NPM: The Naming of Things

The naming of things

is the chief aim of writing

To articulate the ineffable

feelings and thoughts of the secret soul

To gaze into the inscrutable workings

of the mind and heart

and to describe whatever is detected there

This is the essence of expression

The “why” behind the struggle

to put pen to paper

even when the words don’t flow easily

To put a name to something nameless

so I know what to call myself

Advertisements

NPM: A Heart Like Mine

All I want is to sit and  

Listen to your heartbeat 

Steady and true

There never was a steadier heartbeat

Never a surer strength

Never so certain an embrace 

 

My heart is a stumbling, faltering thing

Fickle and restless

Unfaithful, wandering nomad

Can it settle down with yours?

Can it keep your steady pace?

Your constancy?

Could they possibly align?

For yours is not a heart like mine

Autumn’s Torch

My eyes have grown dark of late.
The world I once saw was bright and hopeful and lovely,
but it has become washed over with shades of grey.
I know the world has not changed,
but rather my eyes and the mind that perceives it:
a heart that is muted, dull, heavy,
and nearly blind to beauty.
And just as the last luster seems lost from my vision,
Autumn arrives, torch in hand,
and sets the trees ablaze.
They flame, they burn… for me.
They blaze so brightly, so vividly
that I am forced to remember the world I once knew,
forced to see it, still here, still stunning.
A sky so vibrantly blue,
a sun that paints the horizon with its dying light.
In this last profusion of color before the coming of the night,
the grey is washed from my eyes with tears of gratitude.

Know Thyself

“Know thyself,” the Ancients said
as if it could be done
I lie here in a stranger’s bed
and dream within a stranger’s head
The battle’s just begun

And as I dream, it seems to me
It would be just as well
To know the bottom of the sea
Know all of every mystery,
Heaven’s heights, the depths of Hell

I look into the mirror’s glass
And see a stranger’s eyes
Where doubts and dreams and shadows pass
Too swift to count, too full, too fast
Each blazes as it dies

Impossible to know my way
When I change constantly
Her mouth speaks words I’d never say
Her heart is quick to go astray
She is so strange to me

NPWM Day 29: Walls

The first line of this poem is borrowed from Robert Frost’s “Mending Wall.”

 

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

but it is not the human heart.

No, our hearts build walls

without conscious thought or hesitation.

In a desperate bid for 

self-preservation,

we throw up defenses

miles high,

meters thick.

After its first taste of pain,

the heart reacts the same way

again and again,

to keep others out,

to stay safe and untouched.

Walls within walls,

and behind them,

corridors and halls

ever twisting,

labyrinthine,

and somewhere inside

hides

a fluttering, frightened heart.

And yet,

from its refuge,

its self-imposed prison,

it gazes out,

hoping that someone worthy

will scale the walls

and search the halls.

It longs with such desperation

for someone to seek it,

see it, need it,

know it.

The walls it crafted over years

suddenly become confining, isolating.

And protection is not so important now.

If only it could feel again

somehow.

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

and perhaps that something

is the heart, after all.