Just illegible verses on slips of paper
Just illegible verses on slips of paper
A collection of poems in summertime
Today - at exactly 11:50pm PST- is the August Equinox. That means tomorrow is the first day of Fall, and the end to one of the best seasons I have ever lived.
Why is it that? Well, that’s complicated. Sometimes, you just feel a feeling and you don’t quite know what to say about it in plain English, but feel more able to in incomplete sentences, rhymes, and mental pictures. This summer was special because my heart and mind were able to spend time together - in harmony, dancing in the rain, smiling from ear to ear, laughing without care, and acting in the plots of many a daydreams and…night-dreams.
Judging by the four poems I wrote this summer, it was full, and - at the same time - contemplative, yearning, victorious, and content.
The first was composed at the dusk of summer. It is a bit long-winded, undoubtedly. It starts hopeful, and ends hopeful - whatever that means:
Catch Some Raindrops
We can let delight
Be the air we breathe
And we can soaked in the sun rays - every beam
The blooms around us
May remind the blooming within
And again we can beckon
The bees and their kin
We can look above
When clouds are gray
And catch some raindrops - drip, drop
Then say
It
Is
Mine
It is my tower
My map
My labyrinth
Dirt
And sap
It is my beginning
My fruit
My nurture
Night
And ruth
It is my universe
My oxygen
My moment
Perspective
And friend
It
Is
Mine
And
It is my shallow breaths
Becoming deep ones
And the soles of my feet
Dancing in a soul’s fun
As the arms around us
Maintain their embrace
We can also free ourselves
To run our own race
We can look above
If we desire and choose
And catch some raindrops
All dressed in rouge
It is a raindrop
And it is mine
Catching some raindrops
Here I’m perfectly fine
The second is raptured by the concept of time and our place in it - something that has worried me in the past, but feels just where it needs to be now:
Our Highways
They morph into optimism and into despair,
Diving beneath gorges and volcanoes.
The dotted lines exist before and after us,
Inviting diversions and exits unforeseen.
Embark the rule-bound express lane for expedition
And wash ashore this accidental destination.
Heavy traffic may fuel our desire to short-cut,
But when overcome - reveal infinite ground to pilot.
That’s the way of our highways
They morph into light and into dark,
Surfing waves of the desert and sea.
They morph into optimism and into despair,
Diving beneath gorges and volcanoes.
The dotted lines exist before & after us,
A board-game for all to play.
Face archived roads, detours, and sink-holes,
Then chart the course all the same.
If alone on a stretch of track,
Feel the fabric of places like buds of a flowering vine.
That’s the way of our highways
They morph into light and into dark,
And surf waves of the desert and sea.
They morph optimism and despair,
And hairpin - back, and forth, back, forth
Before and after us.
The third is more or less an observation of a barn sheep going about its mundane daily routine in the summer sun, a summer bucket-list essential:
Her
Summer
looks from her
behind fur
That buffers
Summer
Uncovers
In color
She’s tougher
Summer
Outruns her
But then discovers
Whose funner
Summer
Is when some hover
Watching above her
Slumber
And, finally, here is the fourth. It is about a slow and intentional-type of living. I can almost feel freshly dried sea salt rubbing off my skin:
Guest Receipt
To be a guest
To respect where they rest
To give and receive
To water local seeds
To make joy
In silence and noise
To feast in harmony
And sleep by seas
To a pitch a tent
And smell the scents
In a new place
Leaving a gentle trace
So, this is what summer 2023 felt like for me. Just illegible verses on slips of paper… Fantastically vague and self-satisfying. Back to stories on local creators in the next piece :)