Solstice Poem

Solstice Poem

Relishing the tiniest day,

the day the Sun

stops on the horizon,

before Earth

tilts back to light;

the day everything turns

around for another round—

this tiny day—

from where

a year is born.

Edit

Poet To Muse, 2015

I don’t know if it was correct,

saying to you

that I’m too wild

for polite society,

or if I was describing

something with shame

only because

I didn’t understand

it myself.

Maybe it’s because nobody seems

to know what a poet is anymore,

and all my attempts have gone

failingly, or maybe it’s that

no one understands

how fierce some can be

to put to words what’s true—

the people, love and fear, and all that’s blue.

Should I even be writing this?

It’s so difficult to tell, it’s hard

to believe when

the society you’re a part of

no longer acknowledges you exist;

but maybe there is genius

behind obscurity,

and living to fight another day

while accepting what’s happened

to our kind.

Regardless of all that,

I wanted you to know

how badly I need to see

your sweet being again.

Late Poem: Poet To Muse, 2015

Poet To Muse, 2015

I don’t know if it was correct,

saying to you

that I’m too wild

for polite society,

or if I was describing

something with shame

only because

I didn’t understand

it myself.

Maybe it’s because nobody seems

to know what a poet is anymore,

and all my attempts have gone

failingly, or maybe it’s that

no one understands

how fierce some can be

to put to words what’s true—

the people, love and hate, and all that’s blue.

Should I even be writing this?

It’s so difficult to tell, it’s hard

to believe when

the society you’re a part of

no longer acknowledges you exist;

but maybe there is genius

behind obscurity,

and living to fight another day

while accepting what’s happened

to our kind.

Regardless of all that,

I wanted you to know

how badly I need to see

your sweet being again.