Humour and Honesty

Hearts beat. Do you know what they sound like? The back and forth makes a rhythm that is beautiful. We know that when we ignore our hearts bad things happen. The rhythm gets off. Things break. But once a heart is broken does it ever get put back together? Can it be?

Sometimes you have to stop crying. Sometimes you just need a break. You can’t live in the moment of your greatest pains indefinitely. If you do you will be consumed. You will come undone. There have to be things other than the pain. Even if they are only temporary they have to be. If there is only the pain you will die.

While there are plenty of bad things that we all have tried to take breaks from our various pains and traumas there are also good things. Connections with other people are good things. Humour is a good thing. Laughing with others is a welcome break– especially if you know you are laughing with people who do not expect you to always be laughing.

I write poetry. But I cannot always exist in the space that I have to go to to write. I need a break just like everyone else. Thankfully here on the internet there are people trying to make other people laugh. Over the past two years I have spent a lot of time reading other people’s poetry. This has been fantastic. But thankfully, I have had the opportunity to read things other than poetry as well.

Just one of the other blogs I read regularly is A Clown on Fire. Le Clown makes me laugh. Now I am not actually going to suggest that that is the only reason I read his blog. It is not. But quite frankly I need to laugh sometimes. That is what his comments section is for. I love his responses to his reader’s comments. Also I love his reader’s comments. OK, I love him and his readers… and their comments to each other.

Sometimes when things are really bad you need someplace to go. Sometimes that place is not a physical place at all. That does not make it any less real. Poetry can be cathartic (which is good) but it can also be a bit too intense sometimes. As most poets know it can be exhausting writing a piece that you don’t even like when you are done. While it is important to find ways to be real and to be honest it is also important to laugh and not always take yourself so seriously every moment of every day. I hope all of you my readers can find a place (in life or online) where you can laugh a little without having to be dishonest or fake. Cheers.

CONNECTING HAIRS

Kitten on lap rumbling

      like the thunder tumbling;

Connecting the currents above

      with the currents of bonding love

Between the caregiver

      and the supplicant shiver.


   Purrs and rumbles barge

      to connect the small and large.

Strokes of care

      to bind dependency to sustaining dare.


  Copyright 2012, Rose C. Byrd "granbee"

Essence

i marvel in its power and feel it anew
its soft immortal glow ever true
it becomes newly born in me
i see its light
i feel its warmth
i know its truth

recreating itself for just us mere two
yet existing before the very first two
there is strength in its tenderness
and passion at its core

however fitfully
i strain to contain its loveliness
it flows forth and becomes
the essence of us all.

-QueridaJ

Desert Abbey II Postponed… a week.

I got a chance to do something. I’m going to do it. It is, however, away from the internet and phone. If anyone is interested in submitting a poem on the theme of “Connections,” you have another week (next Friday instead of tomorrow). Cheers to all and have a great week if I don’t post anything. Send submissions for the Desert Abbey II to: asoulswalk@lavabit.com

This e-mail address is also up top of course. I look forward to reading. Cheers.

Because I Cannot Speak

A Tragedy has unfolded
And still it carries on
And somewhere,
a beautiful woman will probably think
that if I am quiet,
or don’t call,
or seem short…
that it is all to do with her.

And this could be another tragedy
Another terrible unfolding
Only,
I will wake when it is over
that is,
if I wake at all.

And she probably doesn’t realize
just how bad it is
and doesn’t realize
how little I see
and how little I feel
no one ever realizes
when you are numb from pain…

They often think it’s something else
or perhaps it is just them
but when you lay there dying
And staring off in shock
you just can’t find a voice
and could not correct them,
and do not have the heart to try.

And so perhaps another tragedy
is unfolding as I weep my eyes dry
and I can’t move to stop it
and
will likely real
from the pain of it
if I make it through this situation…
if…

What goes around comes around
So they tell me anyways
but I can’t think strait here at all
and can’t believe the world.

In my pain from something else
I may be causing hurt abroad
and this is cruel cruel irony
the kind that leaves a mark.

So,
now,
as I lay me down to die
and wait
for things that may not come
I wonder if the crashing train-
the one that is my life-
I wonder,
has it taken others out with it
on it’s final trip?