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Tag: personal writing

Song: Swimming (in my mind)

Published September 25, 2020

In my journal writing this month I continue to explore themes around accepting what is now and simply being present. I find that I spend too much time trying to recreate an image or a memory or to fulfill a story that promises to give me peace (while missing out on peace in the moment). How can I navigate the complex relationship between personal history and narratives, memory, and the now? I don’t have the answers yet (probably will never) but “Swimming,” in a sense, is a mindful acknowledgement of this conundrum.

This recording captures my intention well. I recorded the guitar part in the front porch in the evening with the stereo condenser mic that’s built into my recorder, so you can hear all of the wonderful ambient bug and street noises. For the vocals, I mixed a close mic and a room mic to further the “I’m right there” vibe. I may add to the arrangement and tweak some lyrics in the coming weeks, but I am happy to have dislodged the writing block and to be re-inspired for songwriting.

Swimming (in my mind)

If you convince me,
convince me to leave,
I’m not sure I’ll ever know what to believe.
Was it there in those gold times before we quit?
I don’t think I was dreaming,
I’m still swimming in it.

I’m still swimming in my mind.

And if I convince you,
convince you to stay,
I’m not sure you’ll ever be here anyway.
It was real in those gold times, before the wars.
I’m still up to my earlobes
and you are standing on shore.

I’m still swimming in my mind.

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Poem: The Invitation

Published August 9, 2020

The Invitation

I came back to watch
the glowing magenta lift off,
hungover with grief
and hungry to feel loved.

Not a cloud was in the sky,
just a rich haze hovering over the line.
Rainbows shimmered at my feet
as the muddy blue horizon gave way.

The geese, drifting silently,
took no notice.
The gulls, oblivious to this minor miracle,
laughed their way through yesterday’s celebrations.

I could be here, and I am.
But also I am not—
too caught up in a long-denied truth
and where it might take me.

The sun, now high and yellow and too-bright,
illuminated the edges of my pages
as the geese, flapping above me,
honked out an invitation.

And I accepted.

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Poem: Not now, but soon

Published July 19, 2020

Not now, but soon

Four nights ago I heard
the sweet call of fantastic vision.
Hope of a life well-lived and uniquely played.

And rest.

But sunrise brought a flaming terror,
and burned out the peace I had tended to
over so many previous dawns.
The pain of loss (not now, but soon)
drove me to pull what remained.

But I have begun to dig
in this new, hard ground.
Cultivating the seeds of an invasive peace
that thrives in the cracks between stones
and spreads beyond intention.

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Poem: The Pilgrimage and The Presence

Published July 12, 2020

The Pilgrimage and The Presence

A family of three skunks showed me
the way to the lake
and the shore where sailboats,
sparsely docked, stood swaying
under mountain ranges of cloud.

I waited and watched
as the sunrise persisted,
illuminating the foothills.

A window (rose with fiery peach linings)
opened above the dim red burn
and lightning splashed its fierce light,
revealing hidden crags and peaks.

All the while changing, changing.

Tiny, lapping waves watched
and whispered too.
This is not the only shore,
there is another sunrise.

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Poem: Giving beyond myself

Published July 10, 2020

Giving beyond myself

The lump—that deep twist in my gut.
I am holding too tight, even as I let go.
Scooping out my melon of a belly,
emptying it of everything, including hunger.

You don’t care for watermelon
but I continue to present it, bowl after bowl.
An offering,
a show of just how far I am willing to go.

As unappealing as my misplaced entrails
and the hunger that is and isn’t.

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