandpa's hand. Take care and have faith, young one, surely your grains are falling and building your own Olympus or Rainier-- the second has lava and can erupt any minute. They stand in awe every time you are out and the mist clears to reveal your peak. Schoolchildren do drills in the event of your eruption. Memory fades but awakens when the match is struck. Take care and have faith. It takes time to become a god. -may 15 2018, seattle wa-

#poetry #poem #poet #writing #poetsandwriters #writersoftumblr #dead poets society #poets on tumblr #poets of tumblr #poets corner #poetsclub #writers and poets

[thepoet-ry]

Don't need to see the reality to know it exists. Unfamiliar familiarity buzzes below. Uneasy easiness. The river flows you toward a source you cant see around the bend. Oh God I'm in this boat or body again. I don't like how it feels. Can you teach me to appreciate the sensation of being a person who feels things and sometimes is afraid to say it? Resist comparing this body to that. We are all trees, we are all trees, growing exactly the way we were supposed to grow. Now my growth is hurting. Tell me it's okay. Does the butterfly hurt when it first emerges? Does blossoming feel like bleeding? Right now it's dark, I bob on the surface. Murmurs of water reach my ears and in the echoes I place myself exactly where i think I am like a bat, I need to know my own sounds to steer myself through the world I hear.

#poetry #poem #poet #poemsbyme #poems on tumblr #poemsporn #dead poets society #poets on tumblr #poets corner #poetsandwriters #poetselixir

[thepoet-ry]

-fecundity- The child's pose I'm in places my face to the grass's roots-- the green of the leaves is different struck directly by the sun. Shining through, the blades are animate, bequeathing a new brilliance. My shoulders stretch. I close my lids and open my heart, giving myself to the earth. The smell of the soil fills my head, growing glimpses sowing for me the green heart of life. Moments like these renew, remind-- the building blocks of eternity course through blood, carry through cells, lie quiet but alive in the belly of the mother. -april 24 2018, seattle wa-

#poetry #poem #dead poets society #poets on tumblr #poets corner #poet #poemsbyme #poems on tumblr #poemsociety #spilled poems

[thepoet-ry]

The pink blossoms outside my window are blossoming brightly, shouting beauty to the world, inviting notice of any and no eyes, budding only for themselves and maybe the bees, with whom they have their own language. There are languages within a language, speakers tuned to some but not all. Words and grammar not even written like the language of the heart. Letters, symbols do little when it comes to speaking without mouth. How to translate what all this means? Let me not worry about where those bees have been before these flowers. I need to trust that everything is in order. I don’t need to know their language as long as I know ours. I fear I wasn’t made the same as the others. I know just enough of the language. Do you understand that love is not a pie? In this life love exists like life, the end is its beginning. There is no holding on. Only letting go. The more you let go the more you are held. The dangerous mistake lies in wait, and fear is the enemy of these hands.

#poetry #poem #poems #writing #poets corner #dead poets society #new poets society #poets on tumblr #writers and poets #poet #blossoms #nature #april

[thepoet-ry]

-sos-

-sos-

Sometimes you need to go away

from your roommate in the living room

where you both watch TV together

and lay by yourself in your bed,

listening to music on your headphones

curled up like you were in the womb

maybe holding the stone the person you loved

gave to you, holding it up to the light,

letting it shimmer in the dim glow of your bedside lamp

sometimes you have to cry while holding the rock

because this was always its intention,

it holding you when you thought you held it

sometimes you have to write letters to her like journal entries

because sending them through text

would seem a bit obsessive

so many letters like unsent, unsealed ships in a bottle,

unsending out an s.o.s. because only you can save

you, it’s only right you would receive the letters

sent from you to you with no need of a carrier

besides the pen. and your heart.

Sometimes you need to go away

#poem #poetry #writing #poems #old poem #poet #poem of the day #love #new poets on tumblr #new poets society #labradorite #poets on tumblr #poets corner #dead poets society #writers and poets

[thepoet-ry]

-attic lights-

There's something attractive about an attic

light ablaze at night. I drive these streets

of mine at night and see them illuminated

sometimes. I wonder whose rooms those are.

