Shunyata in The Empty Room

And i cry

Sobbingly at a loss

Yelling at those people,

in the empty room.

waiting for a response,

The silence is deaffening.

Why?!

The inner world becomes a cyclone

The outter never so still,

and i to my knees.

i beg everyone,

in the empty room.

Disoriented, i claw, and moan,

and plead,

loosing everything on the floor.

Empty am i in this full room.

To see the future i wish i never had.

Growth from emptiness?

Undeniable.

Unquestionable & Questionable

Unclear to the eye,

the electric currents flow.

Unable to see,

Love, God are all shapes of faith.

Untouchable molecules,

we are composed and do touch,

Unfelt mysteries,

Which we feel and do know.

Why faith in the other,

the machine

but none for the miraculous,

the wonderful,

The real?

5 Then and Now

Onto the canvas
our painted faces,

our painted names,

our painted hearts?

Aging it will fold,

the paint will wrinkle

the name forgotten,

and what of the heart?

The painter once became,

and was

Once he would grow,

and age

to include the young

without jealousy,

He would relish the past,

not resent.

Restoring the paint,

to liven the death,

to uplift the old,

to fix that which is,

Broken?

Onto the Canvas,

our painted names,

our painted faces,

our painted hearts.

9 How Naive

Gently did the winds blow,
Caressing it's porcelain leaves.
Day turned to night,
Night to day,
How those winds did change.
Bringing a torrid desert-like heat,
to end with torrential rain.
Ever swiftly did the frozen hell come.
Porcelain leaves shattered,
Rose colored peddles gone.
Into a deep depression it fell
until the sun shone brighter than ever,
Illusions for a single day.
but how that flower rose again,
Naively forgotten were the memories of yesterday.

10 Two Collapsed.

Eye's sparkling she smiled rivers...
To the trickster who hid in stars,
Boldly
loved by her
effortlessly, moving with the tides
a love ne'er to be returned .
Commited with a passionate intimacy to him,
A jester to all serious things.
As smallest of warriors she fought

---Unwavered ---

He would not care, or sincerely smile

*** All collapsed***

Upon her smile came the crushing waves
when he became tired of being the trickster and left

.Stars collided with the tides.

she drowned carrying her love far away
from the place where her love would be renewed ,
the place where again he soon did play.

No more

***

12 From death...

From nothing it grew,
Green veins of life,
it lived.

Seasons changed.
Heat waves, winds blew. Cold.
and it fell.

Tumbled, dirty,
frail shrivelled life.
It died cold...alone.

But, There was warmth.
a womb only from death
nestled deeply.

Saved from wind and cold,
it flourished,
fluttered free.

From death: Life, metamorphosed

I will be moving comments about my poetry to the 'comments' section below each poem to allow readers to interpret the poetry themselves before reading my comments and thoughts. Sorry for the inconvenience : )

-Danielle

15 That feeling...

The door is locked

it starts,

You sit and wonder,

it grows,

Nagging,

what has been left?

Things you number.

Should you return

to look again?

Troubled

There is no dismissal.

Eating away at you.

Uncomfortable as travels prolong.

Restless,

you are far from that point.

As you draw near you forget.

You have arrived,

but it's too late.

You forgot your toothbrush.

You should have listened

to that bothered feeling,

turned before time so quickly went

and left him long ago.

***

16 On death

You can watch the petals slowly die

but what is it to be

blank sight, slow time, panic

knowing that you're near.

You can watch the petals wilt and fall

Perhaps there is no near,

a thought, a resignation, A Choice

bloom will you no more.

You can wonder of the winters cold

only once will you know.

the hope, the wish, the fear

should petals ne'er return

17 The Lion and the Ringmaster

Was it easy lashing the whip,

feeling the lion's fear?

Dancing at your every whim

Growing old and weary

as you watched and laughed.

What sick pleasures spew from your soul?

Let the lion run!

The lion as the subjective onlooker,

Knowing strength, unable to stand,

He cares. He Knows. He wishes.

The stopping point,

but disabled by that invisible thing,

he is loyal, and you,

you continue to play ring master.

