Rooted

within (taking a shortcut,
i spot a tree.
a tree whose sways and creaks are free.
inspiring me to flee.
to run to a place where i can just be.
the first step is to learn to see.
and therein lies the key.
upon inspection,
or upon the “see” i did decree,
i noticed the tree had roots,
this we can all agree.
and yet,
despite it's limited physical movement,
it's liberty has been greatly moving) me.

Green

By J.R.


I look out
All I see is green
Treetop canopies
As far as the eyes can reach.

I look out
All I see is green
The cloud cover blocks the red rays of sunlight
Leaving me
In rich blues and greens
Mostly green.

God's cool breath blows sweetly across the fields
And all I see
Green

To Whom It May Concern,

It rules over this world that we all blindly see.
Causing my mind the desperate urge to pee.
That is to say,
“I want to purge my conscience of the pressures that they wish me to be.

It started our war,
now it wants us to flee.
It gave us our rights,
but it says we're still not free.

It hires faces to promote the cause at hand,
it's gotta look good to take a stand.
Relief for slavery is in demand,
you've heard it from Oprah or that famous band.

Traffiking is running rampant,
you've heard it from the press.
A kid's getting beat across your own street,
but I digress.

We live with
...cell phones
...iPods
...HDTVs
...internet
Somewhere a teenage girl feeds her digipet.
...Facebook
...Hulu
...DVR
...Blueray disc
Technology waits for no one, damn whatever risk.

As urine collects in my bladder,
so
the messages
in
my brain.
And as the discomfort swells to my urethra,
so the plotting
of the agenda
for my own
selfish
gain.

I perform the “pee dance”,
to the toilet I do race
The plan for my life
now a shell of which it was based.
Whether beverage turned to piss,
or success that I had chased,
One thing is for certain,
both have turned to waste.

Mine Own Psalm

By J.R.


Will this confusion ever name itself?
Will it ever be given a face?
No. I think not.
Stumbling blindly through fields of broken glass
Would be a fate more generous than this.
An invisible hand lashes blows across my brow
As I raise my arms in surrender
Preparing to give up the ghost
I cry out
My head hurts
My heart aches
My stomach churns around and around
A boiling cauldron of doubt and fear
Why must this be so hard?
Will it ever go away?
Leave.
Yet still.
Still I know
Through these trials and tribulations
Your good works and words are never erased
Ever.

...Ever After.

A fortunate end to an unfortunate beginning.
Can you be found in wanting?

Walking in the apathy of an undesired situation.
Void of expectation.
While enacting the mind-numbing practice of repetition,
you're surprised to discover...
The possession of one and only love.

Your presumptions exceeded.
Conscious-self impeded.
Priorities crumbled, defeated.

Plans ruined, but you've never been happier.
You speak only truth, yet you've never been sappier.

Your desire is simple, still your mind is a maze.
Everything is backwards, just like this next phrase:

An unfortunate end to a fortunate beginning.
...Here is a thought which may keep you from grinning.

Everything up, must then fall.
With no memory of whether you were happy at'all.

Riding into the sunset is not an end,
it's merely a start to something new.
You'll find,
in pursuit,
the magic
once beheld
curt as morning dew.
And the good times you remember,
a west facing balcony

with an ever


receding



view.

Heaven for Anne- An Imitation Poem of Mark Doty's, Heaven for Helen

Anne says heaven, for her,

would be total awareness

of relational hardships,

with the pursuance of rudiment compassion-

to be the tenderness of an embrace,

or the soft succor of a 'kerchief

before the swelling of tears,

warmth in an otherwise desolate world.

Images of sufficiency,

and of unrelenting support.

But if we're to trample social enmity

won't our vision also entail

the possession of, say,

suspicion, the paranoia of a pain

that isn't really there,

conspiracy of abuse

which tears relationships apart?

We'll be a shadow of doubt,

a condolence accusing the innocent

of shameful wrongdoings:

a hell we've conjured from overindulgence

of our heaven: we will critique

our simple arguments,

proportion them beyond their merit.

But that's my cynicism. Anne

would stress understanding

in each and every case,

an order to properly amend.

Perhaps that's why she'll be a lawyer,

eventually: to methodically dissect

the evidence of misconduct,

a practice which translates easily

to the outside perspective.

Anne I think will perfect it, myself probably not.

She has spent her whole life on empathy.

I have practiced contentment,

while I should have been looking around.

A Photo

I need a picture
of this place
I now stand.
A reminder
of the hardships
that this life
demands.
I need that image
to explain to me.
That this isn't how
we
will always
be.
The path can look brighter
if only we show
keen regard
to the things
that we all,
soon,
will know.
Countless inevitables
march through this street
With a greedy shake
that our hands
rush
to meet.
T'were we better in knowledge
or best off in bliss.
'Tis a question
we can only afford
to dismiss.
To look back
is death,
but forward

God's breath...