Poetry

Little seed,

Wait.

How did you know?

Wait.

To grow?

With no one.

Wait.

Telling you where to go.

How did you bear it?

The time ticking by.

Wait.

The darkness hiding the sky.

How did you see it?

The rain,

Before it came?

Wait.

How did you comply,

With the weight oversupply?

Satisfy. Qualify. Glorify.

Don’t you cry.

But I won’t sing you a lullaby.

Wait. 

You mystify me,

Little seed.

Wait. 

But I won’t sing you a lullaby.

Don’t you cry.

Satisfy. Qualify. Glorify.

With the weight oversupply,

How did you comply?

Wait. 

Before it came,

The rain,

How did you see it?

The darkness hiding the sky.

Wait. 

The time ticking by,

How did you bear it?

Telling you where to go.

Wait. 

With no one. 

To grow.

Wait. 

How did you know?

Wait. 

Little seed,

Wait. Wait. Wait. 

WISH:

I’m sorry you felt unseen,

I’m sorry your voice was blocked.

I’m sorry I did you wrong,

Don’t worry, there’s still time on the clock.

Dear wounded one, 

I bless the tears cascading down your cheeks. I wrap my wings of care around your falling shoulders. I send my love to you. Like the wind blowing through the leaves, I swirl your worries out of sight. I carry you through the blizzard. I wipe your eyes anew. Although you tumbled down deep into the earth, I will dig a path for you. Although the commotion is louder than your cry, I will listen to you. Although you can’t see straight ahead, I will guide you. I am here. With you. AND WHEN YOU HOWL INTO THE NIGHT, I will whisper words of peace. With the soft kiss of your head, I will leave behind light. Like the sun reaching through a stained glass window, beauty can be found in a picture of a million tiny, broken pieces. Life, although it often can feel shattered with defeat, can go on and will go on. I will walk beside you, through the ebbs and flows ahead. I only ask you to surrender, no need to return the favor. No need to worry. No need to keep wrestling the obstacles along your journey. No need to doubt. You didn’t have to get hurt to feel wounded. You are validated. Dear one, dear beautiful, strong, courageous one, with you I will stay, and always I will be. 

I saw your eyes that weren’t yours,

floating in the crowd. 

People gathering, chatting, sipping,

but it was all slow-motion now. 

That outlaw hair that slips above your brow,

passed me a secret invitation,

to look further beyond this realm,

and discover if it all was my imagination.

A quick glance stolen and then another,

as I try to blend in with the mass. 

Across the room, your eyes smiled,

and this fragile secrecy shattered like glass.

The observation breaks

by a person changing place,

and when I seek to look past him, back at your eyes, 

they morph into a stranger’s face. 

Just as quickly as those butterflies in my stomach flew, 

I knew you were long gone, 

the stranger cared nothing, 

and my heart knew a hole that all hope fell through.

Oh, but those eyes! That fleeting moment of bliss! 

If only I could look longer and just reminisce. 

Or maybe I could daydream you were there too,

glancing those eyes at me as I glance mine towards you.

Je suis fleuri,         I am flowery,

Mais j’ai mal compris. But I misunderstood.

Je pensais que tu étais un abeille, I thought you were a bee,

Mais, tu es un parasite. But you’re a parasite.

Management mes pétales un par un. Eating my petals one by one.

Tu mens et tu dis que je suis jolie, You lie and say I’m pretty,

Avec mes pétales, un trou dans chacun, With my petals, a hole in each,

Comment continuer après que tu m’as sorti How to go on now you left me

Jeune moi a joué dans les fleurs, Young me played in the flowers,

Dansé aux côtés du vent,         Danced alongside the wind,

Le soleil a dit l’heure,         The sun told the hour,

Le monde est allé lentement.   The world went slow then.

Le monde va lentement maintenant,         The world goes slow now,

Comme je me souviens de mon enfance parmi les fleurs.          As I remember my childhood in flowers,

Je vois les fleurs saluer comme des lieutenants,       I see the flowers saluting like lieutenants,

Comme pour dire <<bon travail monsieur>>.                       As if they said good work mister.

Je me repose dans les fleurs,         I relax in the flowers,

Je vis parmi eux maintenant,         I live among them now.

Ils chuchotent des secrets, ces conteurs,                 They whisper their secrets, those storytellers,

Et j'écoute comme avant.                   And I listen like before. 

