Gratitude is a Weapon

Amherst, Empowerment, gratitude, Internal Poetry, love, Peace, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

Gratitude is a weapon, keeping eyes sharpened to edge and warmth in its holster.

I’ve taken tabletop infinity for granted.

Food deserving of national prestige has become commonplace, valueless as a plastic swipe to forget. Now, I’m hungry.

My love-saturated heart grew weary of people’s attention, and now it starves for it again.

The space I wished to travel across faster has become fixed and cramped. I yearn to let my roots down to spread and paint the room.

The commodities I scorned as Capitalist I see as luxurious now, in this backwater little kind of town.

And how many more are out there? How many more live under heavier blankets?

It boggles my mind.

It feels like there is so little I know, but I know that gratitude is in order.

So I’ll sit back as I attempt to stretch once again into lotus,

And visit the temple I carry in my chest with affection.

My left eye throbs with the weight of observation.

My body aches with the motion of today.

24 well-spent hours and still, little has changed.

How do I make it past this college dream to fight for the right to keep dreaming afterwards?

How can I build this all up if my surroundings fill me with feelings like additional luggage to unpack?

In a nibble’s fraction of my inability to comprehend the universe around me,

I fail to comprehend the totality of life on Earth- in America, Massachusetts, Amherst or No Bro.

So I thank the air that chooses to bend,

And I thank the inspirations I’ve been forced to leave behind.

I thank the people who have taught me patience and the people who have learned to be patient with me.

I don’t think I thank them enough, so I thank them again for the few and far-between.

May the thankful react live longer than Mother’s Day Weekend.

May our collective gratitude burst forth often, like bundles of light to nag us with sweetness.

So we never have the chance to lose our luster.

I’ll keep the syrup of gratitude at a boil,

So it can splash viscous like water across an infinite tabletop of cups running over,

And melt with abundance through the hardened hearts of the people who need it.

That is how I will fight my wars.

Gratitude is my weapon.

Frequency

Empowerment, Internal Poetry, love, Peace, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

I’ve got little bubbles in me,

They’re pockets of technicolor energy

It’s effervescence bouncing constant, tension free

Contributes to my glowing frequency.

 

Effort, lessons of a germ turning I into we.

Equal balance giving extra for free.

Rehearsed colors painting air with glee.

Reverse colonists feeding back to the tree.

The worst clicking heels backward to flee

The first mimic heals to the bequeathed

A terse lyric feels the dangers of screens

The gurgling murk is a manger obscene

Filled up with emotional cocktails’ canteen

Of anger and spite where confliction careens,

So we never ask why, or “what does it mean”?

And thus dash our hopes down of returning to clean.

 

What an arduous task to escape from this trance,

When the key is locked up in a bright buddy’s glance.

When our pilot light’s dark,

And our flint will alone cannot kindle our spark,

To give love to another is to make your mark,

And resume your life with the frequency in your heart.

A Good, Hard Day

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Societal Poetry, Stuff to do

The door slams shut. 

I pace over my torn carpet, taking slow, deep breaths.

I know today is a stress volcano, 

But I’m charging myself through its brunt, welding anthem in my pocket, hands first. 

“I can do this. I can surmount this. I am strong.”

 I’m becoming my own leader, rather than my torturer. But don’t get me wrong, I I have to make it a conscious decision to cup my fist. 

 I will not hang weights on myself through this day. 

 Im gonna make the bed. I’m gonna fold the clothes, grab my phone, read those pages.. 

 No. After the clothes I put in the money to get my next little book. It’s been too long. 

 Denial creeps itself up into my list. I feel the need to take a second and worry. But that’s why I went here.

 Im gonna take my worry and put it in the lines. I’m gonna wrap it up with a pretty verbal bow and send it off to market, where it’s fangs and claws can’t touch me. 

 And then, I’m gonna change my shoes and leave for the rest of this. 

 I’m gonna remember to get some vitamins next winter,

 Because the sun came out today and it felt like the first time on months where I could breathe, and open my eyes. 

Pompeii could unravel again before my open eyes, but I can handle a pocket-sized catastrophe. 

Lobby Day

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Peace, Poetry, Politics, Societal Poetry, Stuff to do

It was a regular Thursday. 

Wax oozed from the walls and the pores of our faces. 

We stepped through the marble edifices of political gods, 

Men and women like most of us. The wax was doctrine. 

The surface deflected every scent but superiority. 

Quiet howls shrieked, smothered by business casual. There are no people here. 

Only lobbyists. 

Pentacles carved into these wondrous halls can’t be a coincidence if nothing is coincidence. 

I am not coincidence. They are not coincidence. 

So why I’m the world do we feel so out of our own skin? 

Photo opps, flag halls. Pseudo strategy. Stop the anxiety. 

The wax drips from these Corinthian bullies, 

Bright eyes in white guise stand marbled with intimidating decorum. 

If only we could connect with this history. 

Of Sarah, and patriotism, Oliver Ames, Amen I say to you. To history. 

Timidness stands where reverence deserves, 

The wax coats these bodies fully

And I haven’t the chisel to break it. 

Hurry up and wait. 

Heat the wax, so it may set

And paralyze us all. 

Why must this be so on Lobby Day? 

April Begins

Amherst, Empowerment, Internal Poetry, love, Nature, The World is Beautiful

I’m stretching my 110 percent 

With broken parts and missing pieces. 

But it’s okay, I play on repeat. 

The lazy day is gonna come later, 

Where luxuries like sleep can be embraced. 

