Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …


11 August 2013






(written for The Sunday Whirl # 121)





pebbles tossed into a still pond

scatter dragonflies, that race about

in stark contrast to the gentle

ripples spreading outward,

like breathing. I strain to illuminate

more than their busyness, but

I wallow in distraction.




I’ve lost the incentive,

grown weary of the race.

Mindfulness requires discipline,

an unbroken circle, always returning

to illuminate darker corners,

places I avoid, afraid

I’ll scatter shadows, or worse,

discover the concrete

is still wet, unhardened.





I wish I could just flip a switch,

rather than striking flint and steel,

hoping for a spark to coax and enflame.

Warmth is both a need and

my incentive, that endless circle,

the incessant strain between

necessity and desire.

A practiced half hitch knot,

tied to illuminate the needfulness

of connection, one thing to another.

But, sometimes, it is too much —

my head is pounding.





pounding the pavement

concrete jungle imprisons

wallow in obscurity

a face in the crowd,

nothing more and nothing less,

carried along to nowhere.




persevering, little victories encourage me

onward. It’s never really one failure after another I

understand. But, giving myself credit for anything

needs a little work. I rarely see anything but negatives,

discount the positive, even when it is valid and true.

I am vigilant though, I keep trying. It’s a secret work,

no one is privy to what goes on inside of me But, then I.

guess that is how it is meant to be.

11 August, 2013 - Posted by | Poetry | , ,

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