Hey, it’s Me. 

I was hoping you would find this letter easily. 

What I’d love to say I can’t explain,

Because there’s so much going on in my brain,

And I can’t remain. 

And you,

With your smile, and hopes, and dreams, 

May they come true. 

I hope you live on. 

Not just live by breathing, eating, sleeping, drinking,

But by breathing in your life. 

Digesting your strife. 

Putting to sleep the negative words,

And drinking in the moon, rain, songs of birds. 

My Angel, may you find the guardian you seek. 

But don’t forget when we danced cheek to cheek.

For life, although it may steal, and break, and make

Your heart ache,

It will give you an infinite castle of love and beautiful mistakes.

My love, live a life for me, 

As I will die for you.

Forever and always, 

Me.

"Mama, but I don't want to go, for I'm small, and I'm weak, and I need you so." 

"Listen, Cobra, I need you to know, you need to go out, live, dream, grow." 

So he left his dense forest bed and slidered through the night, until he came upon a palace, dark, big, and bright. 

He danced his way in, through the towering trees, then he heard a warm voice say "come in please." 

"Who are you, boy? State your name." 

"I am called Cobra. I got lost and saw your flame." 

"My fires are strong, my kingdom advanced. I like submission," he said with a calm countenance. 

"And what are you called?" Cobra inquired. He looked at the ruler, awed and inspired. 

"I am Mamba, but you can call me your King. My power loves me and I take everything."

"Don't you want to leave some for others?"

"You mean treat everyone like my brothers?"

"No," Cobra paused. "I mean kindness for the long run. Owning everything is beyond one." 

"I don't like you, Cobra the Lame. You come to blame me, and you must feel ashamed." 

"I don't mean to bother, only to see. For I thought you were a good one, you seemed peaceful to me." 

"Don't always trust those the moment you meet. You are nothing to me. Now accept your defeat." 

Cobra remembered his mother's phrase, 'remember you are strong, brave, and powerful. Always.'

"Mamba, you see, one shouldn't promptly think someone weak. I am more than I appear, courageous and unique." 

Mamba glared upon his opponent, then Cobra sprang forward, opened his jaws, and Mamba was gone the next moment.

Cobra licked his lips and sat upon the throne. He took pride in himself for holding his own.

Now Cobra rules the forest, animals started to sing. For he fooled the wicked Mamba, and now we call him King.

You are a pull of a silly face, odd and entertaining. 

You make me giggle and dance in my place,

Want to bring out the joy remaining.

But you're also the still of a lake, 

No ripples disturbing your reverence.

You're the sun saying hi at daybreak,

You're the symbol of graceful endurance.

You're as cute as a bug's ear. 

You're the kiss of peace. 

You're the silly billy, silly putty. 

You're a little wonder bean. 

You're the floral moral goral,

The very pretty coral,

The smelly good bay laurel,

The colorful auroral. 

The sweetest little treasure, 

Found among the stars. 

So continue at your leisure, 

The cute silly face you are.

She sat in front of the still glass mirror, surrounded by ocean poppies and a white wispy cat. 

She turned her long neck this way and that and said to herself "I need a hat,

Or maybe I could swing to the skies of Paris, and get myself a beau chapeau."

Elegant as silk sliding off an edge, she peered at herself with a mysterious glow. 

"Now how about that?" She put on the hat. "I'm ready for my show." 

She pranced on the stage, with a glorious air.

The audience clapped as she curtsied with care. 

Then she started her talent she learned long ago. 

She twisted her long neck around her feathers like a pro. 

She stood on one leg in a balancing combo. 

An uproar from the audience left her feeling like an achiever. 

And she smiled, saying, "It's just my joie de vivre." 

Flowers filled the stage and she ended the show. 

Going back to her room, she said, "C'est un gâteau." 

"It's easy for me, for I'm the greatest show flamingo!"

I want to bury my face in your fur as your heart races with graceful freedom in the wild rockiness of ruthless rough patches. Breathing fast and efficiently, 100% capacity to run and hop through the terrain of thorns and horns and watch out for those birds of prey coming down to feast on the fast little praying prey that seems to disappear into the rocks of brown and black. Going 100 miles per hour you glide through the wild keeping your head down and your mouth in a frown of concentration on your application of your sprint. 