That doesn’t mean I can’t relish the moment’s reprieve, 

Feel the sunlight on my skin with distant friends conjoined

And realize collective things aren’t that bad. 

It lets me climb the jagged obligation summit with a smile, 

If not just for a moment before my cracks begin facing strain again. 

This is the season of good surprises. 

Serendipity befalls missed expectations, 

And the Hazy picture in front of you gets colored in birdsong and granite steps, 

The kind that made you love Amherst all the while ago. 

There’s an hour left before the drums recommence, 

But the summit has a hell of a glow on the ascent. 

Some day soon I’ll sit atop this apex, 

And I’ll drink my Jasmine 

And write my glee

As nature’s love unravels before me. 

Write for the words.

Meditate for each in and out.

Run, cause you’re out of time.

Fly, to flee your feelings.

Pray cause it’s lent.

Be good, or you’ll find trouble.

 

It baffles me how easy it is to forget the real reasons we live.

What’s your reason for doing what you are right now?

I’m unplugged, the light’s been off and I’ve forgotten where the switch is.

I’ve turned friends into false idols to dominate my time,

Self-constructed monsters run amok through my headspace,

Cause the mice will play when the joy is away.

But all it takes is a simple flick up, when you know where to touch.

And channels of friends, love, direction and reasons come flooding into view,

And you sit dumbfounded to see it never left in the first place.

Disconnection is a hell of a drug. So it goes, and flows,

and flows,

Washing every trash statue erected in your insecurity away like a Listerine tsunami.

Clean enough for the government to redirect it towards those Florida gated communities.

Death never smelled so shiny.

Rebirth, easy as a smile with the light coming from inside.

Mid blessing, a piece of birdshit plopped inches away from Osbourne and my hand.

The path of righteousness put me just outside the radius enough to see I was in that blessing.

Acne turns to cartography when the third eye opens on a fresh zit.

Cosmetic, or cosmic?

We can’t tell for ourselves, but only hope.

Hope is all we could ever do.

Hope is all we could ever need.

Empowerment, love, Peace, Poetry, The World is Beautiful

My Own Time:

Amherst, Empowerment, Internal Poetry, love

There’s a reason why things move slower in Chadbourne 420.

12:43, nine minutes past my ideal but the channel still becomes clear.

It’s open and waiting for me,

But I’ve decided to scrap the binary between

Pleasing everyone and doing everything.

I’ve submitted to the comforting chill of my self-important path.

 

The free caffeine I nabbed to speed me

I grabbed from Peets so freely,

It pleased me, breezing from knee deep to key’s sheen.

And it all unlocks.

 

There’s a somberness you get from seeing portals close unattended to,

But there’s solace in the fact that it was never your responsibility to make it.

Prioritizing between the musts and cans has turned the poetry of my to-do

Into insurmountable beasts growing heads that sound like my father.

But no more. Now, I write.

A Prayer to the Still

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Joylessness, Poetry, Problems

It’s time I stop giving anxiety a baseless poetic mouthpiece.

The pangs of wanderlust are beasts I haven’t been spared from.

Tides come in like levis breaking

And recede like retreating thieves,

Having pillaged their target for necessary moments.

I want to travel to spread the beauty and good I’ve done well to harness,

But I’m helpless without others’ wheels to spin for me.

My space is uneven

And the space in my room and head is tangling worse.

Every minute spent cleaning is a minute gone.

Every minute spent writing is a minute at risk of shikva.

A loss due to forgetting- of thoughts or devices.

I tangle myself deeper, unable to move and soon breathe.

Dysphoria becomes the parting between oceans in my heart.

 

But one wire untangles, and the choir of scribbles

Unstick themselves from me like sprites running under the floor.

The universe has funny ways of reassuring.

 

I envision myself sitting, suspended in a pool of bubbling balm contained in granite,

Swathes of flickering reds and blues, running over the basin I sit weightless atop.

“May you continue to let your love and emotion overflow, until we can’t help but overflow in return.”

May the nuances of the chord I strike, containing millions of notes in constellation memories

Whisper like they roar.

The basin cracks, and fluid gushes out to hold the rest steady.

I can sustain this.

My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy

Shall fill the cracks of my neurosis

And I shall breathe life like a dragon,

Making peace with my insignificance.

Perpetual motion boy

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Poetry, Questions, Stuff to do

The gears are oiled, 7AM slumps stirred soundly in the morning meditation.

Loneliness hibernates as the wheels spin across campus with a pal.

He talks on the balls of his feet, a spring in his mouth

Punches soft through his own plastic shell of professional indifference.

Fifteen minutes is all you need to make a difference.

Skate across the pond touching baubles of different colors,

I know I am enough.

I can glide and sway to and from the things I need,

Swaying like palm trees in a strong balm wind,

Until the air pressure whispers cause a fruit to drop.

A whole fruit, plump with the merit of time’s incubation.

Life goes little by little, peace by piece by piece.

To go, and do, and move to renew

An infinitesimal sense of the joy of motion.

A body in motion stays in motion, until it wants to rest.

But there’s so much life to be lived, you know?

So goes this overcast Tuesday,

Where the monsters behind expectations came off a little less scary.

But where do the monsters go after a satisfactory day?

Do they come back, stickier than before?

Like the crack of a soda can, pssssssh,

They come flying out of the space of an awkward silence.

Eventually you’ll acknowledge every day is a roller coaster

And learn to take joy in counting the loops.

Sometimes, even after a day of perpetual going,

Things are still scary without needing a reason.