The Tree That Would be a Bridge

A tale of self-sacrifice.

Once upon a time, there lived a tree.

This tree grew up like any other tree.

Her roots planted firmly into the ground,

She grew up tall and she grew up right,

And took in each day and absorbed all its light,

Casting shadows, where her fruit fell,

To feed the creatures at night.

But this tree was special,

She saw things a bit differently,

Like you and me, this tree could see,

And she knew an important thing.

She wasn’t the only tree in the world,

There were others, so many others.

She was happy for the few that surrounded her,

Even though they were very different from her.

But so many were on the other side of the creek,

And many, she saw, looked just like her.

“Other trees like me,” she thought,

Stretching her branches wide.

When she noticed across the river,

On the other side, those other trees who looked..

Like her, did the same.

It took some time, trees are very slow,

And very patient, but she raised her branches,

Stretching them tall, and to her amazement,

So did they all.

This repeated for days until finally,

She thought, “I must meet them.”

And began an arduous plot,

She would stretch her branches every day,

Reaching, slowly but surely, to meet them.

Season after season passed, as bit by bit,

She made her way across the creek.

Until suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her trunk,

And everything went dark.

Other, strange looking trees came,

With their axes and saws,

Uprooting the tree, cut without flaw.

She was aware of it all, aware the whole time.

And there really isn’t an appropriate rhyme,

To convey the horror of this crime.

But, the tree thought,

As she was reshaped into a bridge,

And stretched across the creek,

To help others live,

“There are worse fates for a tree,

than being a bridge.”

And in the fall, when the fruits and leaves,

Of the other trees like her covered her completely,

Like a warm blanket, she felt her wish came true.

And the bridge lived happily ever after.

As for those other strange trees that moved over her, they lived less happily, but the bridge was happy to help them move across the creek, as she had so desperately wanted.

Shards

“When you look at a piece of delicately spun glass you think of two things: how beautiful it is and how easily it can be broken.”

Forgive me what I did not know,

I thought you were a man,

But you were something more..

I met you on

The bell-strewn shore,

You took my hand, and said,

“This is what I’m here for, and

There is no time to live without,

So take this, you will work it out

A broken piece of a broken, broken self,”

Reflecting on and on and on,

I took it with my fingers crossed,

But even that you knew..

Wise Woman, I’ve come back..

And like the others on your track,

I’m laying down my bell..

For when all of me was broken down

I saw the pieces swept to hell

Through that tiny piece

Of you you’d left with me..

So before I left them all behind,

I turned and swept them up inside

To show this bell-strewn shore

Something beautiful and new.

Saying, “This is what I am here for too,

And there’s no time to live without,

So take these pieces of me,

And you will work it out.”

Goodbye broken, little doubts.

Fawning

“Someone who smiles too much with you can sometimes frown too much with you at your back.” – Michael Bassey Johnson

I want to please you,

To appease your pain,

Drain out the anxiety

Plaguing your brain,

Fawning, I’m dawning

Desperately trying

To be– everything

To everyone, hope

A prayer, for you

Solemn wishes, for you

Lingering thoughts

For you, shared concern

For you, that need..

To never be like me.

To never endure it all,

To never have to see

That truth buried

Deep, deep inside..

Where I can’t save you,

Where you have to want it,

Where you have to let go,

Of everything you are

And think that you know,

Be shattered, be broken

Be mended but destroyed,

Be obsequious, be a fawn

Flatter me with your will

For us to survive, be mine

Be mine, be everything I need,

Keep me always in mind

Keep on trying to save me–

And when the mask slips,

Cover it in kindness, bury it

Under the unkempt rug

We both know is there

Underneath the facade,

Where unhealing pain lies

Provoking lies from you,

Lies like you can save me

Lies like healing prayers

Lies like traumatic memories

Reminding you, in echoes

The past is always there–

I say, let it lie there

Let it lie and ferment

And rather than draw lies

From it, create truth instead

Create it in words, create it

In art, create it in music,

Create it in farce, create it

In drama, roleplay and LARP

Create joy with the sorrow

Let it all resonate out

Don’t pour it into others

Let it flow out of yourself

In babbling brooks linked,

Awaiting the day, when finally

Thirsty fawns come to drink.

Cognizance

A portrait of humanity inspired by Gertrude Stein.

