A POEM A DAY

I'm just happy to be here.

Tag: spoken word

30/30: THE SONG OF THE SEASON

One day, I want to float in endless blue
and wait for the music of a whale song.
Take me across the sea and teach me
how the water vibrates with the
song of the season. Let me listen
to the chorus of a wave break
and let the sound take my breath away.
The bellow below the water resonates
and reverberates, traveling across
an ocean of time and changing currents.
A humpback whale bends its tune
through a coral reef like an amphitheater
before the deep blue world. But haven’t I
bent my voice too? Haven’t I
stepped in front of a thousand microphones
with a poem to take my breath across
the room, across an ocean of time
and changing currents too?
One day, I want to float in the endless
blue of a mystery. Call it a song. Call it the sea.
Just let me listen. Let it call to me.

29/30: MY BODY IS A TUNNEL AND ALL I SEE IS LIGHT

My body is a tunnel and all I see is light.
I trace the breath that moves through
the lungs to the chest to the space
around me. All around me, something
moves. The blood runs loose anytime
I choose to show up for myself. The
weight I carry is bravery by another name.
My body is a tunnel and all I see is light.
I listen to what my bones have to say.
My heart is the strongest muscle in my body.
When my body is on fire, I remind
myself, there’s a spark in my soul, and
light is everywhere I go.

28/30: TWO HAIKUS ON SLEEP

Lightning in darkness
The sky is heavy with rain
All morning, we dream.

Abandon alarms.
Silence is the first song heard
Listen deeply now.

27/30: CYCLES OF JOY

Eventually, we laugh
until the oxygen runs out.
The sound of your voice
disrupts the silence
of the afternoon and grows like thunder.
By the time you catch your breath,
you and I are
breathless again.

Laughter is the language
we speak in between
looks across the room.
I read your eyes
between the lines.

Cycles of joy
move through
the atmosphere
and your laughter
repeating like a record
is all I ever want to hear.


26/30: MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

I am a source of sound
a loud blend of Zen
and quiet chaos
A witness of what happened
I make a wave with what I say
My words reach the
green shore of gratitude
My throat is a treasure chest
that survived the storm
I open my mouth
like a message in the bottle
with dry words
long traveled.



25/30: INVITATIONS TO LOVE

Invitations to love come in small packages.
Think of the earned cat nuzzle against the leg
first thing in the morning. Think of the gentle steam
rising off the coffee leaving the palm of the
woman who chose to rise early enough to
make you coffee in the first place. Think of
the sky overflowing with light. Think of the
morning wind bending the trees into
music notes. Think of the day like a jukebox.
Think of the small truths. Think of the
hundreds of roots that live in the soil
of the soul. Think of the thousands
of invitations arriving every day, in small
and simple ways, each with your name,
waiting to be opened.

24/30: A DOOR INTO SOMETHING MORE

A voice comes and goes
A thought flows then no-shows
A word stays but the idea frays
A poem is everywhere then nowhere
A cloud crosses the sky like a line in a page
A shape of sound surrounds the day
A song is a quiet kind of chaos
A moment is a door into something more
A door opens only to close
A voice comes and goes
A thought flows then no-shows
A poem is everywhere then nowhere
 






23/30: A LOVE POEM ON SATURDAY NIGHT

Across the stars and lights of the flamingo pink walls
of Taco Cabana off of 45 South and Wayside
and
under the waves of headlights surrounding us inside
this fast-food parking lot on a Saturday Night,
Adela turns to me from the passenger seat
And proclaims her life-long belief in soul mates
In the idea that two people are meant to be.
Without missing a beat,
she looks right at me and smiles a mile long
and confirms that I am indeed her soul mate.
As her husband, I feel relieved,
So relieved I could sing!
And I do,
all the way home.

20/30: BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT

A Minnesota jury found a man guilty of murder
That man was a cop
I won’t say his name. This poem isn’t for him.
The cop is a murderer, beyond a reasonable doubt.
The whole world watched this
cop kill an unarmed black man
George Floyd was his name.
Some people prayed the cop would see
something called Justice,
which in America, means more than one thing.
Tuesday April 20, 2021
I sat in my house, eyes glued to the TV screen
after days of putting this cop on trial.
The Judge read the verdict
Guilty, Guilty, Guilty.
Where to go from here? It’s not my place to say.
I just made a promise to myself
not to keep quiet
when history is being made.

19/30: THE MARATHON OF BEING ALIVE

Eyes above the treeline, I measure my breath
with each step on the concrete. When I look
down at my feet, I’m too focused on where I am,
not where I am going, where I’m supposed to be.
The air in my lungs lunge out of me like exhaust.
I trust my blood
running and flowing like
my desire to cross
the imaginary finish line of the next traffic light.
I am astonished at the way the body moves
and how each day I show up for myself,
I continue the marathon
of being alive.