shoots and wings, thresholds and thank you’s

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i woke today to an earlier light,

slicing sun… between wooden blinds.

Spring soil…it shifts and yearns

in shy murmurs… of shoots and wings.

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how the wind is alive

with the long forgotten calls

of weary immigrant birds,

floating currents… returning home.

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and maybe… my day is here

to shed this curfew of skin and doubt,

finally… free myself forward

shutter eyes that lurk behind my head.

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let my instinct… map a ready sky,

a fragile trust and mysterious as flight.

let unfurl… these inadvertent wings

and surrender my will to each unknown.

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there is stubborn in my bones

a rain worn feather remains as resolute,

and how much fear… i’ve let fly

oh, sweet wing of creation… take me home.
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thresholds
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When I began this little blog a year ago, I had such meager and modest expectations that anyone would pay any attention to what was being written here, let alone take the time to leave a comment because of something I happened to write.

I wrote short stories then, a memoir of sorts, recollections of a kid from a troubled family living in a poor and forsaken neighborhood in Brooklyn. And that’s all I had plans to write until I just happened to see a link to a poetry site on someone’s blog. It was the first week of April, and just happened to be the first week of National Poetry Month.

I still can’t explain what compelled me to submit a poem, I’d only written one until then just a few months earlier. But I did, flying by the seat of my proverbial pants, against every fear and anxiety I wrote renewal. I was so heartened and overwhelmed by the response, I wrote another.

And the rest, as they say is history.

But I believe our history is a living thing, and so very humbly here I am… 150 poems later. This past week this little blog surpassed 16,000 page views and recorded its 5000th comment and on days like this when I sit back and reflect on this profound improbability, I have to clunk myself in the head with the heal of my hand in a “I shoulda’ had a V8′ moment to make sure this isn’t a dream.

Me, who feared poetry all his life… is now obsessed with its writing.
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shoots and wings
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And now I think it’s time to ‘unfurl these inadvertent wings’, cast aside the fear and doubt and accept the gifts that are being presented. In the coming weeks and months I’ll be busy with some collaborations and personal projects I wanted to tell you about.

A dear friend and most talented writer Bianca (B.G. Bowers) is dedicating her blog for the entire month of April to invited guest poets and challenges. She has very graciously asked me to participate, and I was honored to accept. On April 20th my poems will be featured and I’m really excited at the prospect. Thank you again Bianca.

In the next few weeks, 3 poets who are held in very high regard for personal and important reasons, and I will be working on co written poems. The themes of each of these poems are so dramatically different, the challenges will likely take us all to places we haven’t been before. With the enormous energy and talent these poets possess, I have no doubt co writing these poems will be an exciting and rewarding creative experience and I thank them all for this opportunity.

When you have a chance please visit
Melanie (Wordifull) Chloe (Sirena Tales) and teardropsofink

And lastly, many of you might remember that this past summer I was invited to apply for residency to the Ragdale Artist Retreat. Considering the prestigious alumni that have and still spend time there, it is an honor for me to even be considered. I’ve hesitated to apply because the one requisite the board asks you to have, is a worthy goal, something you can or want to achieve while you are there. I didn’t…until now.

In a recent comment thread with my wonderful new poet friend Nomzi (Nomzi Kumalo), she mentioned that she’d like to have a collection or a book of some of her favorite poems of mine. And of course I gave her my standard ‘oh I’ve never had the dream or desire to be published’ response. She hasn’t been the first friend to tell me this…

well… I finally got the courage to ask ‘why not a book?’

So I will apply now and whether I get accepted to Ragdale or not, a book will be self published in the coming months. I do have a tentative title ‘poems of Hope from a wounded heart‘, and dear Chloe has so graciously accepted to write an introduction. Thank you Nomzi for the spark and thank you Chloe for being generous with your valuable time. Love and Hugs to you both!
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thank you all
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And of course none of this would have or could have happened without all of you, who have read this poetry of mine and written so many profoundly heartfelt and encouraging comments. And a very special thanks to Melissa Hassard and the 20 Lines a Day community.

What an incredible gift this Circle of Encouragement is!

so ty, ty, ty, from the bottom of this very grateful heart.

Love and Hugs to you all!

s c r i b b l i n g

Friday Repost
for my new friends,
a little dig in the
archives for you.
also, today is a
travel day so my
replies will be
delayed until
later tonight. ty.
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scribbling
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images (23)
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i seem
to remember
when i was a kid,
being in my
room

and

laying
on my belly
surrounded by
page after page
of white and
colored
paper.

and

each
of them
filled to the
edges, every
square inch
used up

and

how many
hours i spent
by myself,
so deep
in my

i m a g i n a t i o n

just

s c r i b b l i n g .

and it’s funny,
there was
never
the
fear of
failure then.

because there
was always
another
blank
page

and

if

i

filled up
all the
paper,

ooh!

that
empty wall…
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images (24)

dear readers and writers…a co write

dear friends,

this is a co write between teardrops of ink and myself. we began this poem over a month ago, born from tentative blog converstaions of two internet strangers. we hope you enjoy it, as much as we did writing it.

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dear readers and writers
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blog-1
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(The Writer)
Frail lives
penned into strong, black lines
on display, hidden
in plain sight for all to see
The moment of truth
Afraid to try, afraid to reach out:
yet more afraid not to.

