fragments

Poem – The Fragments We Keep

Eyes open to the blackened sky.

I find myself on scattered rocks.

Cold waves wash over me as I struggle to remember.

Ravens call across the bay.

In the distance a portal opens and for the first time in years I feel hope.

Ravens now carry the fragments I desire to keep.

Poem – The Border Kingdom

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We drive the dusty road
east from the mountains toward
the flat land not divulging
any secrets from this distance.

Still morning the intense sun
withers fallen vegetation and
quickly dissipates dew clinging to
cactus needles.

We have not spoken since the pass
where we studied the horizon
surveying what we left behind
and the road leading into the unknown.

(2)

Thousands of acres on both sides with
open fields fenced yet empty,
arid, harsh wind blows dirt, small
stones, and tumbleweed across the road.

I turn to say anything, to comment
on the traffic, and I think you are
asleep, at least drifted beyond the
shared space – I decide to remain quiet.

The morning sun has become the afternoon
companion we now follow as the road
veered west and rises toward the
cloud-free sky.

Mile 418. Unfolded, stained, torn map
found in the dumpster at the
last gas station says there is a town
and a river near. I see only tar and dirt.

(3)

I remember watching grayish skeleton limbs
against milky blue backdrop through
quarter sliced windows blocking
winter wind and snow

while you slept near the fire
on the black leather couch
you brought with
next to the dog you desired.

Your struggle became
more apparent to fit
two separate lives
until I relented.

(4)

I imagine not God’s kingdom
behind pearled gates transcended from mortal forms
meshed with forward singular time
wrapped in fear and repentance

but a kingdom earth bound
free of time, free of the wind
torn sands. Here dreams flow
spherically with no sense of direction.

(5)

And in the last dream I remember
the river flowed beneath skipping feet
chasing prophecies and false prophets,
spoken words and brutal lies.

I saw life fading away, fading into vastness
I tried to pull the visible strings together.
I saw a painted face in the sky above,
one of the many angry gods of war.

(6)

I see fire building
across the open field
and briefly invent an
overgrown empty field burning.

Before the shift
rumors crept into conversations
of the border kingdom
high in the mountains

a city of mist and rain
immune to desert wind.

Even the name gives birth
to images of purity and salvation.

A place to find and enter
leaving behind and never looking back.

(7)

In the dark days
darkened further by doubt
time slows, lengthens
pause between beats,

the space pulls strings
emerging from the mind
and eventually each pore
turning you inside out

until you do not know
you. Who is that in the mirror
and why are you staring at me?
What is this you are showing me?

That is not real, that is not me.
In your eyes you have one truth,
in mine I have another. What separates us
besides the glass mirror?

(8)

My faith began to waver
when grandpa passed.

Years spent building a foundation
enforced by dreams of winter
laying nuclear ash upon the
ground, vanished
when the vessel
released the soul.

We have become God’s of
individual domains defined by the
things acquired, captured, and scored.

I listen to words of peers and words of teachers.
The shaman speaks of reality and no reality, of mind control,
of the matrix infiltrating mind and spirit and becoming sleep,
unaware, lost, wandering that dark black path
through an empty field yet not realizing the empty field
is empty, the reasons for being empty, is the true path,
is our own creation.

Sigh…

When did this, this life
become this hard?

I listen to these words and in
the same breath know there is no
one way through the everlasting shift,
searching for my own salvation.

Like fragments
I choose the pieces that make sense
that ease the deep fire burning within.

This fire I must learn to harness,
to control, to bend, to shape

until I become the shape shifter
able to take back control.

(9)

We approach the border –
a wide river moving swift and cold –
and stop. Both looking through the
bug-encrusted windshield and our hands finally touch
to remember this last speck of civilization.

(10)

I used to dream day and night
of flying above the clouds into
upper reaches of the atmosphere closer
to other borders, other layers
of various gases, closer to the burning
sun and becoming cold and frozen
without direction, spinning,
until a different light skewed
my vision and stripped everything away
and I was able to fly unburdened and free.

(11)

I pause briefly just before
the bridge, a final thought
to be discarded, one less
burden we must bring with us.

We cross the border under
the new moon with shadows locked
safely away, to be revealed
when reaching the kingdom.

