A bag of stones in my chest

I sink to the deep, heavy in the dark I settled.

I have caused my own storms and wrecked ships

Blind to the shimmer

Blind to these gems of mine

Forgetting these stones are my treasure

On this page, between thin blue lines

My heart beat, beats

You can hear the rhythm and blood I hide in these sheets

Words like seeds of oak

I plant my forest. Find me or not, find the wild of this place, I stay.

Not every word I write I will say

Not everything I feel I reveal but in this, what most call poetry, is a boy I call me,

Often I find him dancing between beats

The weekend is here and what a week it has been.
There is a stirring inside of me that I can not express, similar to jumping off a cliff and having that out of breath feeling and the exhilaration of knowing that for the most part you gave over to gravity and you just await the splash.
The editor is paid (SPLASH) it is such a small thing and yet it was often in my heart a thing that occupied space in the worry vault, and now it is handled (SPLASH).
Do, go out there and do, jump take action give over to the gravity of your heart be pulled and enjoy the breathlessness and enjoy the SPLASH!!!!

Feeling freedom, the more I am starting to trust the more I feel free, it seems that letting go gives life to your hands for a long while I have held on to what a “writer,” “poet” is supposed to be and that holding on caused my hands to die and the poetry with it, now the more I let go the more life my hands have I still try to keep it tamed but ever so slowly letting go of the leash, with this freedom I have been discovering how I like to write, now with the book gaining new momentum toward the publishing goal I am excited about the next,(JUMP.) Climbing back up that hill running straight, ready for round two. (JUMP)
Let go, your legs might feel heavy, it might seem high but you know the splash you know the fall, trust that gravity will guide you down again, and the more you do it the easier the jumping becomes soon it will more feel like flying.

There is a smell in the air, I have spoken many times about the Chef in the kitchen I often try and peak what is this Cook busy with but for now, I sit by my table and trust, my nose recognize some smells and my mind attempts to guess the menu, I have some hopes for what is for dessert but for the most part I sit, trust and enjoy.
Anticipation, I have some anticipation for what is to come and again I hear the call of my heart but I find myself facing a new mountain and this seems to be higher than ever before, seems like Everest to me, and I have not reached the cliff yet, but I can not see where I will land I smell salt I have this anticipation that this is a cliff dive into the ocean, I am excited, I trust my heart, my legs and mind need courage but I am not standing at the mountain, my heart is already high on its way the rest of me needs to catch up, filled with fear and the worry vault overloaded and yet I feel, freedom, I feel love and honestly I am afraid but my excitement and love is far greater so I (CLIMB.)
We all have conversations with our heart often it feels as if the thing is recklessly jumping everywhere and we try and catch it for fear of getting hurt, it might have been cut before but sometimes we imprison the little thing without knowing that the guard is imprisoned as well.
Let go, do not imprison yourself with fear, trust, breathe and calmly climb, for the heart might often be clumsy and stumble, be there encourage and guide this is not just your heart you are following this is your dreams, your love, this is you, your life, your heart, stand and look out trust gravity and the ocean.
SJB or BJS, Splash Jump Climb or Climb, Jump, Splash.

I hope you enjoy your weekend thank you for reading.
Peace and Love.

Tiptoe, tiptoe
tiptoe dear voice
tiptoe young heart
many are fragile as you
but their way is not, mercy
they might snarl they might glare
they might growl they will not be fair
they might bark they might bite
but you may not swing don’t cause a fight
your voice untamed tiptoe graceful
Go sit don’t stand
do not face the fight toe to toe
no, no, oh no
hold back, die they say
it is only pride stuck in your throat
swallow it down with your frog
but don’t make a sound
hold your breath
tears might offend
dancefloor carpeted with eggshells
be graceful.
tiptoe, tiptoe
wave your wither white heart
quiet, quiet, don’t start a war
you can say no more
Sing dear voice
Dance young heart
Many are, as fragile
holding their breath afraid of you
afraid they stand and do not move.
No more, no more tiptoe.
tiptoe only to see more clear
no more tip your soul into fear
beat bloody red beat alive
all are standing with held breath
no more, no more.
Dance and break shells
some will join others might cheer
cry, breathe, hold your voice no more,
dance the floor clear
no more tiptoe
no more, no more.

Jesus little do I know.

I have been walking afraid
seeking the door You stood by knocking
You walked away
Your fists must be bleeding
that the cold would not let you stay

little did I know that the knocking
was within
You were calling me home
inviting me with wide stretched open arms
into my own house
showing me around
what a kitchen I have.
I smell the feast that you prepared
I sit at my dining table
candles lit, overflowing cups
I still feel like a guest.
Little did I know the knocking was within
how silly it was
standing begging on my porch
how silly I was
front yard camping
How silly was it
for a temple to seek a church

Jesus, this little I know
You call me home.

here there is no light
not a sunny day
can breakthrough
the layers of ground where i lay.
i can not sit nor stand.
here i am only a body
i am all that remains.

trying to decompose the life i had.
the rage held, the love, the love, the love
touched, missed, cowered away.
i was not in control all that was done
i obey.
i do stay, leftover but with time
i  disappear.

I now know where to go
A lifetime passed and I mostly drifted
I now know that Love,
O’ Love, Love, Love
Has always been the way
I was unseen but I don’t disappear
nor go, I stay
Now I giggle at that pain,
I laugh at worry
I now see that my Life could never be over
even regret yes regret fades away
I now found I was never lost
nor was there any cost I ought to pay
Free is the table, set long ago
I yearned to discover
the truth to who I am?
I now know

Here all is light
No dark
Not on the longest night
Dirt and sky has its glint
No test no trail
Nothing to breakthrough
Stand or sit, laying down
You always fly.
I am the Soul survivor
Here, there, now, then, always everywhere
I am

Let me not be still
Make noise
let me not sit quietly
shout and distract
let me not breathe
deafen the voices
I plead
I beg
I hold on to sanity
keep me busy
don’t leave me in peace
Make waves and waves
I beg
I plead
For when the surface becomes still
and the waves die
inside rise a rage
My soul an ocean floor
Coming alive with silence
questions crawling out of everywhere
creatures that seek the light
swim up to the surface finally getting a breath
asking me,
am I ready to dive?
Am I ready to thrive?
why do I just survive?
wave after wave you can not see
This ocean inside
asking me when will I come alive?

