The Flowers: Cycles #5

Cycles move
Cycles change
Cycles come and go away

The path is green
And dark
And frayed

Many wander through it
Missing the sights

I miss this
I say to my lover
Perched in an old Beech tree
Seeing things
I used to miss
the way it used to be…

The birds skim trees
Making music
Silhouette the evening sky.
Some searching
Pack their tiny wings
Dive bomb fall down, then rise

On my way through opening, closing gates
I see
A flower stick out among the stinging nettles

We wander
Never knowing
Really
Where we are going
Or what we will do
Me and my best friend
Follow the way,
I don’t say anything
Just watch him
Rustle through the brush

On stone I sit
Still
I can feel the dry powder top,
And wander when this has to end
Remembering cycles,
Cycles,
The tragedy of the spirit
The most beautiful thing that could be…

Now I weep for the day that you go, my love
If I grow and shrink to become old and wrinkled
And I’ll be the old man looking at the flowers
I hope that I can speak to you of that day
And hold your hand as we pass away
Completing the cycles
Together

 

-Ben

Until that day

Heart thumping in my head,
Sometimes my feet tingle.
My numb hands hold tightly in regret
If only I could just…


There’s nothing else to do,
Just the waiting game.
My friends are the raindrops
While the smiling assassin passes onwards on the waves.

Until that day,

The feeling screeches like a chalk
Dragged slowly over its board,
Stitching, Scratching,
Relentless, until it becomes a part of you.

Until that day,

I’m clinging to my chrysalis
Routines and creature comforts,
Keep me human,
Help me find my way again

To the blank slate

That gives me comfort
When I can feel it
Giving reason to the thumping,
That I can hold if I can make it,
That I might find
And meet my maker.

Until that day,

A smiling swallow limps
Through the valley of grey
To the end light
Where the wind carves
Around a Lotus Flower.

 

 

The Difference

…The Moon and the Water…

So much talking about normal
When I don’t understand
Why do you not understand.

Do you not trust me?

God knows I’m an amnesiac…
Everyone’s entitled
To their own great expectations.
That’s fine,
Pinpointed,
But I’m me, I’m mine.

Just trying to see
The fine line
Between the words
And the meaning.

Whatever the Mothers and Sons bring
If you decide to watch,
Not just me but the others too,
Let us Fall
On stone or soft grass.
As scars heal,
We’ll have the feeling
To know the difference.

Please,

Let me let the space in.
To be,
And to find the courage
To feel the difference.

 

-Ben

Circles: Cycles #4

Moods swing like the tick of a clock

Letting being happen

 

Making a noise

A footstep

To be trod unto,

A path followed,

That will one day end

At the door of a new beginnings

 

Feelings tock

Emotions tick

Sensation points to something

One thing

One day known

On a cold Sunday celebration

 

Each and every hand and heart will

Cross a line

And cross another, and cross another

Making circles

Together

Serenity

A feeling of oneness

With everything around

The wood

The animals

And the trees

 

The bird song is music

A celebration of kinship

 

There is nowhere else to go

Right now

One just sits in the hollow of the feeling,

Nature’s arms wrapped around one as a mother would

To a child,

Bringing them closer

To connect

And protect

 

Together

Nature and I

Lie in peace

In a willingness to leave

An unashamed cry

 

Soon it will end

Which is fine

As long as I can try

To remember

The time when I felt whole,

Engulfed in Serenity

 

The Grey

The pulling up on my neck,

an accidental asphyxiation,

became the tangled constriction

of my column of life.

 

Stable turned upside down

Uprooted

An Animal

Lost in place

 

I don’t know where I am anymore.

I lean back.

 

Same sounds, same noises;

muted;

Tinted in an air of emptiness,

and a hollow blur

of grey shades

that coat the sights of memories

 

A flicker of blue fire leaves the source

making it’s mark through impressions

on the supple

and layers on the stiff

 

A far reach turns into a little too much,

the lack of breath

turns to a lack of movement

‘till the earthy self

is now just concrete.

The fire’s flickered out.

Wandering

Let the birds watch you

and listen to their call

Simply

Because it is beautiful

 

Let the feet walk you

wherever they ponder,

feel the dry mud and cool stone

maybe the crisp crackles of the twigs

will speak to you

 

Nature knows something

That it is fine

 

Ride the feeling into blissful silence

Simply to have a listen

 

Explore the rough bark of the trees,

They sit there quietly for many centuries

you know

 

There’s no need of a journey,

just simply wander

wondering

Her

Overwhelming joy

Like a fire flood rising and falling in my belly

The feeling of being stretched into the epitome of up and smiles

She makes me laugh like I don’t know myself anymore,

Beautiful blue eyes,

Talking in hums and squeezes

Sleepy faces and tight cuddles

She keeps me warm

Talking through the night about the problems of the universe

Singing and dancing to old songs from groovy times

Never cheesy, always cheesy, and we love it

A duo in performance

Double trouble

The dream team

 

In the shadows

We embrace them

Savour them

Talk of their necessity

In Low tones

And bland fact

Overtoned by squeaky voices

About mawnins and evenins

And aftanoonees

 

We wrestle and tickle

Because that’s the proper thing to do

And become the birds and the dogs

With their dances and calls

Then I kiss her forehead softly and warmly

And I tell her that she is the best thing that has ever happened to me

Because she just is.

And I love her so.

The Drum: Cycles #2

 

Many one things learned in life

Trying to live in harmony

Over and Over

The Learning

became Learning about Learning

Until I Learned that the only advice is for one Learning

Repetition, yes,

but Learning

 

A factor of proportions so large is only true of a one who never did,

I skipped it.

Now I get it.

Don’t I?

 

One and final timing

Bam

or

Tap

or

Ting

And life’s discovered

Like the beat of a drum

 

You can write down the lyrics

But they aren’t music

Until one hears it

 

and

 

Listening is the toughest one

The hardest skin on the horse skin drum

With the lightest tap

Easier to get wrapped up in songs

Harder to learn to how to Drum
when

Drumming a Beat

is for you to listen,

When you do listen

is for I to see

Connections between melodies

 

For time to be

As meaningful as it can be

The rythm

Sometimes

Has as to run out.

 

 

– Ben