This is the 7th poem written with Bree Leto. It has always been a joy to write with Bree.
Inspiration erupted when you crashed into my orbit I should’ve been glowing and we should’ve been shining Instead We are going backwards and I am watching myself in retrograde Shrinking into the dark spot Tainting the silver moon
I wish some strings were not pulled some turns were not taken I wish the luminescence of your existence was enough to light our path
Two hearts aligned should have beat into a new song of tomorrow But as you shift forward I drift backwards alone
I had a melody, Ben added music and more lyrics, Bree injected vocal harmony. None of us are song writers, we gave it a go. Volia! A collaboration of a song came together.
Let me crawl in your blue sweater Curl up in your grey couch Fill this empty air with a fragrant coffee And the simple sound of your acoustic guitar Sit with me in my sadness and love me as I am
I love you as you are with cloudy eyes of pain Harmonise your breathing with a song Humming in nothingness We’ll wander without aim My shoulder where your soul’s laid bare Your heart tended with care
This is a collaboration with Benjamin Grossman. I asked Ben to write with me in the hope that it would help me to overcome some difficult emotions. I think this poem achieved just that. I love the last line with all capital letters. It is exactly how I feel about emptying negative emotions by putting up a good fight, even it means shouting.
He has always been drawn to cemeteries, from a young age, when he didn’t know fear yet, or the intricacy of life and death. Later in life, he learned the complicated truth about emptiness of the living dead and the totality of a life’s end.
He doesn’t believe in life after death, nor the grand closure death may bring to the human souls. He gets comfortable with death, like birth, breathing, hunger, thirst, sleep, arousal. These sensations are striped down to the natural form of things, without the need for questioning or overthinking.
Tonight, he was motivated to take a walk in the cemetery to get some fresh air, to get unstuck in his creativity, to deconstruct the somewhat overwhelming feelings and all the while numb sensation.
Maybe it’s the blue moonlight reflecting the quietness of the dead, maybe it’s darkness presenting herself as a lover, he broke free from his jeans and linen shirt, exposing his chest to breath freely. He lay on his bare back, let the moisten soft grass caress his over sensitive skin, he felt the softness and teasing. The flexing of muscles drove the lawn bugs to hiding.
He experienced a surge of energy from the earthing, sparks of electricity coursing through his body, building up in his torso. Without any conscious awareness, he started to stroke himself with firm pressure while staring into the void of the inky sky. His palm pulsating in sync with the blood-filled veins, without knowing how close he got, the flash of shooting stars brought about his eruption.
Slowly he began to notice his own breathing; the steady rhythm of his heartbeats returned; the feeling of an uncomplicated emptiness stayed with him in the deep of the night, in the cemetery filled with the serenity of the dead.
When I asked Bree to write together, she generously shared with me a poem she’d already crafted. I wrote in with her effortlessly like a little leaf floating along a river.
It’s difficult to find the words some days I’m a thesaurus full of blank pages Trying to dig between the emptiness old stories stare back at me characters having a banter party without me There must be unfinished business with those ghosts of my past They invade my waking moments eating up my creativity thieving all the phrases that used to live inside my mind
I gather my strength focus my weary mind willing the words to come back Surely if I shake the past hard enough they’ll release all they hold captive and start falling like cherry blossoms covering every crevice and crack of the page
Writing with others are both inspiring and fun. I hope you enjoy this collaboration between me and Bree. Reading Bree’s work is like walking into her garden in every season. Secret Thoughts Within
An exhausted heart,
asking no more for rain
A shameful shadow
deserving no reprieve from disdain
A drip,
running down from the heavens to my soul
A refreshment,
replenishing the drought within me
A book,
doing just that to rescue me
A story,
unfolding before my eyes
making my heart sing again
Flicker of Thoughts 