new dance

Photo by Carol Jean Townsend

  There is a moment when you cease to moping and say, “Enough of this, let the dance begin,”
  and you lift up your pipes or your guitar or your tambourine or clap your hands and raise your arms and just let out the energy in your soul,
  a precious melody a joyous shout a harmonic convergence of all the love you ever felt and all the want and all the give
  and oh what a dance you dance and oh what a song you sing and where have you been, all my love of life, it’s good to feel you again.

It is a dance with a bit of an ache for what’s lost, 
but a dance with a hint of a smile of remembrance, 
for the dance will never be the same again, 
but the new dance will have it own sparkle, 
and the new dance will find its own way, 
and the new dance will soak up the best of the old 
and find its own moment in time.

And when the melody’s spent and the lyrics are spoken, 
the magic is fading and the spells have been broken, 
the happiness gained with the new dance’s rhythms 
will settle like fine wine on grateful old souls. 
No melancholy can last against a dance such as this, 
and the sobs over loss turn to sobs of relief 
with a smile through the tears that can’t be denied 
and life goes on — life resumes — 
built on a foundation more solid than we knew at the time.

What are these tears, then? What is the point?
The sun shines on memories and present moment alike —
the memories feed the moment and make it more rich
than it ever could be without them —
the moment more precious for what came before
and the future shines waiting —
let’s go explore

Stop me if you’ve heard this one

It happened again —
a little bit of flotsam,
perhaps the start of a poem
or a little prose poem
or just a thought
that struck my fancy

and I even
had my journal and pen
next to my bed.

All I had to do
was turn on the light,
jot it down,
and go back to trying
to sleep.

I lay in the dark
repeating the flotsam
to myself,
fell asleep,
and woke up without it.


I’ve been staring at screens too long.
Yes, I’ve been staring at screens too long.
Don’t get me wrong,
It’s just that
I’ve been staring at screens too long.

Look up — Look up —
You’re staring at a screen!
Look up — Look up —
Do you know what I mean?

We stare at screens as if they hold all the answers.
Now, yes, there are some answers in there, but do you really think there are so many answers in there that the screen deserves your undivided attention?
I don’t think so, no, not even close.

I’ve been staring at screens too long —
Blinded by the light-emitting diode, another runner in the night —
running, running, running
till all goes dark 

I’m no Whitman

I scream consciousness.
I scream aloud, awake, 
and I am here.

   Where do I go when I fall asleep,
   Where do I go when my eyes blur over,
   Where do I go when the world scrolls by,
   Where do I go in the rabbit hole,
   Where do I go when the talking heads
   Tell me a story that just isn’t true
   And everyone nods and says,
. “Of course — I see.”

I can’t say, but
I do know now
that I am here.

   Woe to the liars who forged the chains,
   Woe to the liars who told the tales,
   Woe to the liars who held us back,
   Woe to the liars who closed our minds,
   Woe to the liars in the light of day
   When the truth of their crimes
   Is so easily seen
   But everyone frowns and says,
   “I don’t see it.”

The moment passes,
My consciousness fades,
Yet I am here.
   Where do I go?