The Lifting Love

I peer into a room from above
and see lots of little people
all running around, headless.
They’ve lost their heads.

Hands like pincers open; shut.
Needing any scrap of life they
can gnaw on, and they rummage
through the waste of joy.

I wish so dearly I could lift these
poor children out of their cage,
but they see themselves as free
under a multitude of their words; breathless.

I am no better, and I am no worse.
I AM, and I use that as my right to be.
Suddenly complete, and suddenly free.
Throw your heads up, reach high.

Little people you are your other half.
In the dark world you are your light.
Suck down the sweet air and release the pain.
Burst those bubbles, and laugh out loud.

Happiness is not justified; it simply is.
Like angels all around you it is there.
Breach the shell of fear encasing you
and bask in the love; the lifting love.

Picking Pears

Plucking pears from branches
hanging low bearing their children
and I can’t tell if your eyes are
wondering amongst the fruits or me.

The next morning light I awake
and thoughts of you seem so weak.
The lines speak so many volumes in
between, but the story seems surreal.

Funny stars twinkling in cahoots of
what I imagine must be a celestial joke.
Jokes; I stopped worrying about what I
seem like from the outside of myself.

I can be honest, and make concrete claims.
I wanted you, but not really you yourself.
It was really the idea of us together that I wanted,
because I thought cohesion could cure.

Your eyes are on fire for those juicy pears.
You only brush my hand when you reach past me.
That being so I’ll let you taste what you desire
and I’ll love the wonderful person I already know.

I figure if one wishes to have me then
I will know; these pallid half-hearted hopes
are beginning to make my head float uneasily.
Impulsion has been my signature, but perhaps no more.

Saving

Willow tree in the breeze
sing to me with sighs and keys
to unlock doors best left shut.
Pull her from this well worn rut.

I thought she was growing
but it’s back to black.
Relapse I never saw coming,
and I’m sitting by the tracks.

She’s running from the
tangible, the everyday, the
world that bore her.
This life isn’t so bad.

Strong inside, but hiding it.
Leaving her strength under a
mountain of decaying excuses that
she’s been shedding for all these years.

I want to buy her freedom, but
no price can satisfy the demands
made by a heart so unwilling.
I want it, but she has to want it.

For her sake I’ll hold myself up.
I will set my heart in my mouth
and let loose light from within to
guide her back to the shore.

While I reflect on plans
she is spinning spinning so
violently into a sleepless frenzy.
What saves a cyclone, save serenity?

Full

Inside of myself I was shaking
when I first touched you.
My fingers were newborns
as they braved your soft body.

Thoughts of you stole winter’s
breath away from the hillsides
on my way home from all my
unimportant engagements.

I was once a child in an adult’s skin.
I once thought you would dispel
all the nuances of monotony.
Rolled eyes now fill those empty ideals.

My feet are heavier than yours
and I find my spine is made of steel.
You are running; I raise my chin.
I can face the world alone; without you.

In dens of distraction you’ll find
no substance or saturation of life.
I’ll walk down bland streets and
need no human indulgences.

I love life, and all it holds.
The suffering we all shoulder
permeates even my resistance but
I rise to meet and challenge pain.

Where are your forceful hands?
Probably finding pleasures in the
crevices of some shell of a person.
Meanwhile I bask in strength; free.

Babe, I was a fool for too long.
When I thought I needed you to
hold me up I didn’t realize that
in my arms YOU are who thrived.

Dreams of Me

It begins like a dream
where a river runs between
my destination and me.
Feelings run as a tepid dirty trickle.

Now I sing a rusty hinge lullaby
that keeps every thought child
wide awake in the moonless night.
A landscape of dead diamonds.

Swept on like a fancy leaf dancing
at the water’s head, well now I know
where those leaves end their journey.
My talents seem so over-the-counter.

How long will disappointment catch
in the hairs of my desires?
I press down on the peeling sticky
stars on my old report cards.

I just want to be something.
In masks of glee and favor I
put the boy who had dreams
of being one with the heavens.

That boy rails inside my ribcage.
He whispers in my ears and begs me
to play with him again back in fields
holding up a window into the blue.

