Day 151 – The Darkness Alone

Do not try to battle the darkness alone.
We all try it when we are young
and we all fail. We must have at least one
hand to hold, one person who knows
what we mean when we’ve only the strength
left to say that the fog is here again.
Hold onto whoever you’ve told all about your fight
and who stands by your side anyway–
you can’t beat the darkness alone but
a light is forged every time we reach out
to our friends for help.

Day 150 – A Day for Poetry

I used to think every day
was a day for poetry.
I used to sit out of a lot
in favor of making art.
It was therapy, which I needed,
and an excuse, which I did not.
But every day is not a day for poetry.
Some days are for naps or trips or wins
or parties, things for art to borrow,
for time to heal, for time to work,
for time to learn ourselves
outside of the written word.
If I take my own advice I know
today is a day for a cookout and so
I’ll finish this poem tomorrow
or I won’t. It’s all okay.

Day 149 – Just

If two flawed human beings
can accidentally force another to exist,
then I know there is no real justice.
We are prisoners making the most
of a lottery system no one chose,
we are puppets pretending.
But I must live, I must participate
and I must accept my duties to
generate meaning. I must be grateful
that though it may bring happiness
it can never, in the end, be just.

Day 148 – Morning Speak

There are mornings it just won’t speak to me
so I save it for the afternoon and try again–
if my day’s been full and it still won’t speak
I’ll try again in the quiet evening.
Rarely enough it refuses altogether but I
let that speak
for itself.

Day 147 – Alice

Inside me there has always been
a little girl vowing for revenge
against the nightmare I was born into

There is something in me
that works endlessly to know better
than my childhood taught me to know

Now I’m on the other side
looking strangely at things that were
but I can’t turn it off,
I can’t imagine staying here

Day 146 – Shots

Warning shots, parting shots,
distress signals and SOS flares-
we do too much talking with guns
to call it a poem when it’s just noise.

I want to throw my gun in the sea
and then all my words be spoken
(if trembling) with lips and teeth
and poetry the flowers floating
along the water.

Day 145 – Proof

What a difference it makes to start over,
to exist in a world where no one knows
who you were, where no one knows
how bad it was, and all they see is
how hard you’ve tried to be better,
how earnest you always were.

Day 144 – Cloudy

The picture is cloudy in the part where
it is crouching; it brings the fog slowly.
Tread lightly lest it eat your memories whole.

Day 143 – Sad French Singer

There are times I want to be
a sad French singer, I do wish
my bluebird was in a cage so I
could sit down next to you
and sing together

but I’ve had my blues already
and they never lifted me
beyond accepting I was born into this-
still I could carve a little corner anyway

still a song comes bursting out of me
in spite of everything but
it is quiet, while my bluebird
soars above

Day 142 – Song Contest

Each year we wait for the
Unrelenting joy and weirdness of
Rivalry between nations
On a canvas of music and dance
Viewed by millions and beloved for its
Iconic kitschy feel and massive
Songbook through the years,
I cannot think of lighter times–
Our world puts down its swords for a
Night of glitter and stars