New-New Hampshire: Self
For You
Pixel Poets, The well will never go dry. The pen will break- for sure. But the well; we’ll never go dry.
Keep it going
This is for you. I’m writing this for you. For you, for you, for you, This is all for you, You for all, and all ways You
Keep it going
I’m saying it cryptically Because sometimes That’s the best way The only way for those
Who don’t see Who won’t see What we see As we see As we can’t Help but see… Well, you see.
Keep it Going
Because if this means To you What this means To me Right now Then my right now Is gone as far as I can tell. So this is for you
Keep it going
I don’t know what it is. I know it will rule your life. I know you will be misunderstood. Everywhere. Except here. I get it. I’ve got it.
Keep it going
I wonder how long has gone Since I put this down. 2018 And almost Christmas. That Doesn’t mean much to me Now. It didn’t mean much To me when then was now. But this does.
Keep it going
Once you’ve seen The light on things There no longer are things Just one thing and you’re A part of it like everyone Else except you see it. I’m here seeing it, Probably there too, But how?
Keep it going
You’re gonna hurt hard For this, they’ll hit You, but that’s only Because it’s important. The only Important. Too important for anyone. But you are: Someone.
Keep it going
I wish I could sit with You awhile and know I’m not alone in knowing. But I am with you now, And you are with alone; The alone we share alone. Now you know alone is not Alone: You are not alone. I was never told directly.
Keep it going
This best life. This only life. Walt wrote about it. Emily was here, too. Ralph Waldo and Maya. Sylvia never quite Made it to knowing. But you will.
Keep it going
It gets better. Not the part That is horrible. No- that Stays horrible. You get better. You get stronger.
You hold more. And more will make The empty from others Not burst you into Empty rooms so much.
You will march To one empty room. You will leave Shame on the couch. You will always be Full like you are now Reading this.
Keep it going
Don’t make excuses. You are necessary. Look at these words. You read them. You are here. You are necessary.
Keep it going
If you were here, we Would laugh and talk, Maybe go for a walk, But we would for sure, Share the lonely That comes listening To light too long To loud to listen To listen to look Not any of those…
All of them -and- All at once.
Keep it going
The poem, the heart, the voice That won’t quiet long enough For you to realize you’re in love With love and love loves a poem Of love and the love that comes From a poet is Love’s love direct.
Heart of the Poet! Sing Love’s imperative!
Keep! It! Going
I’m tired. Love won’t let me be-long Enough to be acceptable. There’s no other life when Love direct has come. You don’t stand a chance, Rejoice in the futility Of being Love’s choice.
Rejoice and keep Love’s love going
One day someone will need To know what a poet is for, One day someone will need To know poetry is the sweet Cruel song that never stops Stomping the Dance of Love.
Keep it going
Stop the song, You stop the dance. Don’t stop that song, Stomp that dance.
That’s Love.
Keep it going
Love Is Insatiable in Your Hands. Waiting on Your Whisper. Feasting on Your Words. Shouting Your Divine.
Keep it going
Convinced
It was well before morning almost a year ago:
“You got to do something, you just do, before you know it you wake up and you’re 40.”
An old memory back with the first Happy Birthday to tell me it was right again.
It was a hotel outside of Concord, Massachusetts, closer to a shopping mall than Walden Pond.
But close enough to see, just yesterday at sunset, birds flying from the pond’s shore, where everyday tourists who live a few miles away were diving in headfirst in swim caps and goggles: Like insects smacking into pages of a history book made with sheets of flypaper.
Well before morning almost a year ago and not surprised to find:
Friendship, Loneliness, Love, And What Home Might mean,
Casting Shadows And Shapes
On this hotel ceiling. Above this hotel bed. Covered by this hotel
White Puff comforter, Full of more air Than Comfort.
Not surprised to turn on my quiet flashlight, at my customary time, and join my intended laptop at the table, to write about: The juxtaposition of the birds of Walden Pond, to this hotel so covered in scaffolding I couldn’t read its name from the street.
“You gotta do something, you just do, Before you know it you wake up and you’re 40.”
Then a voice from 20 years ago: “If you’re a poet when you’re 20, it’s because you’re 20. If you’re a poet when you’re 40, it’s because you’re a poet.”
When you’re up before the birdsong, before the sunrise of your 40th birthday, and it’s just another lifelong everyday morning that has you writing on
Friendship, Loneliness, Love And What Home Might Mean,
And everyone you know is sleeping in a house with family, or under an empty comforter you just walked away from; And they all think you’re awake because: You don’t need the sleep. You are doing something, and you
Most Definitely, Quite Seriously, Are Convinced.
Dance in the Rain
I used to run outside at the first clap of summer thunder to dance in the rain.
The steps are easy: tilt your head back, stretch your eagle arms out, and spin.
It tastes like salt and showers and growing things.
Like Yes! Yes! Yes! And Grow. Grow. Grow.
I miss my friends who would dance in the rain without a question, but with a look of recognition, we would bolt.
First one there gets one drop more.
Dancing in the rain was just the right thing to do.
It was the necessary thing.
But now, I’m without a dance partner.
Now, with the closeness of expectations supposed, of duties to show being done, I’ve lost the dance.