18 My release

Irritated I sit,

Unable to keep still,

cannot focus.

The door barred shut.

I feel it's pure supple surface

untouched until this moment.

Arranging my thoughts strategically

My fingers begin moving

Longing for the release

I go more quickly, more steadily

thoughts lost,

a blurr of words and memories

I go harder until it comes.

The words speak for my explosive emotion.

The page is no longer pure,

words sprawled everywhich way.

My poetry is masturbation.

***

I very much enjoy this poem. I find it very stimulating, much the same way i feel when i am expressing myself in a poem. It is a form of relaxation, concentration. I am very focused on the release, once I have released my frusterations, emotions, etc, on to paper I feel much more at ease. I would also like to thank someone very close to me for allowing me to use his line as inspiration for this poem.(You know who you are!)

Stirring the dust

Sweeping in the corners
dust began to stir.
Up it rose,
motionless heart,
what was settled came alive.

Broom unallowed to pause.
Particles soaring,
eyes burning
throat choked, uneasy.
It's the dust of memories time.

How did all this accumulate
in unswept corners?
misplaced times
Regrets of the task
of sweeping unswept corners.

Let the remainder still.
Closeting the broom.
reluctance,
close the cover
Dust still left in unswept corners.

***

Have you ever gone through an old photo album or memory chest and found something belonging to a lost love, friend, or family member. Do you remember feeling choked but not being able to stop looking at it, not able to put away the memory? It's a spiralling feeling and you wonder how you were ever able to forget. You suddenly regret having looked through the album or memory chest, and you reluctantly close it. Isn't it odd how you never dispose of it though?

Untitled

Portrait of a name
name for the face
exhilerating girl
Gall of an untamed brush


***
There is a girl that I know, and despite trying to come up with more ways to describe her these were the only four lines which seemed fitting. The way she looks seems to describe everything about her personality to me but I havn't quite been able to capture it in words well enough to do the girl justice, yet.

And you

And you
It will
Slowly passing time
the stillness
unquiet internals
silent surroundings
for the hands it is finite
Passing that point
And you
It will



***
Sometimes we are faced with difficult times ahead, anticipating the hard times is a huge part of the battle. Like everything it will pass.
-It can't rain all the time
***
No further explanation will be given at this point. Please read carefully.

The Waiting Game

And It sat there
and It waited

And It sat there
Expressed a thought
and It waited

And It sat there
expressed a thought
It was uncomfortable
and It waited

The time went by
and so It waited
and It waited, unsure

And It stood there
expressed a thought
It was uncomfortable
over Its time
and It should not wait

***

This Poem was inspired by a friend of mine who recently broke up with his girl friend. I could identify with how he felt and how he was unsure of what he should do. This poem is describing the beginnings of the end of a relationship and the actions taken by the person on the giving end of the breakup. The problems are addressed but never solved and commonly in relationships they tend to snowball if one person is unwilling to compromise. I left the poem with a small piece of advice to those who are, or may find themselves, in this position.

Suitcase to Nowhere

Following the downtown streets
sunstrokes tumbled low
sat there was a suitcase
of colored words, alone

Silver streets and flashing things
busy times unravelled strings
Sat there was a suitcase
of colored words, alone

Alone beneath the tall tree's shade,
it's travels did seem slow,
a patched up box in endless time
Nowhere will it go.

Silver streets and flashing things
busy times unravelled strings
sat there was a suitcase,
experiencing all that time and life does bring.



***
There's actually a story behind this poem. I was walking down Duckworth Street in St.Johns on a beautiful sunny day (of which St.John's is in short supply). It was busy downtown, zooming cars, thundering motorcycles, and the general bustle of tourist season. In midst of all this I came across a suitcase. I looked around and there seemed to be no one who owned the suitcase. It was very odd to just see it sitting there, people briskly walking by, paying no attention, almost as if the suitcase and their surroundings didn't entirely exist. It was actually interestingly uplifting to see it there on the busy sidewalk, so much so that I decided to sit near it and watch everything that was going on around me. Something so simple as a misplaced suitcase changed my perspective for much of that day.