Inches Away

June 9, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, Posts
It won’t mean anything by the time we’ve
pulled ourselves out of this hole but
for the time being I ask that you come into my mind
so I can see your smile when it’s dark and
I can remember that one day your body will
Be another’s and I can remember that this will not
last forever and I can experience what
A bit of innocent self-obstruction feels like because
I’m not destroying myself by allowing you
into my experience but I am, whole-heartedly,
not feeling some things I don’t want to feel quite yet.
You are safe, and in the safety of your smile and your
Predictable charismatic flamboyant charm
I am wrapped up in the comfort of knowing that
I shall continue on in my journey with you as my
reprise and nothing more. Your warmth to hopefully
return to when I come back from each trip
I hope it’s there when I come back, like home,
but I know that it isn’t a house that I own.
So if it isn’t, I will be cold for a night or three,
But I will move on, I will survive, I will keep
loving and over time, I will maybe love you, too
For now I’m graciously liking your presence,
your cheek bones, your affinity for being shirtless,
your terrible humor and I promise I am
Not falling in love with you.
I promise you as hard as I promised myself
Because ours was a like built for a lifetime
which means that this…. Passion
is only for this summer. This connection
will burn down by fall and evaporate
by next years resolutions and we
Will look back on this time and just gently
Smile. Because it warranted nothing more,
nor less, than that.

Kundalini Rising

May 6, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, Posts

Today class got a little creative
I was expecting 90 minutes of holding
Poses working against my ego to force
Me into focus of the moment
Next thing I know I’m back at a
12-step meeting, but only allowed to
talk about my top lines. I don’t really
talk about myself in a positive light
all that much. I’ve been too focused
on others’ darkness. Turns out I
still think I’m good in bed, whether or
not its with him. Turns out my salvation
is doing what I’m doing right now
Free-form, whatever it turns into
Winging gracefully. Top-line discussion
Becomes a mudra, a mudra becomes
Dance, a dance becomes tai-Bo.
From running away to running to
Punching in tandem.
“Who are you punching in the face right now?”
Kjord asked.
The answer was easy.
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to smack his
Smile to be crooked, so when he smiled
He could never fool another girl again
That he was a straight-chaser. I wanted
To punch his lips swollen shut, so
I could never kiss them again, even
If I wanted to. Which I haven’t wanted to
Not all that much, at least. I wanted to punch
His throat, so violatently that he could never
Speak lies to me or about me or about any
Girl he ever fooled anyone to think he
Was simply a victim to. I wanted to
Break his hands, so he could stop
Hypnotizing us with his talents that
We were misdirected and lost the
Attention to his broken promises.
The only promises I’ve ever seen him
Keep, were to those who could boost
His image higher – because he needed
It to be bigger than others. He needed
It to be bigger than mine. I remember
Whenever I started to get my life together
He looked a bit scared. Shocked, Surprised,
Even. It’s clear he wanted to ruin my
Life. Something about his prancing and
Pawing around his obligations to suit
So perfectly to conflict with mine,
I saw it in the way he always shifted his
Eyes. I saw it in the ways that he would get
Upset and angry when I looked at him
And saw him. No one had seen his tricks
For what they were. But I did. So yeah.
I wasn’t very mindful, or in a love state,
Exactly. My practice became my revenge.
SWITCH DIRECTIONS!
He yelled,
DANCE! FEEL your body in these movements.
I felt it. It felt good. The punching started again.
This time, I was like Rocky Balboa. I was
Punching into my healing. I was a champion
In getting better. I didn’t need for him to
Be destroyed for me to be healthy and in
Doing the WORK. Yes, it is WORK,
I am becoming reborn.
SWITCH DIRECTIONS!
I looked towards hope. Towards what I wanted
Peace. Peace in the not giving a fuck
What someone who can’t be honest with him-
Self even, says to me, thinks about me.
Consciousness so far from his reality
That my reality has elevated to a point
Where the past becomes this distant
Dream, a means to the growth, the growth
That took off like a rocket when I realized
That he was wrong in every way. I deserved
Better. Because I was better. Because
Despite what he would have me think
And feel to make himself feel taller
Than me, I am worthy. I amworthy of
This hyper new-agey love. And FUCK
Anyone who tries to judge the steps,
The mudra, the tapping, the dance.
This is where I grow, this is where I
Choose to love, anyways. This is where
I release the pain that wasn’t ever mine
To begin with. The pain I took on at
Birth from my birth mother, the pain I
took on in my youth from my father
The pain I took on from during my
adolescence from bullies
The pain I took on in my twenties from
My lovers, now finally, at 30, the pain
I took on from the one. Yes, he was the one.
The love of my life. My old life.
The love that killed me, and showed me
That that life is now done. It has been lived
Hard, lived hard and fast and as best as it
Could have been. Now is when recognize
That it’s all burned down. Now is when I
Am truly born – from the ashes.

