Dream No. 1

dreams, Internal Poetry, love, Peace, Uncategorized

I can be a nice blue sky,

Waking from a dream in twilight.

The park is quiet, sullen like an old war story

And I’m  part of many- lovers, tacticians, fighters, musicians

They’re all coming to the crown in the green grass, this floating tablet

The shakes the earth upon its flight.

My robes are threadbare, but I am garbed in seven gorgeous notes.

The wind scatters myself from the swaying grasses,

All the way up the earthen spiral to our crown.

How did I grow to love you so?

I suppose it’ll only answered in the logic of a dream.

But those seven notes speak it louder than my subconscious ever could.

It’s an unconscious spell,

A lovely incantation on the eighth hour.

“I can be a nice, blue sky.”

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.

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.

Helter Skelter:

Internal Poetry, love, Nature, Questions, The World is Beautiful

Love. That beer-battered heart in a cage we vilify.

Lefty crushes helter-skelter, bouncing through the willows,

Through pillow talk and talking us down,

I’ve traded my treats for the hilltop bungalow,

Coated in amber, bleeding mauve through the cracks

Of a broken glass sunset.

It’s time to be grateful,

Give heed to the deeds of the lovers above us,

The hour is less than a full night’s sleep away.

The power in my chest is a dull plight’s steep decay.

The dour sung frets come full sky scenes to play.

Like yesterday,

I fummeled with redness

And pummeled my headrest,

So the only sleep night’s fair

Is a sleep’s nightmare.

My antagonists are into it,

They’re masochists, they go away.

The field is petals

Of rose and gunmetal,

The incubus Fahrenheit

Has me in its iron sight

It’s there and trite, they’re not welcome here today.

I’ve Been There Before

Joylessness, love, Peace, Poetry, Problems, The World is Beautiful

I can see it right in front of me.

The look on two people’s faces, closely conjoined

One shows the other something they love,

You can tell it in the wrinkles of their smile and the high in their eyes.

The other person- disjointed. Façades of pleasure coat themselves in a silicone mask

To feign the feelings the other has, naturally coursing through them.

I’m sorry you’re forced to receive the plastic. You deserve organic joy from the things that shake you.

I can see the annoyance on your face mirroring their smirk,

Your time is limited and it’s a feeling I know all too well.

We’ve descended into the desert- lent has begun for this observer, and with it the promise of

and with it the promise of

One hell of a trial.

And yet, there is goodness no farther away than out the corner of my eye.

If I keep that sense of encompassing love around me,

I’ll be able to glow right through the spooks.

Today is a day to avoid cemeteries,

But how do we abstain from the mausoleums in others’ hearts?

How do we find peace in our subconscious when our dreams are constantly attacked?

Surgeons, domestic terrorists, and insect amalgamates are throwing everything they can

To disrupt our pace and our peace.

As I write on top of this monolith,

My fingers feel the ease of flow and the nimbleness

Of a well-warmed guitar.

Even if my heart is unprepared,

Even if my mind is clouded,

Even if my voice is murmurs and grape juice,

My fingers flow, and express their love.

This is the scape I know the best,

So I’ll just let my fingers go, and be free and love how they wish.

Dad

Empowerment, Family, Internal Poetry, love, Poetry

When I look in the crystalline shards of a morning’s reflection,

I’m seeing more and more of the reflection you’ve given me.

Coming to peace with the split in my personality,

I notice and love more and more of the gifts you’ve sent to me,

Through nature and nurture.

The frustration from failure and dropped expectations

Have paved the way over the years to peace in my routine.

Where the red side of my birthrites languished in love threatening stagnancy,

The corners of blue in my pockets and corneas drove me like a motor onwards.

I’m sure you know the anatomy of a cornea far better than I (eye) at this point,

But I’m sure somewhere between our methods of extracting,

We can both find happiness underneath the layers of somebody’s gaze.

Our sights are singular,

Purpose intermingling with dogma,

How else could you graduate top of your class, millimeters from catastrophe?

It’s a dogged determination I’ve learned from you,

That’s fed the hues of my leftmost blue

That spells a story birthday candles can’t do justice.

Often, I wonder what you felt like at the age I’m coming across now.

I wonder if the hope you had for next generation’s creation

Has brought pride to the meticulous upbringing of a future come true.

I wonder, at 20, if we struggle with similar strides,

Was it as hard to keep composure and poise?

You’ve paved the way for my success in ways only a wish for a better life can.

Some day, in a coming February 25th,

We’ll celebrate your life and your birth and your legacy of memories

With new aspirations manifested into your extended family.

There were times I feared we wouldn’t have those moments.

Roadside malice closed the doors for a moment,

I couldn’t form the feelings to put shape to that fear,

And I still don’t know how to now.

But that hurdle has miraculously passed.

You remain with us.

So here’s to another February 25th.

I know you’ve never been a man of gifts,

But I can’t help but glow at this fateful gift and sigil.

To many, many more Februaries

Where the second power of five adds another tick

To the celebrations given to Michael Pucci.

It was the first exponent I ever learned when my age was the first power,

When you opened the doors and made me believe in myself.

I love you.