Wednesday, January 1, 2014

We can all be Free...In our minds

I am aware my poetry is not exceptional...  and yet I know from experience when I am dealing with an extreme case of writers block...the best medicine is Music, Art and Poetry.  And so I find myself up after midnight, headphones on listening to "Maybe Not" by Cat Power after hearing it play during some obscure movie.  I've played it twenty or so times...as I sit here in the dark...the only light coming from my laptop screen and the christmas tree still up despite the fact that christmas has come and gone...I am at an odd place in my life; an almost surreal place.  And so, as I begin this journey to free myself of this writer's block, I can only imagine that what comes from my soul and touches the surface of paper...will be equally awkward...but hopefully someone, someday will find some sort of beauty in it...




Admit Time
I really dreamed
When I was new
Shot orange flowers out of bazookas
In yellow sundresses with white trim,
Walking down the beaches of paradise.
Time is a heavy sand, running through fingers
Sifting through toes and hardening the soles
To accommodate these rough paths we pave
And follow.
Dreams are nothing but sand
Running like rivers through the crevices
Of a beautiful yet
Casually Underestimated mind.
Mind…and mine
Is a black and unwanted vision
Of the world.
And so I lived comfortably in my dreams
When I was new
For they were pearly, shiny, sun filled things
Like on the tv with all the smiling golden haired cherubs
Life is never what
They want it to be.
Life is most times
Everything we don’t expect
And yet time plays on; the chords of a  piano
Keeping step, tapping and moaning
An opera of a life…
An opera of a life…
Oh how time has played me…
Oh how life has dimmed…
Oh how my dreams have bled of color into simple things
All black and white, no dialogue, only muted flashes…
And yet time plays on; a song no one wants to hear
And yet…
The wise…so few in number….
Know…the opera of life…
Has no
True
Ending
Everything is perfectly circular
Yes, even this silly
Mess of moments I have collected
In a place I know nothing of
Where I must belong, where I am held captive
For an unknown
time…

By
Haajar Johnson

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