heartbreak and cigarettes

Category: poetry

  • A meditation on gratitude.

    A meditation on gratitude.

    Running in a grassy open field
    under the bright blue sky
    and blazing
    sun
    in the summertime,

    Laughing hysterically –
    so hard,
    my stomach muscles tense
    and sore,
    and I can barely
    gulp
    for air.

    The bliss of ecstasy
    in the middle of the night
    with another
    feeling, not thinking,
    drunk on emotions
    completely enraptured in the
    glow of candlelight,
    a dark, hot moment,
    entangled in someone else’s arms.

    Blissful amnesia,
    the state of just being.
    A return to childhood innocence
    and the fleeting gift
    of present-moment awareness.

    The wisdom of youth:
    entirely immersed with just being,
    no concept of past or future.
    Battling the folly of the old:
    constantly yearning and craving
    for what was,
    anticipating what will be.

    Gratitude hits me in those fleeting moments
    in the gaps between time and space
    where I forget
    yesterday and the days yet to come,
    when I experience the beautiful truth
    of what is right now.

    “A meditation on gratitude.” – bem

    Thank you and much love to you all for opening your hearts and minds to my little corner of the internet,
    and happy thanksgiving to anyone celebrating the holiday ❤

  • Illumination.

    Illumination.

    I open my eyes and I open
    my soul.

    My mind perceives
    far more depth
    than I can fathom.

    Through observation,
    I accumulate the wisdom
    of countless libraries,
    vaults,
    tombs.

    As long as I am breathing and
    seeing,
    I am learning.

    “Illumination.” – bem

  • The old schoolhouse.

    The old schoolhouse.

    They built the old schoolhouse
    at the top of the hill
    with the greenest grass
    facing East.

    They made the schoolhouse
    from red brick and limestone
    and those magnificent windows
    gleaming and tall, clear.

    The lawn was lush
    with verdant, crisp-smelling grass
    topped with neatly planted flowers
    and bushes and trees.
    A white stone fountain
    with water gushing from
    the earth and shooting upward.

    And with time came the ivy.
    Catching and grasping
    and pulling itself
    up the red brick and limestone
    toward the clear blue sky.

    September through May
    a hundred times over.
    Thousands of lessons
    and recesses
    and respites
    and running
    and whispering
    and screaming
    and thinking
    and speaking.

    The ivy climbed
    through it all,
    up toward the blue,
    never looking back.

    But oh! If it could only see
    how far it’s come
    from that dark, dank soil
    toward the cloudless sky.

    “The old schoolhouse.” – bem

  • The shift.

    The shift.

    Tied and untied
    sewn and unsewn.

    We learn to create
    and un-create.

    The value is in the
    doing and
    undoing.

    As long as there’s
    a shift,
    there is life.

  • Moving.

    Moving.

    In order to stay alive,
    we must keep moving.

    It is the utmost intention of each
    atom within ourselves
    to stay in motion.

    Even when I rest, I remain
    in motion.

    In order to stay alive,
    I must keep moving.

    “Moving.” – bem

  • The void.

    The void.

    The void created by what we don’t know
    precedes all intelligence.
    In order to make way for the gifts and blessings
    of what we learn and
    experience,
    there must first be an opening.

    “The void.” – bem

  • Release.

    Release.

    The crab
    rips off its claw
    when it no longer works
    and grows a new one
    back to its normal size
    like nothing ever happened.

    When my cells locate
    something toxic inside me,
    they automatically
    remove it.

    It’s nature’s law that I
    release.
    Follow my body’s impulse
    to cut out what is unhealthy
    to leave space and allow for
    the healthy to grow.

    “Release.” – bem

  • The flame.

    The flame.

    The flame.

    Oxygen fans flames
    to keep them alive
    like souls in bodies.

    Breathing in –
    inhaling,
    dragging, drawing,
    sometimes panting,
    or even gasping –
    to stay alive.

    Then the inevitable
    exhale.
    The contraction of the lungs.
    Release.
    Relief.
    Then expanding once more –
    to stay alive.

    Fanning the flame of the human spirit.
    First the initial spark.
    Then brightening,
    glowing,
    flickering,
    dimming than bursting.
    Oxygen flowing in and out –
    to stay alive.

  • The seasons.

    The seasons.

    The seasons.

    Throughout the seasons,
    the leaves on a tree
    change
    one by one.

    Winter, spring, summer, and fall,
    and back again.

    In winter,
    the barren branches frost over,
    covered in crystals,
    and slumbering to survive
    in the darkness.

    In spring,
    gradual thawing
    leads to growth.
    The blossoming begins,
    sap seeps through the cracks.

    Expanding,
    Thriving,
    Feeding,
    Feasting.
    Opening to the sun,
    dancing in the rain.

    In summer,
    the leaves laugh –
    tickled by the wit of the wind
    breezing by
    and reaching up to the light
    in a mutual embrace.
    Basking,
    Glowing,
    Giving and receiving.

    In autumn,
    the preparation begins.
    Storing nutrients and
    cutting off leaves.
    Each turning colors,
    then spiraling from sky to soil,
    performing its grand finale.

    Gradually,
    the tree fortifies itself
    and lays down to rest.
    And then,
    the frosting and slumbering
    begins again.

    Our bodies are like nature
    with the intelligence and wisdom of trees.
    All of our parts
    sensing and feeling the time.
    Responding,
    Working,
    Sharing,
    Expanding and contracting,
    Sleeping.

    And still,
    every time the season turns,
    we panic as though we’ve never
    been through this
    dozens of times.

    But we have –
    We’ve simply
    forgotten.
    Since,
    like the trees,
    the seasons
    keep us
    brand new.

    “The seasons.” – bem

  • Today, you are born.

    Today, you are born.

    Today, you are born.
    Everything has re-created itself for you.
    And in response,
    All there is to do is love.

    Inhaling, exhaling.
    Eyes cracked open for the first time,
    Seeing:
    the world for the first time.
    Your mother, your father,
    Your sister, your brother.
    Yourself –
    for the first time.
    Him, her, us, them – all.

    The dense blades of lush green grass
    and blazing canary yellow sunlight.
    Cool, cerulean skies
    dotted with shape shifting cotton candy clouds.

    Wind rushing toward your fresh face,
    Glittering ocean waves.
    Entire bodies of water
    re-created for you
    to love for the first time.

    The feeling of cool, gritty sand
    slipping through your clenched fists,
    shifting underneath the weight of your feet.

    The first time you heard a crack of thunder,
    Shivered in the rain,
    Then tasted a warm strawberry sunset.
    Experiencing it all today
    For the first time.

    And in response,
    All there is to do is love.
    Inhaling, exhaling.
    Until you lay down for another rest.

    Until, again, the opportunity presents itself –
    Born again, to another new day.
    The world re-creates itself for you.
    And you awaken, and crack your eyes open,
    To love it all again,
    Like it’s the first time.

    “Today, you are born.” – BEM