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2018, POETRY

Darkness

emorywolf3

I know what that is.
When it comes at me
Those memories of loss.
They rise
trying to take over my thoughts.

It is quiet now;
yet, there is an odor of solitude
That surrounds me
I can smell it
as I breathe the smoke perfumed dry air.

Harsh
Speechless.
My tongue sticks to the base of my mouth
My lips dry and chapped.
I am a book of snow
As I stand on the back porch
Cold 
Staring over the snow covered rooftops.
Hoping I could spread my wings
And fly
Like an eagle
Once more
Fearless in fiery feathers,
who remains alone
Apart from its small fleeting life.

2018, notes, POETRY

Unobtrusive

emorywolf3

It’s the only thing I woke up with
 in my head
 this morning.
Everything else just faded out so fast,
Don’t understand the message
My brain was telling me.
It was very low key,
A single word,
Bouncing around up there.

Unobtrusive.

Unnoticeable,
Understated,
As it was quite elusive;
Albeit,
It attracted attention
From the subconscious
To the conscious.

2018, POETRY, thoughts

Wonderings

emorywolf3

Sometimes 

I sit in this black metal chair
Turn something on Netflix
Or Amazon
Or u tube
Or some other way .
I watch 
But don’t really listen.

Yes I sit here
And watch images
And think.
And think
About the histories of the world.
The religions of such.
And the world today.

I think about the animal within.
And without.
I wonder how the sports today
Remind me of the Roman gladiators.
Except they get paid.
Very well I might say.
Very well.
Their families can live well.
And prosper.

Uncategorized

What are we?

emorywolf3

Now there is a question.

Think about it.

the question of man.

For thousands and thousands of years.

Maybe hundreds of thousands of years.

There are drawings on cave walls

Asking that question.

Texts in many religions.

Asking and asking,

That question,

putting out their interpretation of God.

Poets, philosophers, shamen, priests, historians, 

Mothers, fathers, sisters and adopted brothers,

And lovers,                                               and madmen.

I’ve read a lot of ’em.

Studied them.

Listened to ’em.

Asked that question.

Thought about it.

Dreamt about it.

God is a strange creature.

POETRY, Syllable Tapestries

Tear

emorywolf3

What is this?
This fluid, which stains my check?
The dictionary interprets the tear
as a clear saline liquid secreted from the lachrymal gland
lubricating the surface between eyeball & eyelid.

The scientist insists on theory,
on hypnosis.
How do I support it?
Can’t.
It’s just a sense.
Tears are not for lubrication of the eyes,
but lubrication of the soul.

Is there a connection between love and tear?
How laborious is love?
I snatch the realization,
having squandered my tears,
my love has been consequently trivial
for nothing ever came from it.

Forgiveness?
Forgiveness is not what I quest.
Compassion?
How could anyone be aware of the wind?
I, who am so difficult to love,
gaze across the room.
It seems there is only one
who is capable of such a burden.
Sun isn’t willing to cry;
So Moon gave me a tear.