Rising Tide

My beautiful picture

If I could see the light
Above the hole that I have dug
If I could change my coffee
Into wine inside my mug
If I could walk on water
And escape the rising tide
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the drowning

If I could gather round me
All the thoughts that make me smile
If I could only linger
In the laughter for a while
If I could rise above it
Finding hope beneath the clouds
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the gibbet

If I could feel the pain
Inside the soul that I have killed
If I could only breathe
Inside the poisons I have spilled
If I could walk away today
Inside another’s shoes
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the fire

If I could see the light
Above the hole that I have dug
If I could turn my back
Upon the alcohol and drugs
If I could fly to distant shores
And find one trusted friend
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the drowning

Please reach out to those who are searching...

Michael33

Knowing

Knowing

Knowing

So often I sit at this old table
Before the light of dawn
Has blushed upon the window sill
Verses spoken long ago
By those who danced
And laughed
And cried
And touched the very wood
I now feel beneath my hand
The sound of the old upright
Echoes in another room
Blending like the strings
Of a symphony
While rhythm keeps time
With the clinking of ice
In glasses of bourbon and gin

Their adventure
Their tragedy
Their comedy
Their poems
Finding their way
To my disarranged mind
From the ink left behind
On tattered pages
Stories untold
Yon the dawning
Tales only spoken
Neath shadows of moonlight
Secrets never shared
‘bove the whisper

Yet somehow I can hear them
In the silence
Feel them in my hands
Trembling neath the parchment
The smell of perfume
Embracing the air that I breathe
In the softness of the morn
The laughter
The tears
Lingering softly against my face

All of it
Of course
Intentional
From those who have
Wandered here
In the laughter
In the tears
Inscribed in the wood
Like beautifully etched glass
So that
Someday
Someone
Would feel their touch
Hear their whispers
Smell the perfume
Of the poetry they left behind
In the tenderness of the silence
In the calm before the dawn
“Knowing” –
They will never be
Forgotten

Michael33

The Poets’ Corner

The Poets' Corner

The Poets’ Corner

How I arrived there, I was unsure
But there I was
Alone in my humanness,
In the room of the souls…
Standing in the quintessence
Of apparitions
In what must have been
The most peculiar
Of poets’ corners…
All of them loquaciously
Offering their lore
As if I were the ghostwriter
For all who dwell in other worlds…
The intense energy
Filling the crowded room
Causing the tiniest of hairs
Upon my skin to stand so inflexibly,
One might surmise that I had grown thorns…
Quivers rippling up the back of my neck
Like a kaleidoscope of butterflies
Fluttering along my spine…

The voices spoke
Of transcendent rhymes
With only the whisper of breath
Stirring echoes of angels
Resounding in my head…
I gazed into the mirrored glass
Upon the hallowed walls
With visions of only
The morning mist
In hues of a blushing dawn…
I penned their words
Upon the parchment
As they smiled at my
Scribbled scrawls…
Each one citing runes of reason
Filling verses with what was
Once misunderstood…

Suddenly there was silence…
The pressure inside my head
Dropped so rapidly
I feared my mind would
Vaporize into mere thoughts
Of fractured ink…
The tiny hairs
Fell tranquil against my skin…
The butterflies followed
The scent of lavender
Weaving through the open window…
There was no whispered breath
But that of my own
Conversing with the echoes of angels
Now retiring to worlds
Beyond my human comprehension…
As I gazed into the mirrored glass
Finding but my own reflection
In hues of black and white –
I held in my hand
The parchment
Scrawled from the quintessence
Of apparitions
While I stood alone
In my humanness –
In the most peculiar
Of poets’ corners…

Michael33

Whispers of Raindrops

Whispers of Raindrops 1

I stood in the middle
Of my confusion
Lifting my face to the sky
While whispers of raindrops
Caressed my thirsty skin…

Words of your own sagacity
Linger deep within my soul
Speaking louder than paltry fables
Poured into the pool
From which we sip…

Yet you dwell in other worlds
Whispering truths
Far beyond my intellection
With every single drop of rain
Musing dreams
In the hush
Beyond the tempest…

I stood calm amidst the chaos
Penning love and understanding
While others stood blindly
In the fire –
Smoldering
In their own pretention…

I reached for them with rhymes
Of which you speak
Yet what I saw
Were fisted hands
Of those who could not see –
Those who could not feel
Beyond their own
Sallowed skin –
Those who turned
And walked away
Frightened
By the echoes
Of silence…

I stood in the middle
Of my confusion
While whispers of raindrops
Fell softly from my face
To the parchment
Lined
In fractured ink
Now etched
In blurred mystic hues

I knew your words
Your rhymes
Could never pull them
From the fire –
Never show them
The musing of dreams
In the hush –
Never help them
Understand
All that is beautiful
In the silence

Yet…
I will always write the words
The rhymes
Of which you speak – 
Share the musings
Of my dreams – 
Stand in the rain
With my face to the sky
And know
That someday –
Those who could not see
Those who could not feel
Those who were frightened
By the echoes of silence –
Will stand in the rain
With their face to the sky
And in
One
Brief
Solitary moment –
Hear the
Whisper of a raindrop

Michael33

Of Dawn’s First Blush

Of Dawn's First Blush 2

 

When I could not see with human eyes
There were visions of the canyons
Stretching through the mountains
To the sea

When I could not hear with human ears
There were strings that played a symphony
That echoed through the valley
In the breeze

When I could not touch with human hands
There was warmth beneath my breast
That flowed throughout the world
In peaceful hush

When I could not speak with human voice
There were rhymes within the silence
Etched into the hues
Of dawn’s first blush

When I could not write with human thought
There were verses never written
Though runes still touched
The hourglass of time

When I could not take a human breath
There were poems still left unsaid
Though my voice will always echo
In the rhyme

Michael33

Little Things

Little things 1

Little Things

It was early in the morn
Fore the dawn that never was
For I had passed the sunset
Long ago

The moonlight cast its shadows
Neath the pines along the ridge
Where only wings of seraphs
Touch the snow

But I was not mistaken
When the light shined through the trees
Where reason can’t explain what
One may “know”

Truth is always there inside
When stillness brings the sparrow
Where little things in life
Let passion flow

Fore moonlight casts its shadows
Neath the pines along the ridge
You must touch the breeze when
Soft winds blow

Lest you may taste the morning
Fore the dawn that never was
For you had passed the sunset
Long ago

Michael33

To Wander

My beautiful picture

Photo by Betty Bell Sanders

I’ve seen the world
From the mountain top –
From the tops of trees
Where branches reach
So far above the fray
You only hear the voices
Neath the whisper…
Though I have walked
Along the streams
With dreams
Beneath the ripples
And touched
The virgin muse
On tumbled stones –
I still can taste
The salty breeze
From dawn
Upon the ocean –
To wander
Though —
Still lingers in my bones

Michael33