where we find gold and hearts and hopes and poems @theholesinwillows - Tumblr Blog

smokey.

she calls me smokey when i come into bed after smoking cigars and drinking moon boys after midnight and the tension that political contemplations creates.

she doesn’t mind the smell the taste is what gets her smells like celebration tastes much worse she tells me

i will sacrifice kisses for cuddles but i never tell her that i just say sorry and turn the other way turning into a little spoon please don’t tell her this

i like the sound of moonlight fiascos in the street below i like the smell of cheap tobacco thanks to overzealous taxations there are other reasons bigger ones but i am not brave enough to entertain their company.

i can see the sugar crystal resting on top of your knuckle is just waiting to fall off when your words clench into a fistful of unresolved tension.

i’m not waiting around this time.

my brother always asks me what point there is in wearing a hundred dollar tie if it chokes the life out of your voice.

he’s right you know. so you can have it back.

you can keep the blazer too, it’s nice, shines like a good story when the full moon is out but i’m going camping up north for a while, don’t chase after me.

i will set up house by the river that runs through the national park, each morning i’ll look into it to remind myself of what the sun and this incredible universe thinks of me.

i am back baby.

pull the handkerchief out from your back pocket fernando. wave that red flag like you never thought i’d come back. tell ‘em i’m back baby.

eyes perched towards tears but i’m not crying baby.

i got a melody running around inside of my chest treading on the paths that i forgot were inscribed into my feelings and thinking.

it’s there for good reasons.

i am not sure what those reasons are but i know that they are good and good god almighty

i am back baby.

#poem #poetry

this one is for the terrifically humble young men i have had the privilege of knowing

i know of some quiet men shy like shadows they have noble hearts... so holy royal gold lined with a precious crimson velvet that not even kings are worthy enough to sit inside of. i've been with them in a cafe, at seven in the morning on a sunday that woke up with last night's mess, as they tell me of the prison inside of them. but they keep fighting, keep smiling at their elders, opening doors for strangers. these are the heroes man, and most of the world ain't ever going to know it.

hold on to your handkerchiefs, i'm not giving up yet

i grew up learning how to handle the ferocity of feeling things, i learnt quickly and then forgot learnt again and then god damn forgot.

***

if you have hot hands or ears or hearts or heads. don't look for understanding from the disturbed. it's not their disposition to comfort, especially when you burn.

"Wait. Pray without ceasing. Hope"

Mark Driscoll: What would John Piper today tell a young John Piper who is getting ready to enter into ministry?

John Piper: I would quote to him V. Raymond Edman: “Don’t question in the dark what God showed you in the light.” Darkness comes. In the middle of it, the future looks blank. The temptation to quit is huge. Don’t. You are in good company. You are in the pit with King David. He waited. “I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction” (Ps. 40:1–2). God will do that for you. You will argue with yourself that there is no way forward. But with God, nothing is impossible. He has more ropes and ladders and tunnels out of pits than you can conceive. Wait. Pray without ceasing. Hope.

#mark driscoll #john piper

how to survive surviving.

I can stretch the flag far if you want, tie it to a stolen redwood and set sail y'know? don't worry about the wind, the caves in the headland won't grip the current for ever. we'll move again. did it ever make sense to you, that people with square eyes could still be the fastest runners and quickest writers? i could never keep my shoes on, the laces got all loose like the lips my best friends had when I told them that I liked you. you remember my face, the sunlight bounced off the roses onto my cheeks. I have always loved the soreness that too much smiling creates. like my body wants to remind me what a full heart feels like. much like my eyes hold onto the water for a long time after crying, though I don't do that much these days. hey pull a compass out. I'm not lost but I know you're going to ask me where we are and I don't know yet. I got the strongest gut I know. seriously. I've had so many bad memories and lonely nights throw some heavy duty punches at me. they don't break me though. I don't know how to be defeated. it shits me sometimes. I wanna know what the inside of a drawn curtain feels like, where i can't see the empty seat that i thought my father might one day occupy, or see the faces of people that make a mess of understanding me. these are not crazy eyes, I just am unable to be defeated. I think it's always gonna shit me. much like the cautious folk we grew up with who keep telling me that you can't sail the world with a torn flag the colour of surrender and a redwood too weak to stand on its own.

tell em to not be afraid of the fear and to leave maps to the scientists I'm a believer sweetheart

I don't have time for furious debates about shit that doesn't matter. find me the hurting. the bullied. the ones with brains bruised by horrid words and hearts crushed my crooked looks. I'm gonna pull them up, I tell ya. tell them to not be afraid of the fear. it doesn't kill you. i think.

oh and if my mother never ends up getting that letter I sent last winter, let her know that though I appreciate the sentiment, I cannot stand her beef casserole. if she gets offended it means she's still not got what I mean. if she invites you in to talk about the motherland, it means the birds have flown the coup and she wants you to make sure they've figured out that they're always home.

that winds gonna come. gimme the compass (please), if we get lost I'll figure it out. I just can't handle the thought of sending out an obligatory SOS just because that's what you're meant to do. i'd rather figure it out. lemme figure all this out. if I lose you, remember that though I have hoped to sink, I god damn can't. god will pull me in with the high tide. and then we'll do it all again.

most of the things

that i write, are so that somebody would realise that most agonies are not doomed to be permanent conditions. i am a survivor of many things, and so are you.

