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

Into the quiet, I go
There inside I heard a silence
I know, this place I go
Deeper and deeper I move to this quiet home
Tranquility lives inside alive
The only loud is the ground announcing my walk
The birds may fly by with a squawk
Frogs gently talk
but silence is the tongue of the wild
I sit by this living body lying still
my soul sips and I do not thirst

I walk making my crackle
frightening the grazing life but they forgive
I am welcomed and they give
Here I am not ashamed to receive
With blaring steps, I say much
weighted I stand by the trees
trees that stood giving shade, indiscriminately
I am encouraged by their quiet whisper of strength

Battles and death be present
Yet peace is their way
Harmony between the living and dead
no guilt, no shame instead, gratitude remain
I walk, sit, stand, and climb
I listen and finally hear all that is said
They all say
The trees shedding their skin
The grass that sway
The crab, that found a way
all alive
even I, I dare say

With longing, my eyes gaze up
at the still blue ocean
deep within a treasure
Stars that shine and shimmer
like liquid silver
hidden by the brightness of the day.
Patience is the key that unlocks the chest
Love the map to find your way
So now, I sit
in love
under this great bright ocean.

For long I have battled for freedom everything was ball and chain, I kicked against the establishment and stuck it to the man I wanted freedom, I balled my fists and fought against the “musts” the “you have to”, you have to go to school, you have to dress this way, you have to study you have to get a job you have to walk this way run that way you have to, every place had a “have to”, and I was a man alone, the lonely freedom fighter waging war.
Now I see that my fight was miss guided, I felt an itch and scratched my whole body still missing the spot that brought the discomfort.

Freedom, what is this word that causes so much strife?
What is it to be free? Everybody has their jail and we blame life for our incarceration, and I thought that swimming upstream being different would bring me my freedom but again I was wrong. Freedom is this small word I flung around like a great ax cutting nothing, I want to be free, I was a feared heart shouting freedom.
Freedom evaded me because I went on a warpath and being in a war is a self-made prison, I fought shadows and ghosts I made the chains that bind me I built Alcatraz I was jailer and prisoner I caused my heart to live behind bars because I was blind I struggled to see what I was doing because I believed life to be one way and now with a new set of eyes and fresh breath I believe that I am starting to see, what this ting is called freedom.
Freedom should be more like breathing it must happen without thinking if freedom becomes a task it means you are only living in what you believe freedom is, an idea and that is a prison itself, freedom is what naturally happens when you are yourself.
(again not the idea of who you are, an action to do or statement to make that you are yourself, no, being yourself is also breathing comes naturally, we see it in children, they are themselves, and that’s what we see sense and sometimes envy freedom.)
Being yourself is a natural reaction to knowing that you are loved.
I don’t want to make it as if these are the steps to life or freedom but after years of war inside me I have realized that I often fought battles but it was only with myself and that often all that must be done is to let go and trust, I was on this path of becoming myself instead of being myself instead of to just breathe, I see now that the things I wanted, does not always need to be fought for because I already had it.
I wanted to be free, but I was afraid of being myself and then I would never be free, I was not myself because I was afraid that I was not enough that I would not be loved, only now I am tasting freedom I still have the keys to my cell in my pocket, because I don’t always believe the truth, the truth that I am loved and enough no matter what, I still stumble across the measuring staff and feel less than but now more than ever I feel the freedom of Love
Love is freeing and lives inside of us.

Thank you for reading
Peace and Love and…

On my thumb a scar
in my heart joy.

laughter jolts my body into a quake
steel stole nothing form my heart
Saw; could not see that tho’ sharp, happiness it could not cut.
blades will rust but love will never blunt
Laughter caused more stitches across my stomach
thumb and feet wrapped in comforting blankets
my heart cuddled and held by warm hands
such an uncommon touch
slowly I settle in the sting like a warm bath
still my body quake
still, my heart jumps
My hand now learn new ways
clumsy and slow
funny how I feel it grow
my heart all thumbs unsure of how to be held
or stretch out with open palms
funny how I feel it grow
thumb hitch-hiking
lifted by those bathtub hands
my heart settles slowly to this beauty
as if it is a growing garden
with a pond and some moss

on my thumb a scar
in my heart joy
the cut made me weary for a day
only for a day
left in my hand and now forever in my heart
only love
always love.

Wake up and rise out of bed
walking and stepping, towards, closer to the things
we do not, want to do
the unwanted thing’s we do not enjoy
we move towards
somehow we keep repeating the same
things over and over

over and over we do the same things
days blur into synonyms
where our hearts beat monotony
the same rhythm our hearts beat,
I am not sure we can call this living.
days blur into synonyms
our hearts beat monotony
the same rhythm
our hearts beat
not sure we
can call this

The rooster crows for the morning to come.

Alarms blaring the world awake
Beeps and sirens, disappointed breath and static stations
Breaking news and hopeful music, boiling kettles, and notifications.
Turning engines and slamming doors
Reluctant children bells traffic and rage
Alarms and alarms meetings and things
More and more the symphony of busy
We are the doing things
Do do do.
More doors slamming more honking and hooting
More shouting and screaming more and more of more.
Notifications more and more applications
Applications for schedules, organizations ting
Applications for communication and entertainment ting
Applications for health ting applications for travel ting
Ting ting ting the thing that we hold closer than lovers and family
Ting, we move ting we read ting we need
Applications for peace and quiet ting applications for meditation.
Ting ting ting
More and more for us
The doing things
More static stations and rage
Sad relieved children and tense parents
Home doors slamming rejected animals welcoming
More and more ting’s and things more and more of more
Ting ting ting our pockets blare more and more stations
Alarms beeps and tings.
Slower we go, with our doing things

The stars quiet in its beauty the moon floods the night
The rooster awaits the morning.

Every sunrise brings light
whether asleep or out of sight
Sun shines even when its night
that bright ball of light sheds what it has.
Give what you have
word or smile song or cake
hands that craft, bend, make, or bake
voices that speak, sing, or shout
legs that run, kick, or jump.
Whether you insight or at night
give your light
you shine bright

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.