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Bekki 🐝

Thinking Poems

Airborne Instruction

She had not considered
the way her struggles nourished her,
kneaded her stubbornness
into fragrant bread for mana.
There is wisdom in challenge.

She had not realized
the way her pains would assist her,
pause her mouth and still her ego
when friendship called for sensitivity.
There is respect in pain.

She had not imagined
the way her laughter would complete her,
pull her out of dark drafts of despair
into a moment of hopeful sunlight.
There is intelligence in comedy.

She had not anticipated
the way her eccentricity would teach her,
make her learn to drum a tune
not in keeping with that of others.
There is value in being yourself.

Thinking Poems

Grace Defined

Grace is not worn by beauty
though, beauty is its face.
It is the portrait of time
recalling back to the things
it has learned and overcome.
Grace is a shaking off
of old scars that now become lace
to decorate her soul.

Grace is not a young art
though graceful can make
a youthful appearance,
flimsy as a shrug.
Youthful grace
is untried
and thus, often defeated
by vanities whispers
that turn grace into illusion.

True grace has lines
wrinkles, bumps, and fissures
artfully enhanced by painted gold
because tried things are more beautiful.
This is Grace by fire.
Grace earned by painful degrees.
Inch by inch
and tear by tear.

Grace is not worn by beauty
it is the true source of it.

Note*

When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something’s suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful. ~Barbara Bloom

Thinking Poems

A very good height indeed.

Days tick by.
Caterpillar questions on the fly.
Say hello, but mean goodbye.
Look both ways
before crossing your eyes.
Do you catch more honey
or catch more flies?

Oh sour  insanity!
Boxed in by an endless loop.
Reaching into that place,
inside my memory,
that is not yet written.
Just ask my diary.
He knows blank pages
and pregnant pauses.

Extra points if you can figure out the origin of the title, which also explains the poem a bit more. Your only hint? 3 inches high.

Thinking Poems

Small steps

One foot placed before the other,
mindful of the stacked domino’s
that long to topple over
creating kinetic chaos
and black and white submersion.

His face is mine to memorize.
Though, he shades his blushes,
the true beauty lies
in his ability to calm turbulent water
in the midst of tempest teacups.

One blink leads to two blinks.
One smile to wider compassion.
Laughter is like something mystical.
Creating bridges that wander
from weapons.

One foot placed,
ever so gingerly,
in front of the other.
Step mindful of tiny flowers
that strain to see the sun
and linger on droplets
of dream.

Inspiration · Poems For Friends · Thinking Poems

Charles Mostly

A worn passage in a much loved book
with a spine that has relaxed with time
but still manages, easily, to hold itself together.
Though, that easily is not always so easy
he seeks to appear so
for the sake of warm fingers that clasp him.

When placed on a shelf he leans,
ever so lightly, to the side.
Not because he needs the support
but because he senses others do
but are too proud.
Besides, he likes the view.

This book is you. You are a timeless classic.
Thank you for letting me read your words.

fierce poems · Spiritual Poems · Thinking Poems

Equal foot.

Oh Lord, to watch that face go awry
as you list to one side,
trying to hide the pockmarked
trail of your past.

There is beauty in the sighing
The deep blisters that show.
The melted skin turned to stone.
There is beauty in the bad.

Heeding whispers
that say the opposite of despair,
your lies live in my ears
and I tempt them back
for I need their illusion.

Don’t wrest with control
let it die and your sins with it.
Have I once claimed superiority?
Have I once claimed clean?
Have I once claimed spotless?

Leave my i’s dotless.
Fuck the spotless.
Let there be messy
Let there be shout.
Let that weight fall.

Cheeky Poems · cranky poems · Poems About Change · Thinking Poems

Rippit

Damn,
I was going to be this way
but the boat tilted
and the shifting
made changes
to my script.

Damn,
I was going to be honest
but you want me to lie
and the scars leave traces
that not even I can hide.

Damn,
your breath is too close
I cannot find mine.
Either kiss me or back off
you damned deviant.

