Obviously Blue

It’s a blue sky.

I look up and I know it’s obvious,  but I can’t help but be awed by it.

It’s a blue sky.

A lot of obvious things have gone by me lately… Hours spent in conversations where neither of us was quite sure of the point the other one was making. Halfway through deliberating I find myself wishing for simplicity. Like the one guy in the advanced literature class who believes that prose is poetry… Why bother with the imagery of a dew drop missing its appointed sunrise, when you can use the word “boredom” directly?

It’s a blue sky.

But alas, a wish made upon a point denied bears no power other than super boosting one’s pride. One to lord over the conversation, and one pride to rule them all… Sometimes there’s more therapy in a movie score than a basketball game. Why sweat the frustration out, when you could exile it by strengthening your brain?

It’s a blue sky.

As I continue to move through time I find myself looking for the obvious things in life. The irony of my eye gates never ceases to amuse me- I will catch each and very odd point, confusion, or mystery, but the things most visible pass right through me. Perhaps my boredom isn’t boredom at all, but a frustrating feeling of disconnection.

No matter.

Today I make my stand to take notice of the obvious.

It’s a blue sky.

Aced Out

Feet to ground.

Head to the sky.

Body standing tall in the pool of gravity.

Life inflicts its demands on me quite lavishly, eliciting a vividly livid response from my living… What matters most?  Sun beams lance down like lasers from a futuristic space battle, striking my skin with keen efficiency.  Each step down the street is one more in the incredible heat, and the sweat beads around my eyebrows swiftly.

I call a full scale retreat into air conditioning.

My body is battered from battling and I must re-treat my wounds.  Naked I lay on this hospital bed of poetry, waiting for the nurse to re-dress everything broken in me.  Waiting for these words to stitch me back together, and for these flows to regenerate the hope in me.

Air conditioning.

I was pushing hard- trying to reach my best until I was bested by stress and it sent me into cardiac arrest, and now I lay here behind bars.  Trapped behind rhymes, mentally scarred, and fearful…  What if I can never walk again?  What if I am doomed to sleep, but never dream, eyes permanently opened in a comatose state glued to the ceiling?

…What matters most?

I drown while breathing and the waters of planetary pull slosh around me mercilessly… Grounded.  Like a ten year old sent to his room, or a plane with no wings, I am stranded here against my will.  My gaze sees the birds high and free and I struggle against the chains of my insecurities.  My wrists chafe against the shackles and a desperate prayer slips off my tongue… Nothing elegant, witty, or over spiritual- just a request for realness.  A plea to fully die, or fully be alive, but be loosed from this shadowy place in between.

I sleep.

I weep.

I breathe.

Prophetic imagery has succumbed to lobotomy- my future is swathed in darkness.  What to do… Where to go… Who to trust…

God, I need you.

… In the absence of my own faith, His voice speaks for me.

I am afraid of the unknown, but that won’t keep me from walking…

Feet to the ground.

Head to the sky.

Body standing tall in the pool of gravity.

 

The Paint Can

Can the canvas be candy painted when the can of paint is candy?

I stick my finger in and swirl it around… A bucket of pigmented liquid.  Mixing.  Sticking the other piggies in, and next thing I know I’ve got my fist in.  Opening and closing.  Halting and flowing.  The fractured rainbow stains my hand with its essence and simplicity of delight is my only response.  I pull a fistfull of color out, out of the color my flesh stands it ground, batting well against the pitchers mound, mounting up on the ladder to darken the sky and add some grey to the clouds.  I fling my hands towards the sky and a rainbow appears- another fling and history rewrites itself.  There is no passion in the blowing wind, just a passionate blowing by of the ever blowing sin, it steals my breath, breath heavy til it drops… and the earthquake rattles my ladder and knocks my socks off.  Balance misplaces itself, and my body begins to drop… last desperate clutch at the ladder’s top, but it just scars my hand and I Mufasa fall.  The paint can falls.  It’s internal organs spreading across the grass- I splatter it wildly around as I land, and as I lay sprawled on my back I have a revelation.

Changing the world makes sense in one lane, but success is only guaranteed if you have another on track.

**

~The Wordsmith

Learning

The sky accepts the emotional state of the clouds…
Pulling them into a loving embrace when they begin to weep.
The compassion between them is unrivaled, and each tear drop splash to the ground-
Is an extension of love… of comprehension.
Even when the sky feels stormy he defers to the whims of each nimbus drifting…
For he has acquired knowledge.
He has consulted with the sun, and discerned their general formation…
He has paced the stars with the moon, gleaning tips on high tides and what the water is sayin…
The sky has pursued wisdom until it cost him his color…
He absorbed more until he was blue in the face, but now he is another…
He applied his giftings and began interpreting the intricately simple singing from the trees..
The door to knowledge has unlocked itself, offering to set him free…
When is a sky not JUST a sky?
When it becomes MORE.
When it transforms into Heavenly stationary for the Lord to script His glory in golden letters too powerful for the mind alone…
When it becomes not just an encounter, but an EXPERIENCE.
Experts are hearing this, and believing the sky to be delirious, but he is not phased- neither furious nor curious…
For the sky now knows.
Caught in his gaze like a bride in a dress, he evokes over you a personal sense of your own wondrous beauty at its best- at all times.
And suddenly you forget that you were looking at the sky at all,
For the greatest gift is to make 2 inches feel like they’re 9 feet tall.

**
~The Wordsmith

Eyes In the Sky

The ozone.

The layer of deadly protection.

We cannot breathe it, and we are doomed not to breathe without it.

It is a shield of toxic fumes… The fire that surrounds the pan…

Only a fool would dive into it.

And only a fool’s fool would put a hole in it, and YET-

Sad day.

Acid rain, and earth decay will turn humanity into a bowl of cereal- lifeway.

We’re throwing our life away…

Rose thorns.

The armed guard of the garden’s queen.

No unworthy hand, or foolish knave shall touch her.

Even the greatest among royals will prick their fingers if imprudent.

A crown is not enough.

A titl can be misspelled easily enough…

Then what do you have?

Even if you manage to strip the fair lady of her guards…

You will only wind up with a hand full of woman’s scorn.

You think you have taken her dignity when actually-

You merely forfeited yours.

Every system has a defense…

Every defense is for our benefit…

But then you try and tweet life hacks-

And the world corroding sin, corrupts everything you’ve been given.

**

~The Wordsmith