Sunrise from the Couch

May 5, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, Posts, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. Killington, VT.

Frozen on this couch, I
Had to look. I had a feeling
You were that sneaky and I
Needed to see for myself.
I didn’t need a plant
Medicine to know that you’ve
Been cheating.
Cheating me out of my time,
Cheating me out of the promises
That you gave me – cheating
Me out of my ability to trust.
Just glued to these cushions
Because I’m afraid of the
String of wet cold that I’ll
Feel. Afraid that once given
Enough space it’ll all come
Rushing out and yet –
I’m still watching the sunrise,
Being affected by it, writing
But I’m half-assing it.
Just like you did.
Perhaps there’s something to that.
If I can out you, sure I’ll
Out myself.
I’m still checking my phone
For a hopeful response from
You. I’m still hoping
That you’ll find my message
Impressive. I’m still hoping
You’ll feel like an idiot for
Loosing me because loosing
Me was a choice that you
Made and although you
Baited me into letting
Go of all of our dreams,
We both know I hated
The taste of that worm.
The more I started to
Uncover about you, about
Her – about all the
Pitiful things you destroyed
Us over, the fatter that
Worm got. It was juicy,
Dripping in salvy slime,
And you hooked it well –
With the line itself
Since you know I hate the
Taste of blood anyways.
You dangled this helpless
Little worm in front of
My eyes, and force-fed
It with fat lies, fat tits
Fat lips and a fat ego.
You became its executioner,
And in dangling it where it
Brushed my lips, though you
Thought my eyes were closed,
You became its executioner
You became love’s executioner.

Sunrise at Roosevelt Island

April 27, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, Posts, SUNRISE SERIES
\

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. New York, NY.

Wipe off the tears. Look ahead
What you see in front of you is beautiful
Behind you, a baseball field.
A field less than a mile before that.
More fields in the area of your back
And you are so far away from the
Pitcher’s mound that you are not only
Not on first base, you’re not even sitting out.
Not even looking at the game. You’ve
Turned your Back on it. All of it.
All the games behind you and ignoring any
That potentially lay before you.
You’re out. Benched by choice.
All the movies show baseball
As a game of passion, you’ve gotta
Take risks, and get hurt to win.
The Sandlot was playing on my flight
Over. The Babe telling Rodriguez in
His dream to just hop over the fence,
And get that ball. He was telling him
To be fearless, to believe in himself
Above what all of some supposed
11 year-old logic was telling him.
We only know as much as our experience
And even sometimes then we ignore
The lessons and the red flags. Sometimes
Faith will get you like that. Not unlike
Now, where I keep trying to move forward
But as more memories fade into the
Background, this ache brings up an angst
That makes me want to stay fresh in
His mind, make his love stay fresh on mine.
So how do I become a legend like The Jet?
“Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.”
How do I grant myself solid gold, trophy status
That sits on a shelf of his memories as
Something that he once had and will
Always think fondly of? In loosing a place
In his life, I feel like I lost a part of myself.
I never told him that I never wanted to kiss
Him. I let myself be won over because something
Felt karmic about this meeting. It wasn’t
Just that we became a union, it was a reunion.
In forfeiting the game, I forfeit this control.
I can only know that I am a legend.
I’ve hopped over enough fences, and
Dodged enough beasts to prove it.
Trophy status isn’t up to me.

Sunrise at Desert Hearts

April 11, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, Posts, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written April 2017. Desert Hearts, CA.

I’ve been standing on the outside
Every twisting arm structure
Even the cuddle piles,
I chose the couches
Underneath the stars
Away from the warmth
Of other humans
I mask my contempt
being my tent.
Frozen to my sleeping bag
Because freedom is not mine.
I withdraw from the
group because I’m scared
I came here with an
Open heart and
in just a couple of
crunch crunch
looped myself into
proving just how
delicate I really am
Blasted open I
felt gratitude for
my community
but even there, a
disconnection.
Why wasn’t this easier
this year?
I’ve got my systems
down – I
know how I react, how
to act, where to
get what I need
I want something done,
I take the lead.
So shouldn’t this be
getting easier?
Or do I just have
the mundane
on auto-pilot?
Therefore the magic
becomes a lesson and
now is something I
try to create and is
no longer something that
just happens?
Responsibility.
That’s what this is.
Any magic I thought
just happened is
actually the cause of
a lot of hard work
from other people.
It’s not luck – it’s
work – and the
willingness to see
the resources available
to be gifts to us.
Some gifts are only
leased – makes us
feel ripped or teased.
But nothing is ever really
ours to begin with.
It just is.