Damn,
my heart thumps too loudly
even you can hear it.
I need a distraction.
Someone yell fire.

Damn,
I was going to be cooler
but my clumsy truth
got caught in my zipper.
This is gonna hurt.–B<3

Spiritual Poems · Thinking Poems

Origami lesson

I fold myself inward
attempting to fit my thoughts
into the smallest possible space.

Like the crane, I simplify.
I become a paper image to the eye
ready for flight despite them.

Simpler goals
compartmentalized
into one step before another.

“You must turn the first page, to get to the second page.”

Love Poems · Memory Poems · Poems For Friends · Thinking Poems

The opening of a door

What is this feeling
that follows you around.
Wraps you up in cotton-fresh
memories of the past.

What is this gentle nudge
that wakes you from deepest sleep
to wander gently across your prow
advising smoother sailing.

What is this subtle tingling
that signals thinking fissures
that burst with sunlight
flash with something  joyful.

What is this thing
that teaches simplicity
that warms pale  forgotten skin
lets hope  in, where it belongs.

Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.Marsha Norman

Spiritual Poems · Thinking Poems

Open up

There lies within the spirit
an endless stream of serenity
that waits for your parched wanderings
to claim its cooling essence.

There lies within the heart
an abundant well of kindness
waiting for your eager offering,
the sharing of your bounty.

There lies within the deepest dream
a priceless bundle of belief
waiting for your utterance,
your releasing of its tether.

Spiritual Poems · Thinking Poems

Mindmap

Tell me why my mind travels
from thought to thought
the way others travel from place to place.

I linger over oceans,
vistas, undiscovered countries
and wonder, wander, witness
so many new places I could capture
had I a camera.

I hear the whisper of breezes
through page-less trees
as they navigate me
through bleak and blame.
They lead my feet into hopeful passages.

I discover new cultures,
new languages that beckon shyly,
asking me to give them voices
to give them history
to give them labels that stick to foreheads.

I wander into my darker regions
and embrace my deepest depressions,
wrong impressions, forgotten lands.
I let my thinking guide me forth
to change my own equations
as I wander my personal equator.

fierce poems · Thinking Poems

Staying

I will stay me, thanks.

I like these messy moments
these mismatched socks
these wooly coat covered treks
into cold and rainy bus trails.

I like these cash conversations
that wonder at their phrasing
and flick over intimate
to linger slightly on whimsy.

I like these K dramas
laughing or hooting
as the night gets deeper issues
swept slightly forward.

I will stay me, thanks.

I like these musical numbers
legs trotting the rhythm
keeping step with my drummer
who erratically embraces his dysfunction.

I like these sugar highs, and worried woes
these fingers, feet, and toes
pointed toward the head of the bed
dialing up a memorized number.

I like these engrossed reads
that falter my hearts amusement
and directs my tearful eye toward
sentimental understanding.

I will stay me, thanks.

Spiritual Poems · Thinking Poems

Linger

My laughter is a hopeful beat
waiting out the ponderous heat
that warms and spills,
ever like coffee on my lapel,
as it slips soulfully into my throats
tight spaces.

Let this eye remain dry
because I will it so.
I know that pressure mounted,
spring-loaded consciousness
forever brushing my hair
out of my squinting eyes.

There is a book within my pauses
so many histories recorded
while I sat or rested, softly,
staring into the back of my brain
conjuring dreams and confrontations
with the vespers of my battles.

My past is one ponder repeated
never quite completed…or forgotten.
I finger gently the worn trails of it
accustomed to each line that flows
from my heart to my head,
and back again.

How to explain that this is not solemnity
but a comfort, a blessed sacred,
a soothing realm that knows me
and doesn’t care
if I stare overlong at it
wondering at its presence and its particulars.

 

Love Poems · Memory Poems · Paul Squires (My mentor) · Poems · Poems For Friends · Sad Poems · smiley poems · Thinking Poems

Squirrely Squires

Lest I forget your manner
your twinkling opening statement
your winsome wicked tongue
inserted firmly into a cheek.
Lest I forget, remind me.

