Pencil in a Spa

planes that fly away from me
as the sun leaves my sky
dont know what i want to be
when i finally grow up

who was it who made me
one day at a time
back in the good old days
before my nights had eyes

im not sure i know me
as well as i know you
theres too much
i dont want to see
how my mirrors need cleaning

someday i’ll be all gone
vacant from my body envelope
just floating on the ether
waiting for time to end

’til then i’ll just float
like a pencil in a spa
waiting for my next words

copyright 2020: all rights reserved

photo: Pencil in a Spa (Lewisburg, 2020)

Thankful

from within my soul
from around my world
words become stanzas
letters typed in html mode
one picture added in visual

eyes reading my words
minds visualizing my worlds
souls embracing my feelings
allowing our poetic essences
to mingle ‘cross virutal
space in a timeless dance

here and now please know
i love you all
for looking into this soul
this life this journey
i am grateful to you all
for reading more than my words
and accompanying me
if only for these few momemts
if only in this forum

blessings to you all
beyond this day of gratitude

copyright 2019: all rights reserved

photo: November Spa in Rain (Lewisburg, 2019)

Hollywood Pitch Boy

twenty years of abuse and neglect
of child soldiering
of suicide attempts
all in one memoir

the nice kids ‘cross the table
sit slacked-jaw in shock
wondering aloud
about a movie
about a limited series
romancin’ my intellectual property

shit, what do they know
no one ever put a gun to their heads
no one ever raped them
ain’t never been homeless

just lookin’ for content
searchin’ for the next big thing
that’s not wearin’ a cape
’cause no one can compete
with Marvel
and Netflix is big right now

me?
writer
survivor
psychologist
healing and evolving
even thirty years later

still, i love the game
of being a hollywood pitch boy
of sittin’ with ’em for those wonderful five minutes
when everythin’ is real

from ‘cross our table they make promises that time and circumstances repeatedly erode and disappear
everywhere but in my soul

copyright 2019: all rights reserved
photo: two lights at night (Tioga, PA: November, 2019)

Victory

Lillian 8 19 2017 Chimney Rock 1st

My battle won marked by the calm of surrender
No celebratory words or songs did I shout
As the oppressive miraculously became inconsequential
Layers of pain melted away and flowed like dirtied waters
Off my skin
Off my soul
And became forever purified
At these moments of ascendancy
When bells were to ring in celebration
And my soul would discover the highest mountaintops
On which to spread my new-found and infinite bliss
Would make my once dreary world
Would make my once dreary soul
Dance with a child’s delight

Victory
Sweet sweet victory
How I had waited with all my endless hope
All my rabid persistence and obsessive planning
To even see any sign of you emerging from life’s hellish fog

Victory
You had intermittently exposed yourself
Before desperation and despair had obscured you from my sight
To prevent you once again from accompanying me
So many conditions everyone everything told me
I would have to meet
I would have to know
I would have to be
Before
Before
Before
I could have a fleeting moment
Of hearing your voice
Of even feeling worthy
Of your briefest whisper
Of your encouraging word
Before evil and despair
Resumed their suffocating siege

Victory, now that you have made yourself
So clearly my eternal companion
And all evil has been
Defeated
Chased
Transmuted
Transcended
Annihilated
Re-framed
Forever condemned
From its perches in my waking world
And its numerous thrones in my dream world
Where its myriad grotesqueness stared me in my every face
In all the lives I lived was living and planned on living
To now merely squishing under my feet like warmed moist beach sand
I am lost, lost, lost
In a land of sunsets and pleasant surprises
Tranquility and love

What becomes of this warrior
When all my battles have been won?
When I have calmed my roughest of storms?
When I have transformed my deepest of fears into karmic punchlines
And my loving adventures have
Exterminated my fears and hyper-vigilance?

This redemption I do not know
For so long the weapons of war
I have held in my hands
In my soul
That my not grasping them feels odd
And renders me naked, vulnerable
And not nude, innocent
As Victory embraces me

Victory, how odd your warmth feels
Against my skin
Against my soul
In our forever embrace

© Copyright 2017 by John David Higham. All rights reserved.

Photo: Lillian’s First (Sedona: Chimney Rock Trail Looking North: August 19, 2017)

Morning Arrived Cold

October 1 2014 053

Not quite Saturday,
Sunrise was late.
Dreams faded away.

Morning arrived cold.
Leaves now brown,
Grass dew-soaked.

Dishes needed cleaning.
Fatigue’s surprise visit
Paused The Matrix.

Poems were incomplete,
Essays partially read.
Meditation only contemplated.

Morning arrived cold.
Time of without,
Of no longer;
Not of loss,
Not of wanting,
But an intermission.