30 Years

Words sometimes
are not enough.
Sometimes we just
need to be seen,
to have someone look us
in the eye
and tell all
without a whisper.

They knew,
didn’t they?
They knew
all the things
they never said.
In one minute,
they spoke lifetimes
of longing
without words,
and we could feel
every moment of it.

***

I watched this amazing video and it inspired me. Please watch it! It will break your heart.

https://youtu.be/CAID_2iKO5Y

~Patience

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Adding the Letters

The spaces are empty again,
vast and deserted,
and the letters pile up
against the door.
The J always
sticks to the Y
in awkward phrasing,
and I wonder
when I’ll run out.

Will I open my box one day
and find nothing but
… and ;?
Will it be like now,
when I stare eye-cicles
at the screen
in awe of your absence?

I knocked before and you froze,
dripping blood on my pages,
and suddenly broken pieces of you
were splashed on the broken pieces of me.
I couldn’t stop looking at
what it might mean
and I didn’t realize the door closed.

Now the letters lie dormant,
alone in their boxes
with all of the forgotten
punctuations of love
I slipped in your window.
Now they are silent,
all mixed up
and counting on numbers
instead of words,
years and days
and adding them up
hoping they end up equaling us.

~Patience

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Spring

image

Photo Credit: Natalie Bowers

I remember you left in the morning, carrying your shoes
in your hand. Spring rain always reminds me
of your sock-feet soughing against the floor.

Rain fell all morning, awakening the earth.
You slept, I sipped coffee,
and spring sprung.

When it’s over, remember the spring.
See the moments when we bloomed instead of withered.
Remember the beauty and begin again.

***

It’s time for Three Line Thursday and, once again, I couldn’t get it together until the last 3 lines. I submitted the final stanza only, but I always like to post the process since I’m adverse to deleting my words (you have no idea how many drafts I have in here!). Anyway, enjoy!

~Patience

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Conducting Melodies

I’m swept up
and away,
and wherever
swept things go
as they shimmer
and shift
along front door breezes,
and motes of sunbeam
that pierce through
mundane mornings
where I sip my coffee
to the tune of your melodies

And to the notes that
undulate
across my shoulders
and down my spine
like a twisting
vine,
coercing me into
the craggy
cognizance that
brings me peace,

“I need you.”

In the quiet dark
I hear the motions
of your muse
drift on riffs
played out
to the beat of my heart,
and beneath the yellow sun
I feel your tones
warming those night places
that only sing to your melodies.

“Do you even need me?”

Because my moldy synapses
are fervently hiding
among the shadows in my
derelict cerebrum,
and the grey matter
among my molding memories
sing the songs that
become patterned arteries
reaching for ecstacy

***

Okay folks, here’s another awesome collaboration between the great Christopher Rupley. We always have a wonderful time on these pieces. Hope you enjoy it too!

~Patience

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Writing In My Sleep

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Photo Credit: olliewhen at deviantart.com

I write you letters in my sleep.

When I close my eyes,
my pen begins to move,
spilling secrets I tell no one but you.
I wind words around your limbs,
planting seeds in your eyes
so that you might read the verses
spinning around you,
floating into the mist,
the gray fog hanging on the trees.

In my dreams,
you hold my letters
as if you were holding me,
and I watch
as the meaning
folds against you,
encircles your heart
in strings of white lights
and barbed wire,
all at once
healing and piercing
through you
like rivers carving canyons
in your soul.

But these are only dream letters
written in my sleep
and packaged into poetry
when I awaken without you.

~Patience

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All the Things…

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Photo Credit: multicurious at deviantart.com

It’s all the things…

We haven’t done or been or dreamed.

We haven’t found or wanted or loved.

It’s all the people…

We haven’t touched or reached or seen.

We haven’t held or kissed or loved.

It’s all the needs…

We haven’t shown or expressed or let go.

We haven’t tried or sang or fought for.

It’s what wakes us up from dreams only to forget when daylight has taken hold.

These feelings we can’t explain or name.

It’s your voice echoing in my head, your hands urging me onward.

It’s those pieces we lost, the ones who made us, broke us.

It’s what we have left but can’t feel for want of more.

You and me and all the others. It’s who we are and who we’re becoming all at once and in between.

It’s life and love and all the dark wishes rolled up with the happy ones, and it’s mine and yours if we can open our eyes long enough to see it.

~Patience

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It Goes

This slow urging,
this dark wanting
to see you,
to stand in places
where you’ve stood,
to feel the earth
as you did,
to see the world
from where you are.

It goes and does not stop.

The abating words I fumble
so that I may look like I’m gone,
they just mask my manic desire
to see your dark eyes,
to feel how you are,
to know you are with me,
here on these pages,
on these screens
where I search for your face
amongst millions
because it won’t stop going.

***

My good friend, Christopher Rupley, and I had a long discussion about the title for our latest collaboration. As we talked, this title came up. I liked it so I stuck it on this poem here. Enjoy!

~Patience

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The Other Side

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Photo Credit: Lisa Shambrook

Wicked fingers claw.

You’re there, on the other side of nowhere,
waiting to see if I’ll find my way
to where you are.

Footsteps fall, echo, live
inside realities made of paper. Do you remember
what it felt like to seek instead of hide?

To yearn for the unknown?

***

Here’s another one for Three Line Thursday. I only submitted the lines in italics, but I left the rest anyway.

~Patience

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Blip

We drip from the
precipice of existence,
evaporating so briskly
in the in between,
raging and dying out with
hands over our eyes,
ears and mouths
between the moments that were,
and the ones that are ahead
of us,

We dash into the
future as if it were
waiting patiently for our return, sleeping and waking
in the wake of our haphazard choices,
watching as we scurry into
its clutches built from false promises

***

This is a collaborative piece by me and my good friend, Christopher Rupley. We struggled with the title, but I think the one we chose fits perfectly. Hope you check out Christopher’s amazing work on his blog.

~Patience

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