Poetry

Poetry, like the wind, can move us.

The wind is an invisible, yet ever-present force. Sometimes whispering, sometimes thunderous. It can sway trees, create waves, stir things up, shape the world around us.

Poetry, too, is often unseen, but its impact is profound. It has the power to influence minds, challenge perspectives, reshape our understanding and appreciation of existence.

Like a picture, a poem is worth a thousand words. And sometimes I am just too damn lazy to write a thousand words.

Also, there is something to be said about writing in general, and writing poetry in particular (forgive me, I don't make the rules)...


Jamal: Women will sleep with you if you write a book?

Forrester: Women will sleep with you if you write a bad book.

Or even a bad haiku.

This morning, while walking my dog, I came across a broken picture frame on an otherwise pristine mountain trail. The glass was shattered, the frame was busted, even the photograph was torn and scattered. Perhaps for someone, it was the refuse of a sad or angry story. The discarded remains of a once-cherished time that had become too painful to remember.

To me, however, it was simply another piece of thoughtlessly discarded human garbage. It reminded me of the old "Iron Eyes Cody" anti-pollution ad from the 70s. Admittedly, the commercial itself was an example of cultural appropriation, as the actor wasn't even Native American—he just looked the part. But that slow, single tear, however manufactured, still rolls true even after half a century.

While we can't go back in time, we can look back and learn from it. Especially by examining our own footprints. Personal reflection helps us remember where we've been, appreciate where we are now, and as we move forward, become even more responsible and aligned with what truly matters. Both individually and collectively.

Book 1. Saxifraga

Image

Magic is the man who makes his fate...

Image

Listen to your heart. If you cannot hear your heart, JUMP! It will start to beat so fast that you cannot miss it.

Image

Like Harold, all we had to do was pick up our purple crayon.

Image

Though all who wander are not lost, traveling gnomes are nothing without a garden to call their own.

Image

No question I was harder on my son than I was on my daughter. I'm not apologizing.

Image

Robin, the mother of my kids used to ask me "What is Love?" As with her other zen koan question "Why is a hammer?" at the time all I could do was shrug.

Image

With a nod to Dylan Thomas, my first attempt at villanelle.

Image

Didn't even know I had the heavy death of days in me until this one brought it out.

Image

The kid in me.

Image

Just breathe, baby.

Image

Testing the theory.

Image

Playing with the muse's words. She still holds the title.

Image

If home is wherever it is most comfortable to be yourself...

Image

What if I listened to women the way I listened to the waves and birds and trees? The question haunts me.

Image

If it is in relationships we are hurt, it is in relationships we must heal.

Image

This one keeps on morphing.

Image

Spun from a writer writes.

Image

Wes Tyrell gets it. As did my friend Mike Elrick. Miss you, buddy.

Image

With awe for WCW, and another smile for JB. Now if only we had a wheelbarrow...

Image

Nothing has any meaning except the meaning you choose to give it.

Image

"Ah , but a man's reach should exceed his grasp. Or what's a heaven for?" ~ Robert Browning

Image

Yeah, relationships are tough.

Image

Listening to women as to water and the wind, a man can learn a lot.

Image

With thanks to Jamie and the Holmes family.

Image

Like the song, she said we said it best when we said nothing at all.

Image

Funhouse reflections on seeing without saying and vice versa.

Image

Those who know it cannot say it, those who say it cannot know it.

Pathfinder Series

Private Talks with Michael to Help You Find Your Way

© 2023 Michael Highstead