Timi will share… | Social Business Strategy

it was the foreboding
stillness of waking.

the dog’s yelping is an
echo subsiding in the
far spaces of memories.
the water splashing
and the pounding of clothes
acquire a strange cadence
and my mind is filled
with the vision
of old marching bands.
the wooden chimes
sing softly then lull
into deep thought,
while my eyes dart across
the familiar corners of my room –
the whirring blue
of the electric fan,
the quiet computer
tired from watching me wait,
distorted cat’s faces and cobwebs
grown accustomed
to the walls,
then resting on the green plastic
being jostled by the wind
bravely posing as the missing
window pane –

my eyes flutter
dangerously near to closing.

with a violent jerk
the sickly cheerful yellow
of sunday morning
pulled me from bed,
shouted at my mind:
wake up and know,
wake up and see
your ancient sadness
bear fruit!

dazed, steps faltering,
i furrowed my brows
and summoned all memories
and one by one
they swirled around
and began their invasion:

water unto eyes, wind unto hair,
brown of the skin, quiver of the lips,
texture for tongue, soundlessness
for ears, the tingling of skin
when in danger…

the warning
hissing in my mind
fell silent,
and i basked in the clarity
of this ancient ritual.

love was torn violently from my heart –
finally, you have left me.

Filed under: Poetry

if
the time comes
when my tears can no longer
gather every fiber of sorrow
in my soul,
please,
help me to weep
as still and as soundless
as shadows at dawn

if, finally,
my dreams are cursed
and the night, a mute witness
to my motionless slumber,
please,
sit by my side
and sing me stories
to bring to my wanderings

if, at last,
love is torn violently
from my words,
and all i offer is the darkness
of smiles,
i beg of you,
burn all poetry nurtured
from my heart –
do not leave any mark,
not even my name

ay, when i finally close myself
like a clenched fist,
but not of rage nor despair,
i ask of you,
crush the brown roses
and cast their petals
into the still, still light
of dusk

Filed under: Poetry

there must be a way to exchange
poetry with pain,
else what would i say
the moment you speak
in silence.

you are far-away.
everything you say—
each pause, each movement
wanders the hidden trails
of despair.

i have known you,
but not in the deep places
of rain.
you slip by like a ghost,
fleeting like a
promise—
your answers are questions
in this season
of storms.

if only i can sprinkle dreaming
in the still waters
of your eyes,
perhaps you will learn
to close them.

let me take away the tears
that would not fall.
in their stead, i shall plant
red flowers.

–delunna

Filed under: Poetry

your shadow begins to form
in the distant memories
of my mind
like the sense of rain
amidst a cloudless sky
or the foreboding
of clear waters

i hear you in the corners
of my dreams
unfolding like a song
whose words fleet and flicker
then fade in the stillness of dawn

you are on the edge
of a poem
the way my heart
is at the brink
of breaking –

i am drawn to you

the way a leaf seeks
the earth
and why emptiness
sometimes
completes us

– delunna

Filed under: Poetry

Unless I love you
The way I would have loved you
In kinder times,
Love you with fire
That blazes all night
And dies as happy smoke
Rising, swirling with the light
Of grey mornings,
Unless I love you
This way and all other ways,
As if you loved me,
As if we have met,
and you are close enough
for me to follow the trails
of your hair,
and for you to catch
the embers
of my terrible dreams,
Unless I love you
with this fearful heart,
then I would not be able to love.

Unless I love you
With the stillness
Of heaving mountains,
Or the grace
Of raging oceans,
Love you despite this
Relentless hunger,
Love you in spite
Of being alone to wander
The domains of my soul,
Unless my love should
pervade my mind
Like the aroma of rain
On dusty pavements
That summons memories
and melancholy –
Then to love you is to love
the fate of flowers
and hold on
to the promise of solstice

Unless this love withstands
the desperate brown
of my parched lands, and
strive amidst the hardened laughter
of women inside shanties,
Should love grow
unbridled as I march towards
the surreal phalanx of
men armed with uncertainty,
Unless i dare to love you amidst
the chaotic plan of the universe,
close my eyes in peace
and stir in your passing,
If I do not love you with my history
and the present of my tears,

Then I must love you
in hope.

For I would like it
that when I die,
and people will say,
“She was not really the writer
she claimed, or
she could never stay long
in a job;
she was always the dreamer
and her dreams
were too bright, and
she was forever wandering,
and often afraid,
shifting roads, shifting seas,”
They will pause
and furrow their brows,
as if feeling for the pea
in the folds of their memories.
And in the still light of moments
a faint smile will spread
on their face as they say:

Ay, but how she loved!

And how she loved us.

She loved as if each moment
Were the first and the last.
She loved with a heart so big
It took in both joy and sorrow.
Her love so immense
She gave everything
To know drowning,
To be burned and to rage
To cackle and scream
To be still in crying
To be scared and lost,
Ah yes, these were her constants
Love was her fated savior
And how she loved,
How she loved him!

–delunna

Filed under: Poetry

“This is my program:
Let us all weep.”
–Kenneth Patchen

The world has not wept enough.
Yes, we have cried for reason’s demise
Or reason itself turned cold and cruel
We have wailed for lives cut short,
Or for hearts that beat without spirit,
We have cursed each season upturned,
The death of leaves, the fall of mountains –
Why do our species define
history and peace as contradictions?
With righteous anger,
We tremble at injustice, and yet
We summon wars as much as we train heroes.
We are relentless, without limits
Like a catastrophe
And we punish ourselves for this terrible,
Implacable destiny.

We torture ourselves for conjuring destinies
That destroy those who seek them.

But we have not wept enough.
The night’s disquiet is more piercing than our mourning.
Suffering is still greater than our sadness.

So, I propose:
Let us weep until we cannot.

Let us weep so hard
that we cannot turn our back to the other
without touching, without sharing,
without being shaken by our capacity for despair.

Let us take pride in our weeping,
And weave these tears into our skin,
That laughter becomes a memory,
And happiness a dream.
Maybe then,
We shall call destiny, hope.
Love, our evolution.

I shall begin with myself.
By my tears, my love shall know me.

Filed under: Poetry