Death and Time

Graphic drawing of white cross, with red roses strewn, and yellow stars above on black background.

“R.I.P.” Graphic by Estela.

© 2017

Death and Time

Death loves us.
She is there.
Always.
In the shadows.  Waiting.

In our most
vulnerable moment,
she scoops us up
and carts us home,
to that place
of mystery.

She is mother.
She sets us free
for a temporary
earth walk.

We are spirits.
Our body is a vessel.

Our purpose
is to touch other spirits.
To learn and teach,
seek love, joy, satisfaction.

Life is pain, struggle, challenge.

Love and joy is our relief.
Hope, our opiate.

Time is god.
He holds all,
everyone,
everything,
in life,

all knowledge,
purpose,
power,
and fate.

I wrote these words inspired by this graphic I made. The graphic was inspired by my friend’s grief over losing her mother, and the news about Chris Cornell, lead singer of Soundgarden. (Story is he committed suicide.) Man, that made me sad.

I didn’t know what I was writing. I felt my way through it. I guess it’s a poem. So, I titled it, Death and Time.

I had not wanted to post poems anymore. Magazines won’t take previously published work, and posting is publishing. But, what the hell. This one won’t go on the “submit” list.

These days I open mic only once a month, and I haven’t been asked to feature in a year.

To be “legit,” I guess, requires an MFA, MA, teaching, and/or sufficient publication. Or, maybe, a whole lot of ego to promote and sell yourself. (Like Tao Lin. I’m still not sure what to think of his work. Tai Pei felt soulless, and EEE, EEE, EEE felt childish. Yet, I still plan to read more of his work. Because he’s so popular, and I’m trying to figure out what the hell it is about him.)

I only have a BA. I’m super shy. Super insecure. But also have this self-assurance about my work. I got started “late.” (Working toward this goal.) So, here I am at this age, still trying to get there. I’m a turtle, as I’ve said before. I’m a turtle crawling through this life journey, like dump-ti-dump, Image of small turtle.dump-ti-dump. “Dai, is this the right way? Oops, wrong way. Lem’me go this way.” Dump-ti-dump, dump-ti-dump…

I attended a book release on Saturday. Someone I met years ago got a book of short stories published. He’s a beautiful writer. Teaches grade school, little kids. He’s an excellent teacher, too. A beautiful role model. I first read my poetry in public at a poetry reading series he hosted when he was a grad student. (Over 20 years ago!) He finally found a publisher. He used to get depressed about not being published. (If you care who your publisher is, it’s harder to find the right match.) He was so happy at his book release. I’m happy for him. All his friends and family are happy for him. His book release was a joyous time.

Awe, man, I’d like that too. To feel that joy. Go, Turtle, go.

♠        ♠        ♠        ♠

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About Poet Dressed In Black

Poet living in San Francisco. I like telling stories too. I'm an introvert, and I like, need, solitude. I find that depth is a rare quality. Someone once said to me, "You're a very deep person. It must be really hard living like that. Most people aren't that deep." I said, "Yeah. It is hard. It really is."
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