#persistence of thought

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New Writing Blog!

Hey, guys! I've officially created a new blog dedicated to only poetry and prose (including both originals and pieces from other writers). Please follow and spread the word!  www.renaissanceofspring.tumblr.com  With love, Sierra

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Inhale, Exhale.

I was out watching again. Overlooking the stream by the old library they were just rebuilding when I first moved to this strange, new yet not unfamiliar place. People spoke in a southern drawl, mainly the elderly that couldn’t seem to let go of that old lazy mouth they learned from their parents and their parents’ parents and so on. People then passed their slow tongues to their kids and so on and so forth. 

So I was listening to the drawls. But a different kind— not all human. The drawl of perfect patterns of layers upon layers of circles sourcing from a single moving bird on a mirror of water. The drawl of cars roaring by— traffic at a trickle; letting silence build a peaceful drone and breaking it with a sputtering engine passing through that strange doppler effect we seem to dismiss so vacuously; almost automatically. The drawl of people sucking at the heavy air; mouths agape as they wet their careless clothes all sweet and salty; single, heavy drop by single, laborious drop. The drawl of voices lost in groups, lost in the drawl of cars, lost in the drawl of built and broken silence, lost in the drawl of heavy breathers lost and lost and lost furthermore. And the more I observed, the more I too was lost in the layers of that sunset afternoon. 

Every leaf was moving on every tree in a hushed breeze that held no sleep; no rest. And it shouldn’t, because a simple breeze has a way of reawakening the restlessness in all of us; like an encouraging peer— the last natural gift we hadn’t destroyed with our machinery. 

Every cloud was gathering in the sky— a concentrated cowlick reflecting orange, moving light upon the usual blank canvas of white that never held a concrete consistency nor color. The heavens never show their blessings in consistency, and neither do we, so why do we wonder why the world is so unfair?

And every breath was taken for granted. All for granted as a natural debt we return in a final exhale; yet another inconsistency— the timing of death.  

I was shocked by a sudden siren that screamed to my left; lights flashing in their opposing red and blue colors as the screaming pitch rose and fell at a deafening volume. The sound waves clashed in my ears as the driver blared a horn, calling for the oncoming cars to stop. The lumbering mass hooked a corner and sped down the road; the doppler effect more apparent with the greater volume and noise. And then it was gone past a curve, the pitch of the beast’s siren falling deeper to an alto. 

I recalled my unnatural comprehension of drawls and realized that the loudest of all was us: forceful, overbearing, foreign, unfair. No natural animal has the privilege or possibility of rescue. No natural animal lives an untroubled life. What are we? Adaptive? Advanced? Idle? What is this hierarchy; this “food chain” amongst each other? Are we not equal? Are we not the same? Did we not all begin as equivalent creatures, adapting to the natural world together? Are we not all miracles of conscience existence? These layers I see; these drawls, as I call them, say that the natural world is savage; a fight for survival yet a victory in understanding balance. But now, as I gaze from the overpass across the stream and watch the sun lower herself beyond the horizon, I realize something. That the only balance; the last natural bridge, if no other, is the giving of life and the taking of death.  Inhale. Exhale. 

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Home To A Ragged Mind

Sitting alone.  Not the bad kind No.  Have the voices of those jazz greats-- Crooners To keep me warm.

I'm seeing California. Not in person, just in thought.  Cause I know that if there were somewhere  Better than anywhere It'd be there.  Just one more day And one more day  On top of infinite days. Could I stay? Keep you close Like a lover, San Francisco?

With your vibrant races Kin to me I see their faces Familiar.

With your open mind Oh, darling, why? 'Cause here they march  All chained and blind.

With your restless heart I cannot part Without losing  A piece of my own.

With your peaceful vibes Green grows uncontrived It brings tears When I think of that beautiful place.

I'm aware I'm alone. Now the bad kind. Cold. Singing 'Round Midnight With those jazz greats Recalling Home back west To a ragged mind.

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Sacrilege Dream

Welcome home To suburb deserts. Welcome back To labyrinth strips-- The Concrete Ocean Pulled in tides By gluttony--  Southern "custom" by lip. "We're glad you're here Rejoin the mass of beige And walk the level streets Through hazy grays We'll watch your spirit fade away Into another tan." "Unite. Partake. For this is my body Given to you. Do this in remembrance--" Of who?  I see no god in sight of morning  I see no god in the eyes of my peers. Give none to him! He'll watch us goring At our brethren's faults And fears.  "Welcome home!" Please, stop. You don't-- "Already unpack?" I didn't want to come back-- "How was your vacation?" Like a dream; A lovely dream. Where I was complete-- A working circuit Bright and working.  Where God was never a banker in wait. Where God was never the limit.  

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Flesh Potential

I'm seeing pictures Of these rooms  In a house  That cannot be real With a picture of your green-gold eyes Framed clean on every wall.

Oh don't question me, Dear sanity. I see these things   In vanity strong. 'Cause these walls don't yield Three-word sins These halls don't sweat away My memories…  

But they do.  

They do.   And green-gold eyes see  Through and through They penetrate  These heavy cells With somber pupils  Through and through They judge my sins And seek some light I can't commit to Through and through--  

Again. 

And again.

And again.

I disappoint  These eyes-- An action Observed; A daily slice From a fleshing potential. 

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Transcendentalist

He speaks in enigmatic tones. The stale minds are lost They stumble with his words Like velvet Time is constant cost. He sees in enigmatic light A blessing yet a plight For past his rosy lenses lies A world with darker sights. He hears the voice of God on high But lives for no such thing. The words he speak The light he sees To him are incomplete. The government  Runs cold; corrupt. The people breathe  In rancid slums. To him, the only thing that's pure Is nature-- Holding so much more.  

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So I went back through the year scrolling month-by-month through all my posts and tagging all the poetry and blurbs I ever wrote so they'd all show up under my 'Writing' tab, and I could distinctly see when I fell in love, became increasingly depressed, started letting go, and became an entirely new person thereafter, just by looking at the amount of writing I did.  January was when it all started March was a veeerrry bad month; when things were going downhill.   After April I was a new person. And loneliness settled in more glaringly obvious to me than before. And thus began my search for a companion (not for life, obviously, but just in general). Holy shit, things happened fast. 

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Equal Silhouettes

I'm blind in this blackness Make out silhouettes In shades of grey And tints of sable. In the dark we are as equals Equal measure. Equal value. Equal change After the day The darkness wraps us in "forever." We will know our due respects As fair fed animals in the dark.   Blinded by "today."