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
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?
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, SUNRISE SERIES

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.