Off The Couch

•October 11, 2017 • Leave a Comment

I have discovered
Dogs have bested Freud
For they deflty nod
And slightly smile
And sometimes meet your eye
As you spill your soul
Find cures your own
While walking by their side

-a.r.

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Birdsong

•October 3, 2017 • Leave a Comment

This morning
I cannot tell
If these dear birds
Do sing their songs
To woo each other
Or
Fling them long
To wound the other
But my toes are cold
So inside I go
Perhaps
It’s just as well

-a.r.

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Forgive the repost, but these dear birds are at it again, and my toes are just as cold.

Hollow

•September 14, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Dear squirrel
With your mouth full
Of dirt, sticks, and leaves
Hopping ‘tween branches
But unable to see
Stutter and side-eye
Still attempting to look
Before leaping with instinct
Quick to batten your nook
Dark days encroaching
Tugging deep at your drive
Is it faith as you blind-jump
Or your will
To survive

-ar

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Image found here: http://www.moorhen.me.uk/iodsubject/mammals_-_squirrel_13.htm

My Bracelet (repost)

•September 11, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Today I wear a bracelet
Which is sixteen years old
I wear it this day every year
For lived moments that it holds

It was made for us in gratitude
For being there and holding up
The families of those we lost
That deadly day in Washington

Crafted by hand in Glory’s colors
They once were bright without a mark
Each year the colors fade a bit
And the beads become more scarred

At first I made an effort
To keep it quite pristine
But on this day I realize
Value is not in keeping clean

The dirt and scratches simply show
Sixteen years of life we’ve lived
We’re not defined by cracks and aging
But by what of ourselves we give

Dear bracelet, you’ll be on my wrist
On this day each and every year
Until one of us lets go that thread
Life well worn out for those not here

-a.m.d-r.

 

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I repost this every year on this day, it’s not the best poem technically…but that doesn’t really matter today.

A picture of the bracelet made, and given to me, by a volunteer at the Pentagon days after September 11, 2001 to thank those of us who escorted families to view the site where their loved ones died that horrific day. I am proud to have stood there with them, to have wept with them, to have heard stories about their loved ones, to have been present, available. It is one of my saddest, but proudest, days in the military

Proof of Life

•September 7, 2017 • 3 Comments

Last night I wrenched
Open my chest
Leaned over my desk
And let my heart flop out
Onto the page
It thumped and bled for a bit
Until the paper stained through
And I was long enough empty
I scooped it up and shoved
The mass back inside
Quivering
I sewed and shut that sodden chapter
Splattering
And wiped my hands on my jeans
So there we sat
Human and paper
Disfigured and dripping
I ached but was alive
I stood up and walked away
I should go back today
And save those wretched pages soon
Before they dry and congeal
Stick together and conceal
That sanguine proof of life
I once let loose

-ar

island-michael-sanderson
Painting: Island by Michael Sanderson

A repost.

Barrier

•September 5, 2017 • 2 Comments

I am traveling
On the spear tip
Of transition
At the speed
Of sound
So fast
You hear nothing
Of these good intentions
Only a deafening
Room-rattling
Boom
A sonic unraveling
Of my previous
Dimension

-ar

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Artwork: Pepper Freedom
By Pepper Project on deviantart.com

Letting Go

•September 3, 2017 • Leave a Comment

I am letting go of layers
Or are they letting go of me
I watch their downward drifting
Rocking back and forth by breeze
Cradled quiet on their journey
A silent lullaby
I hang with each one in the air
Once supple flesh now crackling dry
I choose to watch their falling
My nature aches to be reminded
How very short a season lasts
Born sycamore instead of pine
I was made to shed this skin
Grey rolls of cardboard slipping slight
Leaning with the wind I have a look
At pieces scattered left and right
I shake the weight of newborn branches
Absorb the fading warmth and light
I was not made to endure seasons
While remaining straight and green
From root to tip, where blackbirds grip
The travel of the earth reveals me

-a.r.

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Painting: Sycamore By Yvonne Pecorino Mucci

 

Another relevant repost, letting go is always a lesson for me, embodied in the trees in my front yard as fall approaches.

 
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