Category Archives: Poetry

easter

October 17, 2008Poetrydream, easter, iron man family outing, poetry, rick belden

in this dream
I’m looking at an old family photo
25-year-old black + white
mother father brother + me
the classic easter pose in the yard
outside grandpa + grandma’s house
my focus is on my dad
he’s so young
younger than I am now
and he looks so scared!

I feel compassion + tenderness for this
frightened young man who took on too much
a family he was ill-prepared to handle.

I know some of his fear
I feel it myself in my own life every day
the fear of being a bad father
the fear of being a father too soon
the fear of losing my life + my dreams to
the demands of a wife + a child
he has good reason to be afraid
he looks lonely
no one’s taught him how to do this
nobody’s backing him up.

I feel his loneliness + his fear for the first time
not in my head but in my heart + my gut
I’m surprised to feel such thorough compassion for him
as he was at that time
I’m so used to hating the man I knew as my father
angry insensitive frightening hateful cruel
I don’t feel comfortable identifying with
this man I’ve cast as my personal demon.

this dream frightens me because I’m afraid I’m like him
but it also encourages me
it tells me that
maybe I’m beginning to see him as a person
instead of a demon
maybe I’m beginning to let go of him at last.

_____________________

Sorcery

October 16, 2008Poetrysorcery, voice

It is another thing to wake up in another light:
Bluish, unbelievable, where the faintest thought colludes,
Giving way to mysterious winds.

In such a world, never let go
Of your silence, only yours eyes
Can keep you from this trained magic.

Have faith in the music beyond
Its realness, there’s much more
Even its dead cities can only imagine.

Listen to the language of your fever,
Hold on to your voice that has no beginning.

The Eyes Want to See

October 15, 2008Poetry

The eyes want to see
What is real,
The soul wants to embrace it
Till what was only in dreams
Becomes tangible like the pen
In one’s hand.

Words and lines
Sometimes alight like water
On summer-ridden lips.

The ears want to hear
What is real,
The dream-lyrics
And fresh melody
Rainbow of the soul.

There is wisdom in sticking to her memory
For after she has left
And every single aspect
Put in place, when the day’s
Events seem to finally
Matter, there
Is something remaining
In a small detail,
That if touched will affect immensely
The weather in another continent.

My Bridge to Somewhere

October 12, 2008PoetryAppalachia, Hazard, Kentucky, main street, Marge Fulton.

Each morning I see the difference. More

and more joists and rivets and a river idling by.

A river that whispers in this drought and looks

skyward. Men that hoist metal with cranes;

huddled along train tracks, often leaning

on old tires. I cross the old one twice a day.

Grooves worn deep. Now, I am half asleep,

and vines creep beneath the rusty bones.

I have come to a dead stop.

Writer’s block is real as a flat tire.

But the way my wheels hum upon

the old bridge is assuring. And

I have a toolbox bulging with gadgets.

Men in yellow hard hats are ripping

and reaching the other side in

near darkness. Maybe I must burn

one bridge to begin another. Maybe

my arms can span the diminished waters.

Premonition

October 8, 2008Poetryancient trees, Eternity

i feel her presence.
i know we shall meet again, very soon.
what stories will her sweet lips tell?
she is just out there,
the beating of drums reverberate
in everything i touch.
for the past two nights
i had dreams about her.

there’s drizzle like before, all the more
anticipation and fear are awakened in me;
as flowers begin to explode with her colors.
again, faces vibrate in space,
and secret signs repose in perfect stillness.
her scent is in the air.
what will be her lyrics, this time?

for the past twenty years
i have already acquainted
myself with the dangers surrounding the Muse.
she knows the exact time
in Eternity, the precise moment for the ambush.
traces of her touch linger;
music deepens in corners
where newly born winds
give names to ancient trees.

Intentional Silhouette

October 4, 2008Poetryash, colors, dancing, denizens, dimensions, grace, heron, horizon, intentional, invitation, orbs, portals, possibility, silhouette, sky, Source, southwest, sun, unfathomable, wiser, woodcock

When the horizon

beckons the sun

and a pink sky

holds the Ash

in silhouette;

when still waters

reflect Woodcock

upon the wing

and the Heron’s

great blue matches

colors rising,

there is a “click” —

inaudible —

a latch unlocked

by precise combination

of timed events

turned carefully

by Source.

Gentle winds

blow from southwest

and there is a “c r e a k” —

unheard —

a portal opening

(one of many) –

an invitation

to senses of

at least

the sixth order.

Who responds?

Might I cross over

to become a denizen

of all possibility –

to flit with grace and ease

among dancing orbs?

What lies there

in unfathomable dimensions

except parallel versions

of me?

Might I

experience them all

simultaneously?

And all the while,

here,

beneath a cloudless end,

would any one be

the wiser?

elephant dream

September 25, 2008Poetryelephant dream, iron man family outing, poetry, rick belden

I have in my care three elephants
two males
one female
they are very sick
from too much time in the heat of the sun
they’ve come to a place of shade and safety now
but they’re dying
the female is the sickest.

they have large ragged holes in their skins
burned into them by an unforgiving sun
weak and withered
dried and dying
drained of power
they wait and they suffer.

I’ve noticed them only recently
I know that without my help
their time is short.

I haven’t been trained to care for these holy creatures
so I ask others for help
one well-intentioned man
young bureaucrat in uniform
suggests a cage for shade and safety
they’re dying! I remind him
but they’ll be very safe he says.

others are not interested at all
some make jokes
this is urgent!
who will help me?

these animals need water
lots of it
more than I can ever provide
with the old buckets once used by
my father
my uncles
my grandfathers
elephants have other needs too
but water is basic and must come first.

I’m desperate
time is short
I walk up a slow hill on a back country road
(I’ve walked this road in younger days)
looking for someone to help me save these sacred beasts.