“We learn early in life that it is painful to love. Caring about anything is a great joy, but it makes us vulnerable to heartache, and our emotions are nearer the surface. Our feelings are mixed because we want to shout to the world that we love and it makes us feel wonderful. It makes us feel superior, able to cope with things that once got us down. Some part of us wants to hide what we feel so as not to shine too bright or be too enthusiastic. We need a little reserve of self so that we don’t deplete the part of us that generates life in us. But for whatever pain that may go along with caring – we would not give it up for anything.” – ‘American Indian’
I say inspire me baby, and you did.
Inside youthful lemon, lime rotund flesh sees
Fruity love so I bring you art to taste
Universal seeds from a family of
Voids that expand, ripen
to sprout and bloom.
roots and tides
Quenched under moonlit
pathways to grow
Smug night emerald:
by leaf with bronchial veins.
Patterns to follow to ancient astrology, sacred geometry,
Divisions that are a part of a
“In this is infinity” you say.
I nod and admire the spiral.
Wonder about the arrow of time.
Trouble breeds with territory and consistency but
The cauliflower will never wager war because we’ll eat it first,
Take a leaf out of your sprout.
Inspired by a ‘live aid’ fundraiser slogan, ‘Make Poverty History.’ I stole it and twisted it through my typewriter to create my own catchphrase. Don’t make poetry history is combination of ‘free-writing’ and monotype print on a 5by6 whiteboard tile.