Sunrise from Griffith Observetory

March 30, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, Posts, SUNRISE SERIES

Sunrise Griffith Observetory

Photos taken and words written in March 2017. Los Angeles, CA.

First sunrise.
Feels like the end of a vampire phase:
No more last sunsets, only firsts.
This morning, this day,
Every day is now a first.
I try to look at it, to take it in,
But too much of a good thing will blind you.
The anticipation in the pink and blue,
The swelling up of joy from the
Perceived coming experience,
That once it peaks over the hills,
It’s majestic as fuck,
And this poem serves no purpose.
Except to be here as a sounding
Board for the first thoughts of
The first morning. The first morning
Sunrise. Is this enough?
I feel like I’m leaving something out.
Like how the gold pushes through
The cattail grass as the wind moves
It in a dance. Daybreaking through
The smog to create a new framework
That maybe Los Angeles can be
Heaven, if we fool ourselves into
Believing that the smog is clouds and the
Clouds are saving us and
Not actually destroying us.
Feeling the irony as these thoughts
Come as this series is meant to
Save myself from myself.
Feeling the irony as I sit in this
Car to write, a vehicle that is not
Mine. Because I am too cold
To do this on my own. With
The wind and everything else,
The suns rays just aren’t enough.
Neither is my hoodie. So I’ve got
His jacket on, sitting in his
Car. Allowing borrowed things to
Start something that is meant to
Help me heal from this past year.
Heal from this past year, heal
From the moment when I’ll have
To turn the keys in, take this
Jacket off, and move forward in
This series, alone.

Bent

March 17, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, Posts

Interesting how a song, a note

On a chord can strike me in a

Way that in the middle of getting

Things done I’m right back to this

Place of pushing through the tears

To try and write so I can purge and

Then get back to work.

 

I tell myself I’m determined

I’m determined to make this work

Because what I’m most afraid of

Is regret that I’ll find out that I

Was wrong this whole time.

 

So I’ll keep pushing thorugh all of

The pain your love has brought up

In me. I’ll keep taking it and releasing

It because the pain was all ready there

And now it’s just illuminated.

I knew there was something hidden

Laying in the dark, and now your darkness

Has come to light to and we’re so scared

By what we see.

 

Is this what love does?

I keep wondering if this is necessary to

Truly get to the extent of my evolution

Or maybe I’m just torturing myself and

There’s no need for any of this stuff surface.

 

I hate seeing you sad and upset

It breaks my heart knowing that you’re still

In pain and I wish I could heal you with my

Love. Maybe I am though. Maybe your healing

Is just painful, and it requires a lot of breaking

Through and bending and contortuing to feel

Like you can walk straight again. Maybe I’m the

Cast holding your limbs in place and it hurts for

Them to be held straight but in the end you’ll

Walk taller and walk for longer because I’ve

Forced you into this uncomfortable position

For a while.

 

Meanwhile, it hurts me to see you this way

You’re angry and resentful that I’m putting

You in pain, but you know that this limp hasn’t

Really been working out as well as you

Had hoped. Unexpectedly, in the process

Of trying to love you harder, I tried to perfect

You, because what keeps me bending to you

Is a hunchback filled with fears of my past

That if I don’t fix this, and then this and then

This, you’ll bend in another direction that

Doesn’t think or care much for me.

 

As you begin to stand taller my hunch becomes

More noticeable. We both know that I’m not

Perfect. It’s clear you don’t need plastic surgery.

You don’t need new arms, certainly not new

Hands. You don’t need more hair or a new

Heart. If I try to change everything, you’ll no

Longer be the one I fell to my knees for.
So what I need to do now, is trust that that

Cast is mending, and open doors for you

And grab coffee for you when you need me to

But let it sit there and mend. The work there

Is on it’s way now it’s time for mine.

Physical therapy, focusing on how to reduce

The masses that have built up behind me,

Running the show when I didn’t even ask

For it. If I can start to pull my shoulders back

Heart-forward, I can begin to move through

The world with a sense of self-worth that

Shows I will be okay, I will be okay no

Matter what happens. I will continue to love

And be loved and I don’t need to bend and

Contort anyone else in the process to keep

Doing so. I just have to do the work on the

Mat, at my job, in my apartment, on my lap

Top, and in the moment, every moment of

Every day and remind myself that I AM HERE

All is well. Shoulders back, chest out,

Slowly over time, my hunch will reduce and

As it does my heart will fill up with love.

For myself, for you, for your little every

Day victories and for mine, too.