I beg and plead
let them not stir
give them no air
I drown them in the busyness
it might not be fair
I do not care

When, I am still, I know.

Somewhere inside there
Is a Master of the ocean I dare not face
I feel Him swim
The great I am
When I am still

This Poem will get a rewrite and more explanation and how it came to be in some of the blogs to come, I thought it best to leave it here as it was, a little messy and frustrating as I was at the time I wrote this.

Attached also a performance at spoken sessions open mic night with a friend Marissa Verheij.

Under the covers, we feel safe that blanket is a force field to all hurt for children.
Our beds are the comfort to breakups, hard days lost friends, and tiered lives.
Pillows captured so many tears, heard all our fears. Our beds’ safety.

But how about them?
Sleeping in the confines of your house maybe you fell asleep with a tear running down your face maybe you fell asleep with laughter in your stomach
Forgetting about them the disgrace by day, them who make you afraid to walk around the street at night
Them who make you cringe at first sight
While you cuddle in your blankets starting to dream
It’s them who sleep on a shriveled piece of box it’s them who are afraid to fall asleep and dream coz they might just not wake up
Newspapers for blankets writes grim stories for dreams
Headlining there death

Who are we to judge if alcohol warms there body if it helps them forget the faces
That looked at them with hate
Who are we to debate what they are going to use the money for, to them, it may be the last day the can spend it?
Who are we to say we know what they deserve.
You are allowed at church, are they? Would you frown upon it if they are?
Then who are we to say they do wrong?
So let’s stop poverty we say I believe we have to start with our mindset

Climbing to bed at night with the comfort of a mattress
They have the comfort of tar and brick.
The thought of these drastic differences makes me sick
So I guess its true change does start with you!

Twinkle twinkle little star is not a comforting lullaby how they know what you are reminders of a roofless living.
The tug, the push, the pull, the ruthless eyes ruthless beating weather the ruthless living.
If we are what eat what are they nothing it is easier for our eyes, but
These Lonely ghosts are only seeking warm bodies to live in.
The winter is coming with its shark’s frostbiting at their bodies
Like the flowers, their limbs wilting
The cold so harsh black heart suicide a dream

I saw a man with the audacity to scream get a job lazy, he clearly doesn’t know how it feels to stand in the sun burning at both ends tar and sky, skin being colored by a violent kindergartener brown red black.
Trying to get that job in a haystack on fire broken glass
Their lips erupting volcanos with only ash to show
Bleeding eyes punctured skin.
What happened to their family tree?
Did society destroy it bulldozed what happened to the tree, the branches the leaves the fruit
The apples the lemons they can’t make lemonade, not a drop left.
What is this system? It’s clearly not the solar system of God it the system of broken men
Constellations are falling, Saturn crumbling, the moon is pale, and there is no Sun
Except for some time back on a cross seems like the path to salvation is sacrifice
What do you have to give?
Plant yourself in the backyard of homeless hearts
Grow a tree, grow a branch a leaf
Grow lemons feel the squeeze
It is ok we all fall asleep under praising stars
Galaxies glorifying the Creator
Twinkle twinkle little star how you know who we are
We are lemon seeds
Goodnight, sleep well.

I hear and smell the workings of a cook.
A great cook in the kitchen.
The table I sit at does not seem to be prepared by
The hands of the chef that I smell.
This menu seems too dull
Here you only order,
Serve nothing and no one
So I
Waiting on waiters waiting on orders dished out

Before me a plain plate
I eat, I chew and swallow
But all seems in vain
On these words, I am never full
I do not see that the chef is good.
I taste and still I am blind
This cannot be what I am smelling
I seek between my teeth but love
I cannot find
I chew long and hard on these dead words
Sent out by death I try and swallow it down
Sipping on this watered-down gospel
I choke on its bones
Why have these heavenly treats
Got the hell cooked into them?

This is not the chef that I smell, cooking
Have I only been blind tasting?
My taste buds hunger to blossom
No longer do I want to sip from a leaking cup
Seek food on empty plates
I know that what I have been smelling
Is a full course meal
Food that fills, overflowing cups, goodness that desires to be tasted.
I know that there is a table with our names on it
All is prepared
I am hungry for an eye-opening, plate of food.
Chef I want to see your goodness

I am in pieces
Across this parchment
You will find shards of who I am
My remains that seem to last
In these verses
Headstone phrases
Walk the lines and see
Little parts of me jumping off the pages
Tiny little letter exercises the right to remain vocal
Assemble me, please
For I have not yet discovered all my pieces
Poem by poem find who I am
Piece by piece
See what fits

I write this piece and discover more of me
I see and write words
But in my hand, it is not written
So I keep writing, for every poem is discovery.
More than a thousand poems
More than a million words
Between pale sheets and old books
Who is this I, not yet seen?
Now another piece closer after this filled page.

Cover to cover
This body of work holds pieces of me
Read through these fragile stacks of skin
That crumples and catches fire far too easy
I do not become ashes,
I get paragraphs to cover my burns
I write words and build my bones
Serve sentences and straighten my spine
I assemble pieces by piece.
Poems by poem
I am in pieces
I am in poetry
I am the same as you
A handwritten letter by God.