#poetry

“Some people see my impatience as not wanting to listen to the traps, the potential roadblocks. What I keep repeating is, ‘I want to know when I am going to hit the wall, and I need you to tell me how much it is going to hurt. But if I choose to bump into the wall anyway, then don’t worry — you’ve done your job. I just had to experience it for myself.’”

But if I choose to bump into the wall anyway, then don’t worry — you’ve done your job. I just had to experience it for myself. This is exactly how I feel regarding pretty much everything.

This is a conversation between Tom and Matt Berninger. I love the dynamics of their relationship. I also love the accidental (or casual) eloquence of Matt. I'm sharing this excerpt because I thought it might encourage or connect with someone...

“Yeah,” Matt said. “I doubt that you’re going to be Meryl Streep. But you’re also not just Chris Farley—you have that special thing where you’re guileless and real.” He leaned in: “What you really need to do is get out and start dating. Do all the shit that makes you anxious. Remember that nobody is good at meeting people in bars—”

“You met your wife at a bar!” Tom cried.

“But I was terrible at talking to her!” Matt replied. “And that’s why Carin liked me. Failure is a badge of honor. Be willing to get out there again and fail. It’s like the end of ‘The Graduate’: He goes to the church, he stops the wedding, he gets the girl. And then there’s a minute or so afterward, where they’re both on the bus: Now what? You’re about to have that ‘Now what?’ of the rest of your life.”

“Is this how it should feel?” Tom asked. “Being an adult?”

“Yes,” Matt said. “If you’re waiting for anxiety and fear and self-doubt to go away, you’re going to wait forever.”

Tom drank up. Then he laughed softly and said, “We have this conversation at least once every two weeks.

#the national #tom berninger #matt berninger #mistaken for strangers

alexsparks

I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.

C.S. Lewis (via alexsparks)

there's a beehive in the treehouse but no one can know. so if archie comes round with his velvet coat and his smooth sentences, tell him about the roses. they smell like the garden he misses. he'll pick 'em and put them in his top pocket, she still runs through his mind every time the autumn breeze picks up. don't tell him i told you that. he doesn't like folks knowing there's a weakness hiding under those bones, but i can't afford to lose the honey. there's been too much darkness in the orchards lately and i ain't got that much light in me to pick the fruit. the children will want play up there, tell them the ocean has found sunlight and the sand is warm enough to build a kingdom. they still have hope and hands that can build wonder. if they don't buy it, roll up your sleeves and reveal the splinters. i know you're ashamed of them, i still don't understand why, but someone needs to know the sacrifices required for finding home. i won't be back until i find the jars. it might be summer then. archie will be persistent and persuasive. the children will get impatient and it'll hurt how quickly they'll get used to the story of your scars. stay strong. if you can't stay strong, stay brave. we're not going to be victims to this darkness.

felicity says my poems should have titles. how's this for a title huh? yeah!

crap poem though. fin.

af.

can i tell you something about pain? it leaves. sometimes so slowly you'd prefer a casket, but it does leave. free your grip up a little, shake your hands like you just burnt them on the hottest damn epiphany, you don't need to hold onto the confusion so tightly. you know what white knuckles are a sign of? outrage!

b r e a t h e. i got told to do that once, breathe and let go. and for god's sake, stop getting tattoos in the shape of misery as if it's a permanent condition. there's more i tell you. it's gruesome, and takes a hell of a long time, but the emptiness fills up with gold, puuuuure majesty folks. that's how we end up. gold and glorious and the desire of all the good looking women.

this poem is for the dark and doomed. for the broken and lonely. for the despaired and dead. for the ones who think slicing the pain with silver will help anything. you are somebody and someone. you are not the only one. keep hope when you have none. keep hearing the words from your loved ones when you feel no love in return. you are not the only one. you are not done. you are not a god damn tragedy. if you don't hear that again today hear it from me. you are more than a tragic ending, you are a beautiful battlefield. keep your grip tight. leave the noose in the garage and the knives in the kitchen. don't leave us before your time.

*****************

put the telephones back on the hook, if they call i want to answer, to tell my mother what you can't tell her, i don't want her to be forever afraid. i'm not the only one, i'm not the only son. i'll sweep up the broken pieces of a window that should never have been, we didn't want that much moonlight anyway, we didn't want the neighbours lookin' in. you pull the clouds over us like blankets and say if it stays dark no one will know, but if they call i want to answer, to tell my mother what's done is done is done all over again it won't ever end. when the blue men came in with their guns, you said screw it man i'm fucking done, i said it's not my fault that i don't have answers, but if you need to throw punches i'll take them, put 'em in the room you don't know about so when you try to remember the guilt you won't. you got too many ghosts but no lanterns i've got too much light but nowhere to shine, so put the telephones back on the hook, if they call i want to answer, i'll tell 'em you lost all the watches but they don't need the time to know that you're gone. i'm not the only one, i'm not the only son. don't let me be the only one, i don't want to be the only son.