To Love

Love will become
If you let it
Tired
Alone-on-a-shelf-feeling
Wondering if it’s worth the fight

If you so choose

With spine strait and strong
Trumpeting, “Gonna Fly Now”
Renewed
If you let it
Love will remain

Original Thought Credit: Theme from Rocky, “Gonna Fly Now”

The Meeting

Sink into uncertainty

Sink into the day

Presuming your preparedness will greet you half-way

And ‘though you feel helpless, believe that you’re not

When doubt asks for its due

Tell it, “I have not “

The Consequences of Smiling

The Consequences of Smiling
by Lisa

You’ll always look four and twelve
Eighty even, but not forty at all
Kids will look at you funny for a minute
Then run to you
They’ll want to stay
Real adults won’t take you seriously
So beware

The eyes begin to go
Wrinkles at the corners
Nearsightedness -the good kind of myopia
You’ll see the treasure too
The up-close
The forest for the trees
Your own awe-struck stare at dawn

Your face will stay that way
Muscle memory (Mom was right)
You’ll be the light
In someone’s lousy day
On your own hard days
You’ll see your smile too
Its asymmetry…its perseverance

Smiles are feathers
Warmth for mind, body and soul
Insulation from frowns
Lift for the wings
Yours and theirs
Rainbow-colored plumage for this place
Smiles, like feathers that tickle

Ode to Socrates

I knew nothing before you
Not a worthwhile thing
When to climb to heights
Why all feels imprecise
Where I ought to look
To sometimes not think twice

I knew nothing before you
Nothing that meant a fig
How I have it all
Why I love baseball
Not even my name
To rise again, post-fall

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Rhythmic March

In your rhythmic March
I watch you walk
With then against 
The pull of the pre-dawn wind
And I wonder whether you feel

It is worth it

What consumes you 
Now is cold, this Day
If the glass and girders 
Keep you for a time 
Then afterwards, what else

Claim what will count

Would that comes always 
Always and ever
The consuming fire
And you brandish a flame
In your rhythmic March 

 

Still, Soft Search

Four corners I’ve found
Flat, hard, sharp, square
I dig in, grasping, despite the glare
Emptying
It would appear
It is for naught 
And not my style
I let go, hoping, because the song 
Singing
The world must be softer than this

What Trust

Is there a reason not to do this?

Is there a reason not to tear out my mind, haul it to sea, throw it to the deep?

What right has it had to do the same to my heart?

Day after day, year after year.

May it be my mission.

I see no reason not to do this.