Something happened, someone wrote something,

Some who wrote something happened to see something,

Some lied about some seen thing, some lied about knowing,

Some saw something, something some wrote about,

Some lied about something some didn’t see,

Some lied about something some did see,

Some lied at that instant, some lied later

Some lied later and at that instant,

Some lied to some close to them, 

Some close to some certainly lied to some close to some,

Some close to some lied later to keep some close to them,

Some never asked questions, some punished questions,

Some questions never asked left some uncertain,

Some were uncertain but certainly trusted someone,

Some certainly trusted someone enough to never ask questions,

Some did not know some lied about something,

Some certainly knew some lied about something,

Some killed because some saw something some didn’t see,

Some saw something, some certainly saw something,

Some were afraid of being wrong about something,

Some were afraid of some who certainly saw something,

Some were certainly afraid of some who certainly saw something,

Some were certainly wrong some were certain,

Some certainly killed for certainly being wrong,

Some certainly died for being certainly wrong,

Some certainly killed for being certainly right,

Some opened seals, some certainly opened seals,

Some certainly opened seals opened certain gates,

Some gates were certainly closed for a reason

Some gates were closed for a certain reason,

Some opened seals opened closed gates,

Some opened seals opened the lake of fire,

Some could be forgiven, some did not know,

Some knew some already were forgiven,

Some certainly knew some already were forgiven,

Some knew some forgiven could do anything,

Some knew some forgiven could certainly do anything,

Some certainly knew some could do anything,

Some certainly took advantage of some knowing,

Some certainly took advantage of some need,

Some needed to take advantage of some need,

Some needed certainty to take advantage of some need,

Some did not know what some knew,

Some did not know what some did not know,

Some did know what some did not know,

Some claimed to know what some did not know,

Some knew what some claimed to know,

Some were cast in, some were cast off,

Some certainly knew what they did not know

Some were certainly left behind with not knowing

Some were blissfully left behind with not knowing

Some blissfully left behind what some certainly knew,

Some certainly knew some were left behind closed gates,

Some blissfully certain knew no one ever knew,

Some certainly knew something blissful happened,

Some certainly blissful knew something unknowable,

Some certainly knew something blissful,

Some blissfully knew certainty unknowable,

Something happened, someone read something.

The Underminer

Can you dig it?

Did anyone ever pretend to dig you,

Just to get under your skin?

Personal benefits to miserly benefactors

Withdrawn from your bank account with interest,

Collected & deposited in gold-lined pockets

Where human nature wipes its sweat,

Masked by predatory pleasantries and passing facades

Always taking you by surprise, hooking you,

Undermining mind, flesh, and soul for gold:

Adapted alphas who sense weaknesses

Studying you to exploit the resources,

Pick-up artists who drew you up

With subversive strings attached to those hooks,

Puppeteers of personal, political, and financial gain

With tentacles plunged into every trauma,

Powerful pricks with vulnerable victimhoods

Triggered by guilt, doubt, and flaws,

Daddies without children, impotent without abuse

With raised fruits fermented rotten,

Priests without bells molested with faith,

So sick with sin they want to end the world to end,

Leaders who led us into their personal hell

Trumped by adversity grabbed by the pussy,

Fallacious failures collapsed into themselves

Who always think they know you better than themselves;

Their passion is poetry burning in me,

Their power is mineable gold to see,

Their privilege is tangled up in weeds,

Their dirt is sifted between the lines;

I dig them.

Daffodil Fields

“As the perfume of jonquils, you come forth in the morning.” – Amy Lowell, “In Excelsis”

Too many nights, I’ve wished myself out of existence

Knowing as insomnia plucks sleep: There are no dreams here–

The dreams come in other’s thoughts, like knives

Hitting nerves that swerve us off the highway,

Over the railing and into the Ohio River,

Where we wake up and find ourselves, alone again

Awoken to new realities where nobody floats but passing fish

Feeding on polluted proteins populated with parasitic plastic,

Mixed with oil that goes down well with our fatty acids,

But then no one would know what you did, and still do;

Walking in your fields of flowers you believe worship you,

Unworthy loves lingering in eluded celibacy, a tripped trap

Collapsing a narcissist exposed as she projects me into her field

Where I become her flower, then his flower, and their flower too

Plucked again and again and again in spite of the changing climate,

Plagued by regrowth in memories that never stop coming–

All I can do is count the petals, fallen from the dead daffodils

Who never knew if they were loved or not, like Narcissus

Torn to despair by the person he wanted, but could never be,

One by one they were all plucked, all the little lost pieces

Growing along with them, always trying to please, a naive soul

Plucked by dogma, truth plucked by lying minds, an identity

Plucked in gas-lit apartments filled with illusory children lost

In plucked dreams penned to poetic pots placed on pedestals,

Desperate for water plucked by thirst and wilting, clipped leaves

Plucked one, by one, by, one, a slow-stirred shaman brews,

Pouring himself down the world’s throat, that vacuous vomit purged

Always, always, always will say more about you than me.

Us

Imperfections we all have, but we also have compensations.

Orbiting asteroids, adrift in Kuiper’s belt,

Around, around, a lone teapot is compelled

Both existing and not existing, Schrodinger’s teapot

Lies on the edge, never knowing or known before now–

Why would it be there if its truth were not to be poured?

How did it survive in the cold dark abyss? Not a crack or stain

On, it goes on with it! God, they would call it, “Oh, Teapot!

Great Porcelain One, steep us in your waters and tell us

Who

We

Are

Save us, witness us, deliver us from sin, pour us. share us

Bare us, reveal us within; tell us how to Be like You,

Show us the path to Glory, Glory, Hallelujah, Amen!”

Us, Us, Us, Us, Us, Us, Us, Us, Us, it’s always about Us!

If it were to reveal itself, we’d shove Us into it–

Within a week it would be broken, failing fractures fighting

In a crisis of pride as faith pours into pried pieces of porcelain,

Purloined peaces filling empty mugs become dust and ashes

Swept into black holes under cosmic rugs, thrust into the beyond

Where they too seek truth in hollow spaces filled with imagination.