You potted plant

You came up against ivy

Growing up the wall

Throughout every trellis

And you felt the highlight

Of every single insecurity

And so you seized the moment

To ridicule and spit teach

And you felt brave

Cause you had an audience

But tickle tee hee

You potted plant

The crowd sees you

You have no roots

You have no growth

You have no spread

You have no gumption

Though you have been given

All the sun

All the water

All the care you could ever need

You are quite content

To be a potted plant

Doomed to die

Wither and die

Sad

And on top of it all

You’re mean

When fear dragon runs ‘round again

Sending’ me runnin’ to them mountains

This mind flails, flutters free to the core

Of a dream dreamers dream long before

It’s real. Real enough to feel real.

It’s real. Real enough to feel real.

A fool may say and often may he say

That perception is reality day after day

But I back creatures back to the page

Wont smell smoke on their breath today.

It’s real. Real enough to feel real.

It’s real. Real enough to feel real.

I never would have known

The neighborhood wasn’t safe

The overgrown trees and brick row houses

Were my heaven

And with that church next door

And the fence behind

Our little yard felt like a wide open space

The busy street to the south

Felt miles away

And the shopping center

Was just noise

And we’d run so fast

That we couldn’t see

And the dog would always win

And though you’d always

try to scare us

With stories of strangers

staring through our windows

And visitors in the night

With threats of guns

That little house was our home

And our pounding hearts

Never believed you anyway

You had quite a way

Of unleashing your unsettled heart

On the happiness of boys

Which is precisely why

We one or two or three a year

I want something

To flow from my soul

That God-space

I want something

To flow freely and true

Without tripping over

Facade or costume

Success or opportunity

I want the long ah

To pronounce itself

God-singed and obvious

So that a crowd is touched

By only God for God

And this is true and also false

With one fist open and one closed

Cause ego still needs some dying

But know that it is mostly true

And only true

In the wide open space

Of my true self

I really do want a refreshing

For the benefit of lost family

To flow from my soul

That God-space

I do not compel

Just like the son

Was not sorry

Would not apologize

So the father

Beat and beat

And would still

Be whipping

Except finally

He saw

He could not compel

I do not compel

Like when lips

Refuse

To recant

Even in death

As a weak fool

Who doesn’t know

He is a fool

Orders the deal

Yet sees

He cannot compel

I do not compel

For one will do

What one

Will do

No voice

Can live

In a vacuum

It is quite

Hopeless

Excepting

An inside help

I want an awful lot

From You

It’s true

Lucky for me

You can keep up

You are able

And in that

I take comfort

Cause I’m a mess

Unto myself

I’m a mess

Within myself

For I flutter

And I fling

More and More

It seems

Much like a gnat

By a lake

In a southern town

Mid-summer

And if You said

I annoy you

“Oh, that kid”

I’d completely

Understand

Yet i do know

I really do know

That you have

A greater capacity

To handle me

Than me

Or anyone else

And for that

I’m glad

No wonder he was a snake

Heroes know no slither

Tonight the car flew

Like a missile

Locked on target

And I was anybody

As far as man was concerned

But he, that snake

Could read the stars

He’s cunning and good

At connecting the dots

Which is bad for boy wonder

Cause nobody sees

What they don’t care to see

And nobody assists

Brave boys who aren’t shy

Brave boys who are limitless

Oh, how rich it would be

To be a cute, funny,

Curly headed simpleton.

No doubt there’s some shed skin

Scattered here and there near him

But let’s not pretend

Anyone could compare a few skins

With the viper pit of day and night

How loud the growl

Before the tide turns

And they line up

To get mad

And they line up

To moan

But wait a beat

A short beat

And all they

Every one of them

Stand on up

Rise on up

And perform

A grand show

And all of them know

But will never say

It was the note

It was the words

That were chosen

To say what had

To be said

Just in time

So that simply

Mediocre work

Wouldn’t erode

The baby culture

Ah well

He was a mean king

Til he died

And left us all

But then

As people recalled

He wasn’t so bad

My earliest desires were to be a husband, a dad, and a poet.  This blog represents a bit of my work.  I write to capture moments and study characters who have become special or interesting to me.  Some poems are fictional.  Some are real.  In them, you’ll read a bit of reality, exaggeration, pain, thrill, regret, trouble, and wonder.  If there is a general theme, it is simply a basic curiosity about people and human behavior.  I trust there will be growth from the first to the last, growth in my regard for others, empathy, adaptability, character, holiness and love.

Feel free to follow my blog or simply scroll through from time to time.  This work matters no more or less than any one person’s view.  I am only one person.

-JTK