Giving Tree

I am the giving tree
You said…

But you don’t see
how much
You’ve given to me

So, who really…
is the Giving Tree?

You take my breath
and help me breathe

You cradle my head
with loving leaves

You branches hold mine
reaching up towards the sky
meeting heights never quite so excited…

Here rooted,
and I am delighted

We are united
in living
Giving
no misgivings,
forgiving this selflessness
so ridiculous

It’s worth the risk,
isn’t it?

So, let’s plant ourselves together
and go
where the sunset plays
and the calm wind blows,

swaying in sync
when night starts to sink

then I think I know
I’m no longer alone.

Sentimentality Hour: A girl walks into Forest Cafe…

Every now and then she enters, often only exposing a bashful nose and quiet eyes through the crevices of her winter gear. Slipping in deliberately unnoticed, she takes a seat in the corner that detaches herself from the communal nature of the cafe.

She looked so familiar to me, like a face I had seen somewhere else in another life. But then again, there are so many people like this, content to stay planted on the walls in a space where they prefer to observe rather than participate. Those same faces whose features only sharpen in familiarity and philosophical conversation, translating how their hearts and thoughts work in tandem to face the perils of living an average life…whose generic beauty is sculpted uniquely through the context in which you meet.

Still, she comes in and talks to no one, always ordering the same meal, as she summons into her hands a small paperback novel. Her eyes determinedly stay focused on the page, even though the pace of this place is spellbinding in its ability to distract. I am one of these victims, feeling rather rude most of the time when I sit inside, never being able to maintain eye contact with someone for too long despite the intimacy of the conversation. Most of the chairs point outwards and the walls are composed mostly of large panels of glass that make the outside world look more like an obscure reality show. If your back is facing these giant screens of mimicry, you will find yourself turning your head every now and then to see why the person you’re talking to seems to be unable to pay absolute attention to what you’re discussing.

On one such occasion, on a busy evening, she had to sit in the middle area that attracted the most friendly conversation between strangers. I was eager to quell a curiosity and went up to her.

“Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.”

She had nothing more to say to me, but I wasn’t satisfied with such a curt reply.

“I’m sorry, I just thought I had seen you before.”

“Ah you know, this is Edinburgh. I’m sure you have seen me before somewhere.”

I knew better than to intrude on a private moment, even if it was in solitude.

What piqued my interest the most was the fact that she would enter such a loud and social environment to entertain this introverted nature. Perhaps it was her version of social interaction, watching all these lonely creatures congregate in this crazy melting pot of artists, alcoholics, lost souls and hungry people.

How ironic it was that we mostly stared outwards when we were here.

Motherly Love

The love of a mother
Is unlike any other
It is justified madness
Unfound in another

It drives the blood in our veins
Which has come from her own
Yet it reaches the day
When we trudge on alone

Is it possible to care too much
As a mother like this?
Suffocating and exhausting
Our patience and wit?

But this too’s understandable
Even if it feels wrong
Because the bond’s unconditional –
It’s lasting and strong….

They say blood runs deep
And this is probably why.
They’ll love you to death
‘Til the day that they die.

Their last breath will whisper
What has always been true:
She’ll say that she loves you,
And she knows you do too.

futile nectar

It seems everyone’s back-up expression
in any given dynamic
is that

“You can’t change people.”

Well… goddamn.

You can’t change someone if they wanna be changed
and you can’t change someone if they don’t
and you can just watch as your family members and friends
slowly destroy themselves
drink themselves to death
or kill themselves
because this is the accepted fate of mankind and humanity
merely because we all believe
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks”

But if you stick an elderly labradoodle into a lava pit,
it’ll still try to avoid it.

A podcast for class once denoted the fact that primates have learned how to shift their opinions more effectively than humans because when it comes to admitting fault and acknowledging difference,
We are more idiotic than monkeys and chimpanzees.
More stubborn than donkeys and giant oak trees.

And those of us who try
to do something
will die off like honey bees.

Favourite Poem of the Day: I Feel Drunk All the Time by Kenneth Patchen

Jesus, it’s beautiful!
Great mother of big apples, it is a pretty
World!

You’re a bastard, Mr. Death,
And I wish you didn’t have no look-in here.

I don’t know how the rest of you feel,
But I feel drunk all the time

And I wish to hell we didn’t have to die.

Oh, you’re a nervy bastard, Mr. Death,
And I wish you didn’t have no hand in this game

Because it’s too damn beautiful for anybody to die.