Lest I forget your wonder
your bubbling cauldron insight
your sharp without the biting
your unique way of sighting.
Lest I forget, remind me.

Lest I forget your warming
your personal cover
your quacking laughter
your sparkling effervescence.
Lest I forget, remind me.

Slam doors
bang cupboards
haunt me like a poltergeist
but never Paul, never,
let me forget you.

cause I need my friend beside me
in spirit as he was in life
full of spirit.

(I miss you)

Friendships · My favorite person · The Man with 5 Typewriters · Thinking Poems

resonance

You are somewhat lost
like a page missing a book
uncertain of where this tale is going
or how much dialog is needed.

Black and White is not your manner.
Shades of grey follow you around
mocking your dusty shoes
while begging you for attention.

There are complex dictionaries
living inside your spine
spouting ambiguities
and ceaseless conjunctives.

Tilt that head and contemplate me.
For I know you intimately
as a soul knows a smile
despite the lack of meeting.

 

Friendships · My favorite person · Poems · The Man with 5 Typewriters · Thinking Poems

Meditation on the point of decision.

Like a loose thread
trying to hold on.
Uncertain of its belonging.
It’s new place in the makeup of the universe.

Strange worries of being lost
balanced with knowledge
that it is going somewhere
even if where is not written.

Like a pause in conversation,
a seeking silence,
waiting for the next sentence
the next beginning.

Like a soft wind.
Sad goodbyes in the breeze.
Hello could be pleasant
or painful.

What are we embracing?
A need to let go
A need to begin
A need to look forward
instead of backward.

Alone or together…
these steps remind me of your shadow
memories, I am learning,
are the gift of change.

Cheeky Poems · cranky poems · Dream Poems · fierce poems · Inspiration · Laughter poems · Love Poems · Memory Poems · Poems · Poems About Change · Poems For Friends · Sad Poems · Sexy Poems · Silly Poems · smiley poems · Spiritual Poems · Thinking Poems

Looking for Poet Interviews

I am looking to add new poet interviews onto my blog under the Poet Interviews link. Please submit your article or interview to Bekki.bedow@gmail.com. Please provide a photo with the interview if possible. If you are a poet and wish to submit your own interview please use the questions listed on the Interview page with a photo of yourself .(Please bear in mind that inappropriate photos will not be accepted and may result in the entire interview being scrapped..keep it clean)

Cheeky Poems · fierce poems · Poems · Thinking Poems

Don’t mess with mama

What’s it to you if I love you?
Did I ask you to reciprocate?
Ask for declarations of undying fealty?

My love is my own business and I own it true
I will never lie to my heart,
though, I may lie to you.

You do not need do anything,
except leave me be.
With my sighs and my thoughts,
my unending contemplations,
about what makes this quirk heart work.

Love is not for expectation.
It does not need response.
It exists for itself.
It is something truer,
than your sides I do not love as keenly.

This too shall pass…and if it does not
that’s none of your beeswax either!
you dig?

Inspiration · Poems · Poems About Change · Spiritual Poems · Thinking Poems

Cleaning out the closets

She wonders and wanders
across corridors and closets
as she contemplates
and separates
the differences in her spirit.

In one pile sits her curiosity
perched on the bed like a bouncy puppy
awaiting only a word, a permission,
to go warbling about the premises.
Tail wagging his bottom, like a gleeful flag.

In another pile sits her intellect
figuring and fragmenting,
coming closer to the computer
with each new edition.
Bytes and bits of something
twinkling within it’s folding.

In the brightest pile goes affection
(creativity defected the curiosity pile
and has come to hug the Matthew sweaters.)
With splashes and giggles, this pile has the wiggles
and the somewhat tentative parts
that stood about the fringes
got sucked firmly in by the Clendon family trousers,
never to be a lonely sock again.

The other notable pile is depression.
He slunk down under the bed
(there are only a few articles left there
and that made him..well depressed.)
He knows his days are numbered
knows just what clothes she will give away
and what clothes will become antique treasures.