Poetry and the vision of thought

I pour out these words

to describe the state of being

in my head

before I can make them form

the language that you all are speaking

Hours Days weeks at a time they build up

till over washing into this flood plain

of poetry

before fermenting, bubbling, then

coalescing into words that make sense

or seem to

Until I realize I've misunderstood your language again.

Feet

The arch curling round

bracing around what is surely

those absences society sees in us

the lack- they say lack

lack, a word with so much of saying

that there is something that

should must be there

but isn't-

of eyes touching

easy embrace

the societally explained expectations

that lead only to disappointment

when pursued-

in my experience at least.

Instead there is that space

of each of us being our own

beings

and yet united

continued, flowing, unlimited

by the bonds of societal affection.

our skills and wants and needs

uniquely ours and yet

a part and parcel of the drive

or desire of one whole.

United only by

the touching of our feet.

In a full room

I sit by your side

till you set your hands on

my shoulders, and I relax

and indulge in the pressure of

your arms pulling me back against you

Leaned back without fear

and there was a feeling

unidentified till morn

of comfort, or pleasure, of you

giving in to the presence of me.

Disregarded

the averse to you

and me, we had not yet

embraced those sensations which

cause our agitation to cease,

In the presence of one another.

Silk-I felt it then

Against my back, my cheek,

my distress melting into

Nothing- comfort, the feeling here

of peace with who we are, you and I.

But I'll let this stand

- This is just a dream.

I know my place

But:

I worry if I don't try to drive

even if it means I crash and burn

I will be leaving the embers to burn

to ashes all that remains in this shell

an egg that upon cracking will

float off on a breeze.

Chicks are given beaks so that

they can crack their own shells

from the inside OUT into the world

A self determination that allows

the pheonix to blossom up again stronger

after one more self destruction.

If I do not crash (crack) myself

how can the flare of light come

as I push my beak out of my shell

to take in life anew?

Ode to Pittsburgh

I think Pittsburgh is beautiful.

I see in it a visualization of the struggle

of man versus nature and nature versus man

the urban decay at odds with

a more natural entropy

The steel and concrete

rusting and crumbling in the grips of a natural world

that wants to take it back.

In the little nooks and valleys

the abandoned children of industrialization sit

the aged metal as red now as the bricks

of the homes that once housed their blood

and now house the ferocity of LIFE

once abandoned, thriving

under even the least hospitable eaves.

I would say that this is a morbid love song.

but instead of the talk of death in life

and life in death

between two lovers as emotionally entwined

as the rust and root of this city

as the living things flourish unexpectedly

in the ruins of our pasts.

In the crevasses are hidden awaY

the skeletons of our (industrial) revolutions

safely out of mind of the eye of progress.

The victorian edwardian Industr-ian fingers

twisting through the trees that were once shaved

bald from the hills,

when the dirty coal chimnies smoked and raked the sky.

Traces of the old liveliness-

The culture and BREATH of our ancestors-

in the crawling brickwork and tiling

and the decaying steps

that once guided our fathers weary feet back home.

Our shared history, sometimes ignored or forgotten

by the very life that thrives

in it's place.

Maybe you need a special appreciation

for decay- but also an equal passion

for life- to hear the adoration in my voice.

For in every begining

every striving and thriving

there is the traces of our endings

of the sweat and tears

and blood shed on the tracks

of our ever onward progression.

And in every building overtaken

by weeds and youths

the windows shattered or the bricks decayed

is the stimulous for growth

in the same forces we decry today

as destruction, but

will laud tomorrow as our salvation.

When I fell in love with Pittsburgh

it wasn't for the shining lights

or the memories of being held there

so joyous I dared not breathe-

It was that in every corner

I could not help but see

LIFE and DETERMINATION

arriving from under our cracks.

There are no words to describe this driving light

as each moment of study and contemplation

bares more of my soul-

do not tell me because of my birth I am less filled with this light

That I do not know my own soul

or that my devotion is less.

What but devotion can lift my soul in song

in buzzing and passion and change

with each learning?

When the words of my soul flow out my mouth,

they flow with as true a force as any other's devotion

and set to flare the spark within me.

Why then is there doubt as to the motivations of my heart?

Can they not see the glowing of joy that radiates from my soul

As I sing beside them?

Or is it, perhaps, that my mother's path was not the same as my own

that the blood of her womb did not spark this light

through so rich a heritage?

When I sing with this tongue the words of my soul, do not doubt them;

When I speak, do not assume I speak them lightly;

When I dance, do not assume superficiality;

When I ask, do not wait until you too see my soul glowing

before you weigh my ferver as more than a feather's press;

I assure you, you wil see it shortly.

Tighter strung than a cat gut violin

high wire short cuts

undercutting the over extensions of my

str-etch

over trouble waters