(a reader)
and it’s these moments…
in reading the poetry of real people,
of eyes that we will never speak to, the miles
we will never bridge, the shoulder,
our reassuring hand will never reach…
it’s these moments when pain,
her vulnerability so courageously
etched across the screen, a pain that
resonates so deep into my own heart, that
i wonder… what…if….should, i risk
saying what i really want to say…

(The Writer)
Some days, I don’t feel real.
Nothing does.
Except for these thin webs
connecting space, this
frail air full
of unspoken words
and spoken ones.
I am burdened to give,
to share
everything,
to hold nothing back
All of my heart, bleeding out for you
All of you. Those who I will never know
or see or touch.
Yet you know more of me than
those who can see and touch
me.

(a reader)
she has revealed
so much of herself in such
naked honesty stripped of metaphors
could it…is it enough that
i suffer for us in
my silent solidarity,
click ‘like’ and move on?
i ache for us… both
that her words would ever need to be written
that my wound could still bleed as fresh
but..
we’ve talked before…
in that day’s long conversation…
in her beautiful poem To Taste the Autumn
at least a tenuous connection
exists between us now…
will she recall it
fondly as i do?
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or is it just
what i need
to feel?…

(The Writer)
Interpretation
can work both ways. He
could say one thing and I
read another, same words, different
thoughts born from them. Gently phrasing,
almost afraid to tread
too heavy inside
the dark recesses of others minds
lest I leave too much of a footprint.
Yet how will we know if we
are the same inside unless we break
open the shell a little
and look?
Absent touch
Handshakes reaching
through binary code

And the silence stops pressing in
quite so much.

(a reader)
the pain in her poetry
has scratched and scrawled into my heart,
taken root in decomposed memories
it resides there, in
wounds buried decades deep
below this sudden resurrection
but tears as wet
if there is more to grieve
then who better to empathize?
i’ll bare this truth
as she has,
expose my softest underbelly
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empathy shouldn’t
feel like such a risk,
but there is
no turning away now
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friendship_over_the_internet_by_lemonwheels-d53x2im

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(the friend)
i am so profoundly happy for you!
ty so much for sharing that wonderful news!
i remember when Scout and i first realized we were in love…
nothing else existed….enjoy your time together.

and they say fairy tales
don’t come true….

hugs to you
my dear friend

(The Writer)
Pale and
warm
ethereal tendrils
snaking through the dark overheads
Soft as newborn stars
More tender than petals
The reassurance of a stranger’s words
reaching through the universe
to embrace a lonely soul
Enticing touch of a tentative friendship
born through blood
and fire
and words
pressed into my heart and
soothing
Shedding sweet tears
til no bitter remains..
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angel of words

for my new friends
at Poets Pub, for
d’verse Open Link Night

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145401563_oil-painting-portrait-flying-angels-follow-me-24x36-
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.my Angel of Words
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you will find no fight in these fingers
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they are slaves to your gentle insistence
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find a willingness in this empty pen
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fill it with nuance and inspiration
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oh, Angel of Words
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cover me, in your earnest shroud
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cloak me, with your vocabulary
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help me hear the meter, divine the rhyme
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take me on a journey above the constant clouds
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………………………………………climb
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…………………climb
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climb with me into a clean
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and ever clear sky
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quiet this busy
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mind, erase
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horizons
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as we
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glide
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……..glide
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………………glide
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……………………softly into the
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………………………cradle of pure creativity,
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……………………only you can open these two eyes
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………………..when they believe there is nothing to see
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…………………………………………………..fly
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…………………………..fly
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…….fly
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with me over these uncharted landscapes
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……..steel my spine, help heal these tragic memories
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……………fill this fragile heart with bravery
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…………………..to face my unknowns and life’s every mystery.
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this song is an integral part of this poem, not the
tempo as usual but the mood it creates::::enjoy::::
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oh poet, please

and for my friends at
d’verse, Tuesday Open Link
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thCATDI6KK
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poet, please forgive this selfish intrusion
i have no right whatsoever to impose myself
certainly no expectations, or the need for a reply

but i keep returning to your poetry and pages
there seems a sadness there…or is it my own yearning?
that you’ve possibly uncovered a truth, i could not see

and now, rereading what i’ve written
i fear that this might be a terrible mistake
that you’ll think i’m demanding your attention

to try and become to you, what i certainly am not
it’s just that my native language, i thought in images
these words i write, were never my vocabulary

oh poet, please disregard this foolishness
it should probably remain, just a private note to myself
but the inspiration in sharing words…is saying something else

a parting of ways

images (26)
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there is a journey, i’ve been walking on
a road taken and in hindsight, a road too long
so many questions, a rain wash in torrents
so few answers, a few foolishly ignored

is it because my clock
has now hastened its pace?
because i thought i believed, any day,
was not a good day to waste

am i to believe, this trouble and strife
was all pre-ordained, was planned in advance?
that i played no role, in my many mistakes
or is this me sleepwalking, standing in place?

because, there is an unmistakeable shifting
the weight in these legs, considerably lighter
and wounds of a fragile heart, begin their heal
these clear grey eyes, see a parting of ways

and i would never claim, to have any answers
a few white whiskers…know more than that now
or maybe i’m not so afraid, to look hard in this mirror
to accept my imperfections, to reflect love in these eyes
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The Cross of Change
If you understand or if you don’t
If you believe or if you doubt
There’s a universal justice
And the eyes of truth
Are always watching you.
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the sparse lyrics, the title, the melodic, reflective music which can be
listened to as a soundtrack and a beautiful video to watch::::enjoy::::
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