Have you ever wanted to fly upward,

lift from the ground and alight

on a windowsill and see who lives inside?

Peter Pan did that.

What horrors and wonders lay within?

What things happen to haunt

or enchant a place?

Is there someone drawing pictures

of nooses in their private journal

or reading by flashlight under covers?

I want to ask them what they're doing

and why. And really listen.

What reaches out its hand

in nights like these, in images

like lit attic rooms?

There is a light on for someone.

I want to know who it's for.

For now it seems like it's on for me.

My attic light is on. It is orange.

Such a comforting color.

I come home from the bar

and see it glowing like a beacon,

orange fingers and hand extended

to welcome me home.

#poem #poet #poetry #dead poets society #writing #poetscommunity #new poets society #poems #poets corner #new poets on tumblr

[thepoet-ry]

CHECK IT OUT Y’ALL! My poem, “Ceremony” has been featured on the LKMNDS Podcast! Go check them out and maybe give them a follow! Much love!

[thepoet-ry]

-the dance-

What is this dance?

Why does it feel

like blood twirling

through veins

bringing breath

and life to limbs?

Bypassing thought

the feelings form

words in lines

and then comes music.

Logic is finally loose

and unnecessary

in the traditional sense.

Feelings are loosed

upon the world

in images and

and pointing toward

meaning. Does it mean

anything and does it have to?

That's the beauty contained

in this beauty. No rules

no lines except this one

and this one. Each line alive

on it's own and yet part

of a whole greater cosmos.

The only place I see freedom

I write bars to escape bars

sometimes in bars

sometimes not. Anywhere

is the playground, the ballpark,

the stadium of dreams

and their logic.

I play and I play and I play

and no one can call a foul

if I don't let them.

There are no scores

in the traditional sense,

no routine.

The shot is it's own score.

The music swells

and my heart is content.

#poem #poetry #writing #poems #old poem #poet #poem of the day #love #new poets on tumblr #new poets society #my writing #write #writersoftumblr #dead poets society #poets on tumblr #poets corner #poetsandwriters

[thepoet-ry]

-poem for grandma-

The world will try to take it from you. The petals of the rose turn to steel. Your joints don’t work so well anymore and your skin itches when someone speaks a word against you. You dislike the taste of your name in other mouths. Sometimes to find it again you have to go away  from the irritant of voices and sounds that are not your own. Go there and I will find you, that presence that feels more like the caress of the sun than metal. You owe it to yourself to like the sound of your own name, your own voice and those of others. You will be here far longer than you think. Or like. Your grandmother’s face swims before you like a koi in a pond too big for its confines. Expand your pool in whatever way you can. Winter’s bones are thawing and become spring. You too can find the softness and rain.

#poem #poems #poetry #poetsandwriters #poemsdaily #dead poets society #poets corner #poets on tumblr #poetic #deadpoetssociety #poetselixir #poetsdaily

[thepoet-ry]

-june 9 2018-

Today is my birthday

and its also apparently

best friends day.

Taking stock of life

and its changes

When you become

your own best friend.

It was spitting rain

last night when i turned

Thirty, but by noon the sun

was out, with cracks

of blue between fluffy

limbs of clouds building

cumulously in the sky

like they were doing it

on purpose

for me,

my eyes gifted a present

I couldt thank no one

besides myself

and the world for--

for making it here

long enough to behold

and for being here

before, after, but especially

now to be beheld.

Who makes a life happen?

No hands clear a path

for another. Hands belong

to someone who clears

the way.

-june 9 2018, seattle wa-

#poem #poetry #writing #poems #old poem #poet #poem of the day #new poets on tumblr #new poets society #poetelixir #poetselixir #poets corner #poetsandwriters #short poem #poemsociety #my writing #writersoftumblr

[thepoet-ry]