photo captured by Rick Harrison via Flickr
wild is she • the book • august 2017
◇◇ wilder poetry is rooted by words and curated to inspire • view the wilder feed to experience the visual story ◇◇
#wilderpoetry • @wilderpoetry
I used to have an illustrated version of the Bible... Those were my bedtime stories. I remember reading about angels and how they looked after people. So I asked my grand about it once; if we could see them, what they looked like, where could we find them. She told me they were anywhere. That God couldn't be everywhere all the time and even god would tire. Therefore it was up to angels to look after people. She told me they mainly took the shape of birds. Any kind. And that if one happened to land by your feet, it was the grace of god watching over you. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Sometimes, the people we love would go up there, and after passing some sort of angel test, they could come back and watch over you too. So when I was 5, I wanted to be a bird. I wanted to fly everywhere. I wanted to look after the people I love and when they were sad, I wanted to land on their feet to let them know they weren't alone. That someone was out there. And somehow it'd make it all okay. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀On days like today I wish I were a bird so I could land close to your feet, and let you know you aren't alone, that someone out there cares enough for your well being. And although there's nothing I can do to stop you or anyone from feeling what you're feeling, all I want is for you to know you don't have to do it all on your own... ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀We are chained to our worries like birds to the sky. I am you, you are mine. Little more, nothing less
I had a thought occur,
Just a brief encounter with a memory, or perhaps some speculation, a specter in the window of a building in periphery aware just barely of a presence in the single drop of rain from clouds above of the variety that thin and disappear before the liquid they precipitate can even hint at hitting ground. An instant passed. A fugative perception of the sort purloined from distant rifts where rivers carve out canyons so the wind can pick up speed. A hurried whisper to disturb the stable workings of my logic and effect some sort of evanescent worry that what touched my thoughts so fleetingly was something consequential. Yet no amount of concentration propagated any major observation of this thought that passed me by. And just I had given up the effort to illucidate this ad hoc inkling irking me I understood at last that what it was I recollected simply hadn't yet occurred.
"I hope I never get tired of the night sky, of thunderstorms, of watching cream make galaxies in my coffee. I hope I never grow to be someone who can no longer see the small beautiful things." #nightsky#wordporn
Check out my latest Oration. A poem I call "Fitness" Go Hard or Go Home.🦋
"I feel, The fire in my lungs and the soreness of muscle, accompanied by the summoned fatigue cast on my body, from my motions of need, are all felt now as I stretch and I breathe. I wipe the sweat from my brow, humbled by the God like ability to transform my body and mind through consistency. Tiredness tries to keep me bound, but motivation forcibly, removes her hands from me, lifting me to her lips, as I take her by the hands, feeling calluses on her palms, giving each rough surface a kiss. Each day the mirror reflects a subtle shift, a gentle molding of my being unfolding, like origami cranes engraved with hidden notes given to the anxious lovers anonymously. He unfolds the left wing gently, a reminder of the benefit of slowness in technique. She bends the right wing like the contortionist, whose movement mimics the misunderstood serpent, who weeps as she bends around the oak, taken note of all accounts of her misinterpretation. This lesson of flexibility, is a testament to the elasticity of a mind being stretched by a new idea and self same with the body that is directed by that mind. As our muscles contract and tear, rest and heal. Each dead lift makes us more alive. Each squat, is followed by a lift, to return the weighted Love, whose only wish is to find its place among those whom have found theirs, and to repeat that motion, with devotion, obtaining gains of mutual change. The alchemy we perform today will transmute the tomorrow we've sought with tired bodies and minds repeating our mantra as we push up, sit up, and box jump for the answers. "I will be fitter. I will be faster. I will be stronger." We once thought ourselves to be weak, but no longer." - Ricardo Hanley Jr.