The Poem’s Intention

Jaxon (Pic by Chris Pouget)

The poem has an intention

Could it be?

Could the words just bleed right through me?

Could a poet be a vehicle for the poem

The way salad is just a vehicle for the dressing?

The way (some might say)

A mother is just a vehicle for the child

But wait, she thinks, I made that person!

I’m at least half responsible

He’s my baby!

Yes, but to what degree did she create him?

There is such magic in life, such miracle in creating man,

Maybe mothers are just a conduit

Maybe poems, like people, have intentions

Though not always clear

Or, if clear, then unspoken

Wonderously waiting for the perfect moment

To come alive

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Battling the Saboteur

There is an unrest in my soul
A long-term, chronic dis-ease
A dreaded fear of failure
And an inbred desire to please

I hunger for affirmation
Scared that I am not enough
And question the way forward
Especially when life feels tough

Sometimes my vision is lacking
At night I can barely see
And my saboteur has practiced
Preparing to pounce upon me

She will not throw a single stick
She is tired of throwing stones
No, she knows just how to get me
And it is not by breaking bones

Perhaps she is here to protect me
Maybe I fear my own light
But it is time to silence her
And I am ready for the fight

Perhaps I have all the answers
And have known them all along
Maybe my journey is perfect
And I am right where I belong

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Friday Night Magic

What would it take to save you, to make you feel enough?

And do you have what it takes to save me, to make me feel enough?

I doubt anyone does, not even me. A real shame…

But guess what? The buck still stops here. It’s just you and me, doing the best we can.

So where to from here? Will we summon the courage to create something amazing…

Or cower behind mediocrity and excuses, tempted to assign blame?

I pressure myself to find answers when perhaps I should be living into the questions instead

Betting on some sort of trifecta between magic and feeling, and head.

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The craziest thing…

You want to know the craziest thing?
We all want to be loved
We are all fragile, hesitant, hopeful…
Thinking…pick me! I have something unique to offer…
And it’s true, we all do
And yet I’m left wondering how best to infuse my reality
With yours–why hello there!
When all we really want is for someone else
To share and champion our reality
The reality is we need to believe in ourselves

–If not us, then who?–

And we are crying, bleeding out for someone
To believe in us
So believe in me
And I will believe in you
Or so the old story goes
The real story is…I’ll believe in you
Even if you don’t believe in me
With peace and big, big love…
Big love

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Zen Fairytale

Trail in Temperate Rainforest

Lead me through the forest
Pin me up upon a tree
Get me drunk on fine, fine wine
And ____ me ’til I feel free

Steal me to your castle
Hidden deep inside the wood
‘Cuz I’m dying for adventure
And I’m drowning in the “should”

Cruise me to that island
The one I’ve always longed to go
Maybe there I’ll learn the things
I’ve always yearned to know

I’m worried I’ll go nowhere
That fantasy is for the young
No castle no forest no island
My siren song’s been sung

So fly me fast to a city
Bustling with culture and art
Help me to write a perfect ending
And make a perfect start

But if I really do go nowhere
The truth’s still plain to see
No person or place can save me
As wherever I go I’ll be

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Out of my mind

Scientific Image Active Neuron
The beast wondered, worried,
“How can I be more in my body?”
And wondered, worried,
“How can I be more?”
As long ago trained to live in her brain
She faithfully exercised split from self
Rarely allowing herself a moment
To simply be

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Pin me down

blue butterflyI want to be (more) in my body with you
But how could I ever imagine
That I would need you to be more fully me?
Perhaps, flittingly, it’s because I hunger
To be pinned down (pin me down)
Captured and admired
Like a butterfly under glass
As floating, mutable,
I stumble to catch up to myself
And seek an identity on which to land
So catch me, now,
Before the dust settles
And it’s too late

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