feather

December 16, 2014 § Leave a comment

most days I’m a feather clinging to the wing of a multicolored bird
quivering from the wind, but always returning to the place where I belong
blending and fading with the soft abyss of surrounding comfort, I wait.

some days I’m the multicolored bird piercing the sky
flying with the wind, at such a height that makes my colors melt
into one single, perfect hue, blending into the welcome air, I soar.

but today I am the sky, an expanse filled with possibility, with fear
propelling the wind, but quivering and melting, fading and flying
I don’t leave or return because I’m already here, so I breathe.

blank

July 18, 2014 § 2 Comments

possibility
is an empty page just waiting
for meaning to fill it

such is life

June 24, 2014 § Leave a comment

do you know the feeling?
like the entire forest is filled
with the strum of heartbeats
ten thousand souls alive
and your skin can feel their hum
like the call of a something far away
that speaks of the familiar
hearts that can’t stay away
and the glow of possibility
that lingers whenever we touch
i can’t describe it
the sound of a chorus in open air
the joy of running, tearing through space
and watching the horizon forever unravel
just out of your reach, but always close
will we ever know the feeling
ever truly let ourselves be
where we really want to be

the man on 7th street

June 3, 2014 § 2 Comments

a mournful saxophone,
just one. its noise like a sermon
echoing above drunken yells
and tires treading. over the constant hum
of street lights and broken voices,
night after night, he plays. making loneliness
cry out into a crowded street of half-hearted
listeners, who sometimes toss him a smile
or a dollar, or two and then shuffle heels
across the concrete walk to catch their friends,
yelling about the a taxi. bar food. a lost wallet. what time it is.
and the man remains, alone and still,
sans his dancing fingers and heaving chest
loyally blowing lonely life into his instrument
filling the crowded air with ups and downs,
a mournful jazz hymn, showering
notes onto an unsuspecting crowd.
they yell about life,
but they may never actually stop to listen to it.

verse

May 23, 2014 § 2 Comments

don’t downsize your joy
or diminish your depth
you only see the world
in the way you were meant to

skyward

May 23, 2014 § 3 Comments

I’m not sure if it was the way the clouds floated
carefree and aimless, like they could drift nowhere forever,
or the way the sky welcomed a mural of light,
even in the darkness and through such an impossible distance,
or if it was that gravity always seemed too far away
to ever actually catch me in its pull,
all I know is that once I looked up and saw the sky,
I was never able to look away

could have

May 22, 2014 § 1 Comment

have you ever felt like you couldn’t breath
and like the world was just a bit too small
for your strides, and the crowds were just a bit too stiff for your joy,
have you ever felt like that moment should have
been just enough, but the crowded room was just a bit too small
for what could have been?

Dear Time

March 23, 2014 § Leave a comment

Do you ever tire of moving?
While you speed past our eyes
in colorful streaks
like the blur of a train
across a country side
do you ever wish you could pause,
just for a second?

The Perplexity of Belief

February 17, 2014 § 4 Comments

doubt
is your greatest friend
for when it sits
most defiantly
atop your most wonderfully
abstract, eternally
perennial dreams, it awakens
you, and urges
your eyes open,
and your mind
to thoughtfully examine
the pathways of a
cerebrum bound
with skepticism,
to discern
its motives and
to choose
your own credence:
either accept its resting
place, among your
assumptions,
your ambitions
your reveries,
or rather,
awaken it quickly
release it somewhere
safely distant,
and instead,
choose to
believe.

Beginning

January 30, 2014 § Leave a comment

did it start at Genesis
at the ABC
or at the very beginning
of the end
with hope
on the right foot
stepping from number one
or a countdown
from ten did it start
at first-things-first
or slow and steady wins
and second is the best
when the good guys
finish last or was it
the chicken or the egg
a Big Bang that cut
the ribbon
at the line
signaling a small start
with a sunrise
in a new chapter
breaking the ground
of a page turn
at the omniscient alpha
just before the fresh tomorrow
that’s dancing
like there isn’t one
was that exactly and precisely
where it started
and where
it all began

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with thought at rosepoems.