Then you stop. Then you listen. With those tiger's eye round ears of yours. You scrunch up your nose and you don't know whether to keep going or to stay still completely, maybe drop into your home discreetly. Then as neatly and sweetly as can be done you become a squeaky toy of fun with your call into the sky, a cheep here and there, knee-deep in your fight to survive. And you keep striving. Driving yourself harder into the hope of living without hurrying and whispered joy. A moment to enjoy before you scurry back to carrying yourself a little higher each time you pass a high-flier with its eye set on your attempt to defy a predator reply. You live to survive without the ability to arrive with yourself in the present moment, spent because the speed of the opponent catches you off guard but gives you the energy to run it. Run it all with perseverance, never ending defiance of death. Because if not, you might not live to see the next day. But maybe if you stay to play or lay in the hot sun you might find yourself going beyond surviving. Not surviving but living.

A bump. A thump. A guzzle. A nuzzle. 

But a puzzle. What's this bustle? 

Another rustle. 

Light seeps in, accents a chin,

Our organization turns to a tussle. 

"But Little Ants, why do you fret?" 

"We sweat because you're a threat!" 

"A threat? My, but that's not my mindset."

"Don't take our lives. Would you regret paying such a debt?"

"A debt? But this is natural. Let's review the alphabet. A for ants. B for bear. C for chomp and D for devour. Don't you see? It's a normal thing for a bear like me to go dining." 

"But are you a bear?"

"I'm a sloth bear, you see, but enough with this defining."

The bear dug in, but the ant screamed "no!" He paused for a moment to watch the show.

The ant stepped back and reflected with care, and he said to the bear, "You've got a good head of hair."

"Why thank you, sweet pear." 

"And your fur. So shiny and black. I love how it runs down your neck and your back." 

The bear sat back and didn't attack. 

"I like you, Little Ant. Say, what's your name?"

"My name's Antoni, and I like you just the same." 

"Wanna be friends Antoni, my little guy?" 

"You've got a friend in me, and you don't even have to try." 

So there you have it, the ant and the bear. Making friends with your food and learning to share. For you never know if your food has feelings too, until you look deeper and question your view.

We live in a circle of lives interconnected. 

When one reaches the next, his doings pass on.

Both good and bad. 

Boxed in the warm, rosy room, the sunset flames crept along the box walls. 

The scent of cinnamon embedded itself into the beds, the rugs, the shadowed corners. 

A rocking chair hugged the tired body of an old woman, as the children nestled into the wool blankets. 

Another cold night. 

Another tale to be told. 

Her voice cracked alongside the spinning fire. 

Tonight came the tale of the snow spotted tail.

A warrior in thought,

But a beauty within.

His gaze, sharp as the snow. His hunger, starved as a cactus.

He knelt in the white powdered snow, behind a rock. 

Tracking his dinner. 

When all at once and only once, an arrow whistled a song of death. 

A twitch. 

The cat was dead and then it was sacred. 

The human realized what had happened. 

He wept. 

He prayed to the heavens for a miracle. 

For the cycle of sins to end. 

For the sins of his doing to be purified. 

But he did not see her coming from behind. 

A soon to be mother found her dinner. 

And with the cry of a cub and the seeking of solace, 

The heavens answered his prayer of transference. 

You see, the cycle continues. 

And it continues to continue. 

Spinning through that fire of nighttime lullaby and hushed glances. 

Through the sleeping eyes of the children, both human and leopard. 

Through the misty snow of that very cold night.

Not yet?

She squealed into the night. 

But why? 

Her mother held her tight. 

You can't go out when humans are about.

Simple. Easy. Safe. 

But what can be done with a scouting young one, curiously on the lookout for the strange?

Ape-like, man-like, sweet sugar fur

Childlike long stare, snowy wind blur. 

A movement here, another one there. 

Unsuspecting climbers tumbled into a scare.

But she watched. 

And waited. 

And held her curious gaze. 

Most climbers ran away from the unknown monster craze. 

But one stayed behind to wonder questioningly. 

Time spiralled like clockwork tentatively. 

She and him held their stare for those frozen seconds. 

Then they parted ways as the others beckoned. 

Secrets kept, silver moon, icy cold night

Keep your camera ready. Don't lose it to the bite.

For when the yeti comes, you might see her as a threat. 

But truthfully, she's on the other side begging 'not yet?'