|Who I am is what I write. www.tdgpoet.com|IG: phynne_belle|
(Absent) Flown the Coop
I inhabit your body now
At the cusp of an uneasy
Century later, I think I can
Empathize but not entirely
Accept or forgive how from
The beginning you chose
To give up small pieces
Of what you can remember.
First, little slips that happened
On certain occasions, words
That simply eluded you if
You tried to hard to catch them,
Shove them sluggishly from your
Brain to your lips. It was included
In your charming quirks, almost
As if something illicit
Would be missing in your
Personality if you suddenly were
Bright, alert and engaged. Confusion
Became commonplace, and made
Certain of a stealth that was
Patient and steady and incremental,
Until one day it wasn’t ...
Call me baffled
But also call me
In that trench
And fully committed
To it’s ideals
It is expected
Sure it cannot
Be painted as any-
Thing short of cynical
Bird’s-eye view how
I see it sucking up
Pint after pint of freshly brewed
youth before it is given
proper time to bloom, to mature,
To think first and see madness
The contentment haze
Barely covers a few days
Or plays tricks for a while
Longer if you are lucky
Or simply hesitant to admit
How sorely mistaken you
Were about the trophy you were
Reaching for when you decided
On this recipe for happiness
In the end it still becomes way
Too late for remedy
Even when you become
And let go
Twenty-nine years in this closed space
and the airport carpet smell still linger in my nostrils,
sharp and fake-woodsy clean. I still remember the newness
of the unfolding panorama with a deceptive
clarity, Daly City and South San Francisco seemed
like exotic castle-lings beneath the pure sky and clouds;
the grime and hustle would present itself, it would
pervade, much, much later. If I squeeze my eyes shut tightly
I can see fascinating Sun-In’d bronze hue of my sister’s
crimped hair, bang tips, pleasing the heavens.
So foreign and fascinating, but did I really know you
to begin with, in the first place, in that original form always
slightly more evolved? Hello! Two thousand and ninete...
walk the bare legs down
newspaper still stuck
their print to walls and whipped
your calves no sinner
walk clicking on asphalt
around the corner
how were catcalls
about your level
how you chose to litter
your bed and live your damn
life an acceptable
to conduct easy
college town border
did you smirk
hopes and simmering
desires when all they saw
was flushed skin
a sample to tuck
in it’s own neat drawer
among the profusion
among the dead, labeled
in orderly fashion
HALLO MY LOVELY FELLOW LETTRISTS!
I'D LIKE TO START A LITTLE "EXPERIMENT" HERE AND SEE HOW MANY PENPALS RESPOND.
I'D LIKE TO PEN ITSY-BITSY POEMS TO ALL OF YOU AS PRIVATE LETTERS (if that should be something you wish).
IT WOULD BE A BETTER WAY FOR US TO GET TO KNOW ONE ANOTHER BETTER, DON'T YOU THINK? :)
HOW DO WE GO ABOUT THIS?
*YOU, OF COURSE, HAVE TO ALREADY BE A PENPAL OF MINE.
*POST THE WORD "MICROPOEM" HERE IN THE COMMENTS WITH A THEME OF YOUR CHOICE (FOR EXAMPLE, "LOVE.")
*CHECK YOUR INBOX FOR A LETTER FROM ME!
I may be going about this in a completely wrong way, but I am unable to activate autografs through my Twitter-associated Lettrs account. Help, please?
Trish aka Phynne
P.S.- I tried sending this as a private letter to Lettrs staff, but it wasn't allowing me to.
At one point today
we were blaring
that failed, too,
Our soul unfurls when we allow enough room for its growth.
This requires that we be oh-so-brave and keep our eyes opened wide for our opportunity to dive forward without compuntion. Just take the giant leap, no thought of whether a safety net will be there or not.
Just jump with ecstasy and pure joy, sweet friend. Trust that the wondrous spark of divinity within you will catch you, provide you wings, redeem you.
Question not the origin of genius or its harbinger. It may only disappoint you if it is not the illusion you have secretly formed in your head since conception. It is the same dream, the same exquisite gift, if you are present enough to accept its wisdom.
DO NOT BE AFRAID. W...
Allay your fears
it is not much
that we dwell
in this hollow
of a kiss
or a kind
will tell us
it will allow
what we wish
we will not
that has been
all we can
hope to know.
There is an oft-used and somewhat trite say in get that goes something like: "You don't know what you've lost until it is gone." A little mushy, yeah, a little obvious, of course, but oh-so-true.
When you lose something, someone that/who you assumed you were feeling pretty lukewarm about, the importance of that thing or person is magnified with such sudden focus, it is alarming, and you discover an attachment you would've otherwise not ever know.
I think your hurt even more with the loss—the impact is doubled, compounded with the realization of a double loss birthed of initial indifference and then of the subsequent departure.
A bit of a ramble today, bu...
Beloved Winged One,
Your lovely wings
you will not
It is written.
Dear Gentle Souls,
Rejoice! Our beloved art of letter-writing lives on!
I bear hope yet for the beauty of civility and kindness to reignite.
What has happened to us? What has inured us to disrespect and dishonesty as the norm, and in some cases, something to be lauded? I am at a loss?
Along with civility, where has our compass for good and right gone? I was having a conversation with a friend a little while ago and I remarked at her bravery, her voice. This thought came to me in a flash in the midst of conversing: neutrality is indifference. Now, do not get me wrong--a neutral party in a hot-headed situation, a situation where there are two parties equally injured or ...
I am only as strong as I make
myself brave, courage found
in the midst of those purer
than myself, those worthy
of heaven's reward.
I am only as strong as anger
ignites, righteous indignation
against wrongs committed
to those fiercely beloved.
I will not merely watch.
I am only as strong as I was taught
to have compassion, to see, not look,
to listen, not hear, to think carefully
before a single word slips. I do not treat
the Golden Rule frivolously.
I am only as strong as the concentric
love, platinum circles of loyalty
and truth, of family and friends where
lines blur. I am everything they have
given and all that I put forth.
Our single utterance
A barely audible whisper
or a seemingly righteous
soapbox to the world
we are a representation
our woes, our triumphs,
perhaps too hastily
at the wrong moment
or the perfect timing
to the universe