But somehow the song of it still wants a voice.
Somehow that thing with feathers still flies a short hop inside and stirs what’s left of what dreaming and passion and the immediacy of dancing in the rain can do.
Now there are headphones to dampen normal noises.
The happy wag of a dog comes from the sky like shrapnel in my back.
A cat on a counter meowing to signal the sun squeezes my burning shoulders with expectations of duty.
That same wagging dog paces in the swampy night air.
He repositions himself on the floor every few minutes to find a cooler spot to lay.
If there were a clap of thunder now, would he know the signal?
Would he go dancing with me in the rain?
Would he lift his head up and taste the pregnant potential of growing things and know what clouds might do?
Of what reckless compassion might do?
Of what dancing in the rain with a friend would most definitely do?
It will be 45 degrees cooler than yesterday when I wake tomorrow, when I walk to the kitchen to toast a frozen waffle, fill the electric teapot, and take the first pill of the day.
Hot Tea
Take the simplest path with the greatest of care. Amble through the woods, don’t scramble down the highway.
Sit by the finish line. Sip hot tea with the tortoise.
Do nothing in particular. A lot of nothing needs to be done between victories.
Take the simplest path with the greatest of care. Amble through the woods, don’t scramble down the highway.
The tortoise always wins. The tea always goes cold.
The Poet
Done in -Done up- In wonder. Worn in -Worn out- In awe.
Homeless alive in so much beauty- Fully boxed in so much comfortable awful.
The Poet is not the sky, But The Poet told you of Heaven.
The Poet is not God, But The Poet told you God’s name.
Todos
Todos estamos un poco locos. Todos tenemos un poco de genio.
Lo que no está en los libros, La vida le enseñará a tú corazón.
Tu locura viene de la melodía del alma. Tu genio viene de tú devoción a su canción.
Baila tú corazón. Canta tú alma.
El latido del corazón de todos es un baile. La sonrisa de todos canta una canción.
El mundo entero habla el mismo idioma.
Si quieres la atención del mundo:
Balia con todo tú corazón; Canta con toda tú alma.
You’re About
You’re as fragile as a sky, as constant as a cloud. So willing to hold a sunrise you know has no choice-
But you let yourself fall from the setting.
Why do you hold on when you know That’s what a sunrise does, sets? Why do you fall down when you know That’s what a sunrise does, returns?
It must.
Why not stay so tall you can catch a sunrise? Why not let fall what was made to fall?
Why not know, how strong, how light How fierce, how wild wonderful a gift, It is to hold fire, to survive fire, To let fire drop to drown in the horizon?
An embrace is not an embrace if it lasts forever. It’s standing still, squeezing the Sun, Falling, flaying, shouting saying: “Not this time.” Ears too full of fire to hear, you said,
“Not this time.” Again.
Let a day burnt be ash; yesterday’s Sun is gone. Fire burns the world turns, each star finds Its sky again, by making a new star, each sky is relit. Brighter, hotter, truer, every Sun returns home.
He must.
Why not stay so tall you can catch the sunrise?
There is a Peace
There is A peace
That doesn’t Need you.
That’s Me.
Not certain why, After all this time,
I still want so bad To give the world
So Much.
Not certain if any thought, Anytime, at any place,
Has ever been worth more than the air On a Wednesday morning,
Windows down, listening To the radio off,
Wind through Every way it can,
Washing what Was before,
Wishing what Lies ahead,
Leaving it all to be one thought, One single thought throb,
Persistent, Persistent,
Persistent, throb Of a single thought colored over
Persistently persistent Present Moment
A thought and not A moment too soon,
Come Again
Come Again.
You Are a Someone
When the dream of who you want to be seems too big… And the bar stretches too high for you to see.
Remember this: If you dream to win a gold medal, Every gold medal is won by Someone. You are a Someone. Why not you?
If you dream of an All-Star jersey to play on the team, Many different Someones play on an All-Star team. You are a Someone. Why not you?
If you dream to lead a nation, Every nation is led by Someone. You are a Someone. Why not you?
If you dream to soar through a Supernova and see the stars behind The Sun… Someone made every impossible possible. You are a Someone. So why not you?
WYSIWYG
The world Is nothing Like you Think it is, And so much more Like you hope it might be.
The world Is nothing Like you Think it is, And so much more Like you hope it might be.
These are steps worth repeating.
Y Nt Rn?
Where’s your ambition? Why are the lights still out on tomorrow? Where is the New Home?
The New Friends? The New Love? Where’s the Money?
Why is life OTW? Life is rn not otw. Why is life always otw w u?
Y nt rn? Y otw? Y s lf otw,
Wynn,
lf s rn?
“Life is not about what you’re going to do. Life is about what you’re doing, right now. So, what are you doing right now?"
Beats, Slams, and Yes, I Am(s)
We call it poetry for the ear, But that’s not where we hear it.
We call it poetry out loud, But it’s an inside job.
We call the meter measured. We call the measure divine.
I call the words: All Words!
Sweet- Sweet -Tweet-Tweet Twitter-Tatter- Beat-Complete.
A feat- of the feet- of the stomp, Of the never pomp- of the heart.
We call it poetry for the ear, But that’s not where we hear it.
Discussion in the ATmosphere