Inner Beauty

The inspiration for this week’s doodle came while I was sitting in a bar in downtown Lexington, KY with some friends. 

I’ve always been a people watcher, and Lexington has no shortage of unique and beautiful faces. Lots of young people, most of them struggling with self love, self image, and self respect. Sad to see, but with the current programming, what would you expect?

“Find Your Inner Beauty.”

 

Love you, mean it.

Hide and Seek

We spent our younger years
Pondering the brutality of love,
Huffing the breath of darkness
Like gasoline fumes,
Basking in the sorrow of morning,
The song of eternity we spent dancing
Hopeless hapless helpless
Amongst shrunken heads
Twinkling in the sky.
The stars and rain formed a chorus,
Voices born before time,
And sang us soft to sleep.

We grew older. In the afternoons,
Rain ruined our favorite shoes,
Made our kisses sweeter,
Made the days longer,
The darkling nights we laid together,
Counting leaks in the ceiling,
Counting thunder clashes,
One. Two. Three. Four––boom.
God was getting closer now.
This was our hide and seek.
We hid from the world,
And the world hid from us

The darkness we didn’t care to see,
Dangers crawling like leaves
Along a sidewalk, scraping,
Hushed and low, ready
To sweep our toes from under us
And throw us to the dirt,
But we’d have none of that.
We were ancient now,
Wise enough to know the difference
In clouds, and clouds.
A storm was coming, true,
But you and I, we’d fare just fine.

And when night came at last,
We’d be sitting hand in hand,
Watching the horizon disappear,
Waiting for the clouds to find us,
And you’d look at me,
Hope in your eyes,
And we’d speak without speaking.
We wouldn’t need words,
Like love, or death, or thank you,
Because we’d have said them all before,
And when the rain started,
We’d hold hands and count, together.

Bloom, Sweet Azalea

Take refuge in the shade,
But don’t let it pale you,

Find safety from the scorch
Of life, the pressure of light,

Of breathing, blossoming,
Becoming something more.

Take the moon and make it yours.
Drink the stars like Evening Primrose,

Moonflower, Glory’s cousin,
Comes to life in darkness,

And so can you.
Bloom, sweet Azalea,

Haste not, but tiresome
Is the day of hiding

From the colors
You were born to show.

Better to paint the land
Brilliant pink,

Better to shed blood,
Better to wilt and wither

Than spend one more second
Being anything less than beautiful you.

Reaching For Repose

My bones ache and sag,
Worn from years of working

In heavy bluegrass autumn air,
Destitute of care, of love,

Hollow through and through,
Lost in doldrums, desperate bloom,

Longing for the earth,
Reaching for repose.

I’m eager for leisure,
Yearning for the dirt,

For the ground gives fortune like no other,
Silence, too, and stillness,

And when it finds me,
As it finds us all,

I’ll be waiting, smiling,
Reaching for repose.

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Marble

Isn’t marble a funny thing?
It’s the great supporter,
A champion of gravity,
The substratum of society,
If you think about it,
And yet, at the same time,
It’s so frivolous, ubiquitous
To the point we use it to hold
Wine bottles and coffee pots,
Plates, knives, and forks,
We eat over the stuff,
Spill crumbs and grease on it,
And it turns the other cheek,
Looks on, never even flinching,
Poised and ready to embrace
The next task, as if bound
By some divine duty to soldier,
Silent, hushed even, onward.
It almost makes you wonder
If that’s what Rodin
Had in mind all along.

Colombian Black

I keep my sugar airtight
In a stainless steel canister,

To keep it from going bad,
But it’s useless, I’m afraid.

No matter how isolated it is,
The world outside is going bad

All around it. It won’t be long
Before the cylinder buckles

And lets in a hint of corruption,
Some taste, a foul flavor,

And then I’ll have to switch
To drinking my coffee straight black.

Indeed, that shall truly be
A day of mourning.

Riptide

Why is it, looking at the stars
Makes you reach for a hand to hold?

I think it’s that feeling you get,
That riptide pull at your bones,

Like if you don’t find something,
Someone, to hold onto,

You might float away
In a sequined ocean,

Never to be seen again,
Carefree and quite happy

To be so
perfectly lost.

Footprints

For her, falling in love
Was just what it sounded like,
A clumsy mishap;
She stepped in a fresh,
Warm pile and tried
To scrape it off
The bottoms of her shoes,
But that’s always
Easier said than done.
Now, she tracks it along
Wherever she goes,
Leaving little footprints
On sidewalks and
In her friend’s apartments.
Sorry,” she says,
“I’ll clean that up.”
But it’s too late.
They all swap glances,
And no one says a thing,
But everyone knows
You don’t just
Wash love off the floor
With lemon water.

Sunny Side Up

I fell asleep on a stuffed leather box,
And woke a moment later in a bar downtown
Guzzling saltwater from the tap.
The barkeep asked what the hell I was doing,
So I told him, “Cleaning my wounds.”
Sure enough, all my teeth were gone
No telling where, though.
My tongue tripped in hole after hole,
Worried more about whistling
Than wedding photos.
I just had to get away from it all,
So I hopped on the first ferry to the new world.
After months of bitter cold, shaking, up-down
Rocking and bad jokes about seamen,
I stepped ashore, washed my feet in loam
Thick as set bacon grease
And I told myself right then and there,
This would be the start of something great.
I grabbed a spoon and a compass,
Pointed my face to the first mountain I saw
And set off to find out
If clouds tasted how I always imagined,
Or even like anything in particular.
It wasn’t long at all before I was digging
My way to the summit, and just as the sun
Broke open, sizzling and smelling sweet,
I woke to my wife standing over me,
Holding a spatula, saying,
“Scrambled, or sunny side up?”