Arrow

a-giant-bow-arrow-1

He lives life like an arrow-
seeking the target with precision and speed,
visualizing the path and accuracy of flight-
a sense of accomplishment sensed at the moment of release.

Once the target is hit-
immediate dissatisfaction sets in,
waves of reservation flow in like the tide;
a blanket of lead pinning him down.

How will he break free?
twist, turn, and push out-
remnants of existence linger on the surface,
leaving a puncture wound for all to see.

Occasionally, a small piece breaks off-
left in the wound,
evidence of the hunt and pain ensued.

Once broken, he is forever weakened-
no amount of patching or sharpening
will bring back the original form.

Year after year there is gradual transformation-
one that is unbalanced:
one side sharpened,
while the other remains dulled.

All the while knowing-
a target will always be out there,
calling his name,
but one that cannot be attained.

He lives life like an arrow-
looking for the next target;
seeking a new adventure,
but rarely satisfied with what he has achieved.

~D.Thompson

Positive, Negative

positive negative

Life pulls and tugs-
direction constantly changing.
Opposites are to attract-
creating harmony, balance.

Oddly, sometimes-
positive attracts positive,
negative clings to negative.

One’s desire for simplicity or peace-
can it be attained?
is there such an existence?

Perhaps the world goes around-
due to imbalance;
instability.

Perhaps we are actually neutral-
waiting for some direction,
any influence to show us the way.

Is it the push pull factor-
positive and negative,
leading to the desired path?

Those passed by are left-
in a purgatory of neutrality,
seeking a force,
occupying a space,
waiting for a match.

Matched with what?
a positive,
a negative,
or an eternity-
of stagnated neutrality?

~D.Thompson

Pride

Peacock Feather 5

Pride

reveals

with a straightened posture,

smile upon the lips,

the look

of a conqueror piercing the eye.  

Yelling from the tree tops-

boasting with success.  

Or,

silence-

containing the accomplishment

like a fly in a web.

Pride

sings the song

of a marching band-

loud, precise,

directed at an eager audience.  

An uncertain path,

a courageous pursuit,

the outcome no guarantee.  

Pride

isn’t for the faint of heart,

for there could be consequences—

jealousy, sabotage,

subtle discouragement.  

But it knows;

knows the price to be paid,

the sacrifices made

eyes reflecting back in the mirror

giving permission.

Be proud!

 ~D. Thompson: 5/2009; Rev. 8/2015

Restless

Rolling By 2 WP

Anxiety steals away the night-

becoming a wrestler of

covers, which thrash to and fro.

Dreams are-

elusive,

fragmented.

Guessing games and outcomes

heighten—a continuous climb

into a purposeless destination;

juxtaposing reality and desire–

knowing that control

lingers in the hands of another.

Momentarily frozen in power;

numbness succumbs to the

opposition.

Perhaps there is a way out-

questioning options; possibilities;

resurrection of the true self,

stagnation no more!

Trust yourself and be

unrelenting–with a powerful

voice.

Willing,

x-honorating, and

yielding to confidence

zealous throughout.

~D. Thompson: 3/2009; Rev. 7/2015

*This is an “ABC Poem,” in which each letter of the alphabet is used for the first word of each line.  Fun and challenging; yet doesn’t always yield natural results.

Ode to Saku Mori

By LaLaPalooza
By LaLaPalooza

I’ve always carried my grandparents close to my heart, especially grandma aka Mamasan.  She was funny, gracious, and determined.  There was a conversation at the poker table last night about me not backing down in a hand and my quick wit.  I naturally said outloud, “I get that from my grandma.”

On the drive home today, my eyes were frequently drawn to the clouds.  I truly felt grandma’s presence as I captured the image above.  While writing the poem, I confirmed her date of death.  I was shocked to see it was July 16, 1999. Grandma is in me and with me, always…

Saku not Sake

The long aisle

divides-

family to one,

chanters to other.

Incense burns-

yellow roses,

Grandpa’s favorite,

draped across

her casket.

The chanting-

ebbs and flows

loud; soft

quick; slow.

Words I don’t understand-

but know,

know

are beautiful; peaceful.

A favorite song-

“We all live

in a yellow submarine,

a yellow submarine”

floats through the sanctuary

her final request fulfilled.

Saku

the daughter of Kai

mother of Kazumi.

I leave my grandma’s side knowing-

knowing

she smiles from above,

playful twinkle in her eye.

Grandma

**As individuals, we all grieve in our own way and our own time.  It is not for society to determine what we grieve about (not only a death) nor for how long (may never end).  For those grieving, please give yourself permission to do what is best for you, in your own way, in your own time.

#DontTellMeImTheTeller #MyOwnStory

~D.Thompson: 7/17/2015

Truth

Colors and Truth by Arlene-Devon

Closing the eyes

provides refuge

from the day-

bringing darkness;

reprieve

a welcomer of dreams

in the night.

Closing the eyes

fosters visualization

through meditation,

intensifying moments

of ecstasy.

Tonight-

closing my eyes

was avoided,

a silent battle

overpowered by fear.

This time

the lids

were too honest-

reflecting an ugly secret

buried down below

for decades.

A reflection

I wasn’t ready to see-

a truth

of who I no longer wanted to be.

Inhale, Exhale

Insecurity is

psychological cancer.

He starts small,

then begins to fester

eventually contaminating essential emotions.

Insecurity hides

beneath layers of armor:

keeping the in, in

and the out, out.

He’s a reinforced wall,

doesn’t protect or contain.

Insecurity sings the blues in solitude—

he slowly develops

deep down within the soul;

telling a different story

with each change of venue.

Insecurity speaks in monotone—

same words

silently drone on and on.

Insecurity is

an invisible prison of mind

hoping to resurrect

the true, original self.

He inhales,

inhales a toxin of particles,

eventually poisoning the whole.

Contentment is

simplicity at the core.

She’s a ladybug

strolling through dewy blades of grass.

Contentment sings a lullaby—

carried on a breeze,

she calms the tense

rejuvenating the fatigued.

She’s an ancient artifact sought by all,

fiercely protected once found.

Contentment eludes many;

embraces a lucky few.

Contentment is

the ultimate destination,

but may not be recognized

upon arrival.

She doesn’t announce her presence.

Rather, Contentment

slowly reveals herself over time;

a freckle that magically appears.

Contentment is the utopia of being,

sitting on a pedestal

for only the willing to see.

She exhales,

exhales a purity of freshness 

cleansing the soul.

 

                     

D.Thompson: Original 4/2015; Rev. 7/2015