Noise

Soliloquies spoken in silent spaces mean

little until courage is gathered and uttered

upon the ears of unsuspecting faces.

Mindless mental chatter; words not spoken

taste of age apprehension–and thus hearts are broken.

Ferocious words offering opposition plant seeds of fear-

These soliloquies are meant for the world to hear.

 

-SpKn

From Within

They did not go to Sunday service. There was a rift between them that needed tending to. As the little one babbled over breakfast, he attempted to speak healing words to his wife. His hopes were that she could move on from the past, just let it go. With earnest ignorance, he was unable to understand why it still bothered her so. She had everything she was told she wouldn’t, a husband, a home, a child, an education, she had the beauty, style, and grace some lacked.

In only a few swift words, he realized too how he held onto the past; how ironic, all this time he was ready to analyze her and express his wish of putting the past in the trash, and here he was; still being mastered by childhood memories that had not quite healed.

As she spoke her peace, he realized what role he played in all of this. Sabotage from within–yes, that is exactly what it was. His indecisiveness about what he wanted, the pain of past let downs constantly hovering, clouding reality, obstructing his perception of things. He pondered for quite some time how his behavior, his lack of self-examination, and then prideful self examination, even feelings of frustration came to be an imploding device in his relationship. For as self-aware as he was, it was he who was sabotaging their marriage. Impatience, lack of understanding, yes he was to blame. Could it be he lit a fire and blamed her? Could it be he held in one hand a canister of fuel and a match in the other, looking to her as the culprit? Indeed, for he allowed the past to become a voice which tyrannized his present routine. It kept him air tight, unaware of the anguish his spouse carried within her aching heart.

If there is a lesson to be learned, he gathered it was not just careful self-examination. Giving her space to express her heart without timidity and acknowledging his imperfections with acceptance. He would pray more earnestly for humility and strength. He would put down the fuel and matches and begin again to build instead of being the chaotic mischief behind the sabotage from within.

-SpKn

 

Hidden

Soul crying out

from behind

red doors.

Nomadic heart beating

in dull clay upon the floor.

Winds sift the pages of life

quickly-the flesh feels oh so

old-but nowhere near fifty.

Darkened windows conceal

cold secrets but

cracked concrete reveals no conflicts.

-SpKn

I love mornings, especially predawn hours. It is then my mind can unwind, then I am settled. I have peace–with a cup of coffee in hand, once again I can realize my dreams, pray…I can pray honestly and earnestly. And on mornings like these, I can again write.

Shipping Out

“This could be my last day,” he said leaning in. She gazed up at him like a school girl would her crush, “Yes, but what if it isn’t? Then what?” He could see her breathing had increased as did his. They held each other with their eyes, sensuality coursing through their veins. “Then that’s a chance we take, at least it will be out of our system.” He leaned in and their lips met with passionate timidity. His arms gently crushed her into his chest, the kiss stealing the breath from her lungs. Their tongues danced and wrestled, their embrace electrifying. The kiss was broken as each felt the desire for something more, and they returned to their separate ways, thoughts loud with bewildered emancipation.

-SpKn

It is an open sunroof

sort of day

Cotton like clouds of

the cumulous culture

strewn across a bountiful

blue backdrop

Dreary colors of grey and brown

are nowhere to be

found.

Death has given way to life

Gorgeous green canopies, birds

whistling joyous melodies.

Sun’s up beaming, with this roof up, I drive home gleaming.

-SpKn

Sitting on this porch I am inclined to define, retune, and relight this burnt out torch. Aimless accuracy I gotta’ write to reassure myself of my humble love for poetry. Eventually pretty words will construct pictures and I again will share my verbal architecture.

-SpKn