Tuesday, February 16, 2021

Tuesday Morning



I think it's important to preserve space for creativity.
Gangway!
Allow the mind to be taken into a place
that is not necessarily physical,
but it prevails on another level,
and sometimes this place which we speak of, is spoken
and unheard of.

Or wished to be heard through another voice,
because ones own is no good.
The idea can't come across in the same tone 
or manner that we wish.

At any rate,
I hope every single person has at least 
one place that is their own and safe.

Keep it to yourself or express the mind
and explain it's value that plasters your hands
or goosebumps the body.
There is no shame in pleasure,
and spill guilt over something else.

This time and in this place is sacred
and needs to be there when it makes sense
and feels so right.
Inspiration is transformative and comes to light
in life around us all.

Inspiration hurts, too.
It sometimes hurts like a one time lightning strike;
a one in a million fulgurite.

For me, there's a whole dimension 
of
                         falling
words

trying to find me fast enough
to create a sense of self and meaning
that I only sometimes pay my respects to.

I try to manipulate compilations of distorted
other humans that I hide in between 
to protect myself from the rain
of emotional distress and desire,
and I wonder what that means to other people.

What would my mother say about this?
This other poet I just met- how might they interpret that?
My third grade best friend,
do they remember my adolescent mind,
and is any piece of it tarnish-free and still here?
I don't know so much.

At a wooden desk,
my arms press into the sealed piece of nature,
and this is a space that feels safe enough
for me to let down a layer of defense
against some masses and release
the tension that's collected through time,
just waiting like bubbles to be popped.

It's a good time right now to allow it out,
not tomorrow at two O'clock 
or next Monday when I can squeeze it in.
It's time when it hits
and if I forget that,
it's a moment I didn't let find me.



~Tina Meeks



 

Wednesday, February 3, 2021

Him

 



Courageously grabbing bits and pieces

from his book of lessons.

Softly spoken theatrical waves in silent abundance.

Thoughtfully gathered words

interpreted into his own world.

Swaying like tall dandelions,

both of us feel "less human".

He stands with understanding the unspoken.



~Tina Meeks