Sometimes
when the door slams
and the house wobbles,
we forget the stew
bubbling happily on the stove.
We forget the scent
of roasting carrots.
We forget the light
dancing softly on the candle.
Sometimes
when the light turns red
and two horns joust in reply,
we forget the fresh cut flowers
on the passenger seat.
We forget we were
celebrating an abiding love.
We forget the other reasons
for this plane are moot.
Sometimes
when birds are scuttling
from branch to branch
like unsettled children
with a strange babysitter,
and the sky above
is turning in green circles,
we forget our breath.
We forget eternity
is in a glance.
We forget the moment
whipping past
will never be repeated.
We forget.
Sometimes.
When someone owes me
and hasn’t paid,
that’s when I forget to ask:
how can I serve you
from the deepest center
of my being?
When someone has let me down,
that’s when I forget the truth:
this One has traveled through
more space and time than
you or I could ever fathom
to be present in this moment.
It has been a long and difficult journey.
Would they like a cup of tea?
Sometimes
I forget this simple truth:
silence is never offended
by the sounds passing through it.
Embracing Forever 
Our posts today are exceedingly similar, even down to imagery. It seems we are surfing the same frequency, sir, and I find myself wondering if I am simply a strange babysitter trying to pass as mom….ha! No matter. Either way, I will smell the flowers and the carrots, and voraciously slurp the stew from your cauldron of life. 🙂
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Well thank you, Andrea. Your post left me filled with the sensation of an overflowing fullness peeking through the mundane, a magic using the props of the ordinary to cast its spell and thereby transforming it entirely. I have to confess to having felt so harried of late that I am digging for it rather than dancing with it– finding my way back by reaching through frustrations and fragilities to the sanctified heart of it all. So, I do almost feel as though we’re feeling the same, or contacting the same, but I’m reaching for it through some shedding skins, coming back from these places of forgetfulness, from places of feeling stretched thin or pinched by the world’s ideals. You are reaching from the other side. We’ve contacted at the gleaming heart of it all… 🙂
Michael
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Beautiful! oxoxoox
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Thank you, Sharon. Sorry for the delay in responding. Been a very busy week. Thank you so much for stopping by and leaving a thread to follow. 🙂
Michael
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Your poem is what I call. Gathering the seconds….I really love your imagery and how you use words….and your thinking pattern…very impressed…..steffy
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Thank you, Steffy. When time permits, I would be interested to hear more about what you mean by “gathering the seconds.” It makes me think about harvesting the flashes of time and glimpsing so much in a seedpod so little. This way of not being fooled by dimensionality lies at the heart of creativity I think, of cultivating insight that comes in a flash, of seeing through difficulty…
Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts.
Michael
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Sometimes
I forget
as blind pixels mass,
tumbling
upwards.
Like a losing memory
evaporating
the lost cause
of another’s thoughts.
An image.
A life trajectory.
Which was seen?
The tumble of lights?
Or the tumbling man?
[ I’ll get my coat 😳 ]
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No! Do, please stay, friend!
A life trajectory, an image… a blown cover. Stepping out from behind the tumble of lights, from behind the tumbling man, from behind the pixelated skies– after all else passes away, the Friend remains.
Michael
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Thanks Michael, I’ll slip my coat off then; though I’m not sure if we’re perhaps (both?) getting lost in metaphor and allusion here to be frank. My feeble attempt at a poem – oh alright then, my list of very short sentences – was rather a way of questioning whether one sees the imagery of your words alone, or the man (Michael Mark) behind the imagery. I thought I could get away with ‘tumbling man’ as you’ve publicly been quite candid about the demands work has been making upon you of late.
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Perhaps we were getting lost in metaphor, but at least we were doing so together, and I for one was having fun. Sometimes speaking poetically results in a lot of slow head nods, quizzical glances, and an agreement to get together again in a week. 🙂 I was answering your metaphor with one that was trying to say that beyond my transitory, harried state– beyond the cover identity of the tumbling man– there is a man grateful (far beyond the range of my poetry) for the attention you offer here. It is deeply appreciated.
Michael
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Aha, all is now clear; I should have thought more deeply . . . or literally . . . I’m not sure which.
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I suggest we agree to drop any “should have’s” that may appear between us. Every moment of authentic recognition in the present will do it’s spooky quantum work and take care of all the rest. 🙂
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RAH! (write on, coat off! having fun reading from the peanut gallery… )
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wow…so beautiful. thank you michael! aleya
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Many thanks, Aleya!
Michael
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Michael–as you say to Andrea, I think that all of us who read your words are longing to meet at the heart of it all, and your poetic soul is more than a guide. It is an illumination. Thank you.
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Thank you, John. I am truly touched. These kind sentiments and your latest Cloud Haiku image are enough to wipe clean the rigors of an entire week. Blessings to you in your travels.
Michael
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Your images serve me from the deepest center with the images of the flowers in my passenger seat. I find that they stay upright, even at sudden stops. They wave their tender stamens in the air, saying – even when you forget, we are still right here! remember, marga, breathe!
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Those are the types of flowers I dream about, and sometimes forget. But you’re right, they remain by our side, waving gently despite our lurching lives, (how did I ever get my driver’s license???), whispering about everything we’ve forgotten that will never leave our side. Your words here have expanded my grasp of what our Heart Sun Muse was trying to say…
Michael
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