Poem – Across The Sea

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Across the black sea I see nothing with these eyes
and I stand here not as I see myself
and not as I desire to be
but as the being accepted by the water.

Across the see littered
with fragments I am
but a whisper cast from
mountain tops.

I hope with every last
shred of this being
that you are out there
waiting with patience

for my return from one
field and when I land
in the black waters I am
able to swim now free of myself.

Poem – A Season in Hell

A season in hell has passed
as I rose through the fractures
in the liquid earth and woke
in the fields beneath the winter sun.

Surrounded by snow and bare trees
I immediately recognized this place
and only knew of my journey here
by the deep and fresh scars.

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Poem – Boundaries

In these chaotic times
dancing on the edge of
belief and moral code,
what I see and you see
are opposite, conflicting,
cast across hardened boundaries
fought with might until death.

But, light and shadow are
caused by the same processes
derive from the same energy,
are one in the same.

Let’s pickup the fragments
and build a bridge across the gap.

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Poem – A Plea, part 2

I see you in fragmented dreams
images from a life I have not lived

unfocused faces and voices
mouthing words I cannot hear.

I see images on billboards
and movie vignettes where

touching moments break through
the wall 20-years old.

I see you in rare dreams
sourced from beyond this life,

beyond the choice I made
and the weight I have carried.

If you are out there behind
the trees the shadow

following me through the
forest as the sun sets

please let me know,
please let me know.

Thoughts on the Empty Field

I have written a bit about the concept of an empty field and what this means spiritually, mentally, and physically to myself as a wandering soul, a student of this life struggling to relate and come to terms with previous lives.  The empty field is the essence of the mind and energy transferred to a physical state, represented by a field, landscape, or a similar feature of nature.  This field is like a chessboard, and there are pieces representing parts of the person such as memories, roadblocks, behaviors, and habits that prevent a more peaceful and happier existence.  We do not have to struggle and suffer. We can choose and recast ourself and re-enter the world.


Romanticism of the Empty Field

(1)

From two perspectives –
the field gives, and
the field takes.

I see mountains and other
landscapes miles away, yet
here they have no influence.

Yet I cannot help wonder
what was here before me?
Before emptiness?
Does this field hold the
mountains higher, or offer
clear water to the gods?

On this particular day
cloudless and bright
there was no wind,
there was no sound.

I stopped on a single boulder
with eyes closed and filled the
emptiness with childhood memories –
moments we bring into the present
and view with a diffused and
soft light – the romanticism
of our past.

What happens to the real
memories, the emotions – where
are these upon the empty field?

Have I already incorporated
what I needed, taken the experience
and lessons, and discarded what
does not work, what only
weighs me down?

(2)

When I stand before the
entrance to the valley
and the immense gates
ask questions of me

how do I answer truthfully
when I left part of me
scattered and broken
fractured and fragmented
across millions of miles
of empty field?

Does the gate see the
same light or hear
the same vibrations as I?

(3)

I step down from the boulder
and vow to recast the person
I am into the person I should be
and begin to reassemble the being
from the pieces.

Random 9/11 Thoughts

(1)

A depth of feeling
carried each day
buried into the subconscious
of each witness, born into
each offspring, burned into
humanities collective.

(2)

Questions will always outweigh
the answers when we attempt and
desire to look beneath the
surface, the material evidence,
the words and images – we want
the person’s thoughts, state
of mind, controlled actions, the
depth or lack of emotion.

The motivation. The why.

A snapshot of the moment’s impact.

What we all left behind
and what we are left with
incomplete and still searching.

(3)

Will closure ever come?

(4)

Even when we really do not
want to hear, the edge of
reason and the unknown can
only be walked for so long
before it takes over and consumes
and we free fall through the void
the dark night – or we accept
what is done, gather the pieces that
are left and attempt to rebuild.

Poem – Absentia #5

Absent of sight
I push the last
images away – move
through false realities,
scattered light dissipates
and in the hands I
believe to be mine,
my fragments rest.

Poem – Random Thoughts

Across the western landscape
clouds roam with
scattered shadows.

What beasts must I endure
to find my way, my path.

Only abstract from life, from nature.
I am nature.

Source of art from the unconscious.

The white canvas, an empty field
waits with silent anticipation for the
first brush.

Where does “it” come from?

The once empty valley.