Dreams of every me I could have been
leave casualties within the me that is.
But, the me I hold now has never lost the
power to climb the peak I’ve eyed for so long.

Glance

Endless umbrellas floating in
the sky catching the light to
swallow into colorful bowels.
A wedge of light made it here.

Past the blues I made it through
and into seas of green that threatened
to stop me. Reds mixed with
yellows to give me everlasting summer.

The rooms my heart is hollowed with
house many stories that, like weeds
or gardens, can contort the appearance
of my purpose in ways I can’t explain.

Ask me what I think and I can’t
answer better than this: I see boats in the
treetops, and cloaks on the highway.
I see outer space ticking, and oceans of color.

My head swells with fanciful imagery
that sometimes include you.
My visions are dreams, but
does that make you a dream?

Angels flying low over fields of yellow,
and sunsets mingling with planets on the
horizon. Windmills on clouds, and
subterranean children diving to crystal caverns.

Then there’s us, and this car.
There’s the road, my job, my life,
and more bills than I care about.
Touch my hand if you exist.

Knock Knock

The door is splintered and
the whistling world seeps
through every crack and I
close it with candlestick sweat.

As desperate as it seems I
need to shut the blinds from
moments of brightness were
I can feel every searing eye.

Daddy if you had been here
when Mom’s tears rolled in the night
and if you had held me would I
still need someone else’s arms now?

I can’t figure out where the path
breaks nor what constitutes an
opportunity, because every now
and again they are no more than pitfalls.

Light my lantern. Navigate this with me
because holed up in this shack I
have lost all sense of direction.
Just open the damn door.

Hunter

What was once the blue blue
skyline has paled to royal skin.

I want to call you, but it’s
just an option I can’t swallow.

Somehow splendor spilled across
the yard, yet I’m on the porch.

My feet tremble when I think of running
the fields again where hunters tread.

Is it fear, or anticipation of the violent
breakout my head has planned?

I am still a hunter and I still look for
the highs, hidden in pockets of discovery.

Are you warm inside, or will the cold
cripple you? I am pulsing, I’m alive.

Like I got on that plane, I’ll take the steps
to reclaiming the hunter I fell in love with.

Tussled, and crooked but perfect in the
design that everlasting hands molded.

Strength

The strength of the gentle
knows no bounds nor would
it acknowledge bounds as
anything of importance.

The worth of the loving
cannot be measured in means
of tangible material, nor would
it ever need validation.

The beauty of the patient
rolls over every available
crevice in the kind eyes of
the patient; it is true beauty.

Kindness is the ever soft
song of hope and redemption
in a world so easily afraid
of each shadow that follows.

Son, remember that one needs
not guard their soul, for each soul
could ascend to celestial brightness,
and no stars should suffer withholding.

When the plagues steal your rest,
it will be unending love that gives
you the strength to climb back to
heaven’s highest heights.

You are never alone, for love
hides from none and chases all.
If even one flame lights the dark
then the sun can be rekindled.

Update

I apologize to all of my followers. I have been extremely slacking in posting anything lately. To catch up I'll start posting maybe a poem a day... we'll see. Anyhow, I started a new blog "Selling in Hell". It's a much different direction for me, but alas my poetry shouldn't suffer for it. I hope you guys can forgive me for being such a terrible blogger, but I shall start making it up to you by posting a new poem tonight! I hope you guys continue to read and enjoy An Ohmu Speaks.

-Hunter

Angels and the Ocean

I met an angel just last year,
he told me that things just
can’t stay the same and I nodded
as we walked between red trees.

He always held a marble in his
right hand and told me not to forget
the little things, but I knew better
when the little things forgot him.

I have been drenched by life’s
rogue waves and pulled beneath the surf
more times than I can count, but the
times I’m on top are worth the fight.

We all run circles on a giant sun dial
chasing the evanescent hours of daylight.
Then when night time comes
we chase our dormant dreams.

Angels are just like us, because they
once walked here. Never sure of anything,
but the hands of father guide us all
into spectacular and terrifying lucidity.

Forgot

As I spoke to her, the hands,
the ones that used to pat my head,
moved around of their own accord
primping disheveled wedding white hair.

Zoe never complains, and fancies herself
a queen in that hollow nursing home.
She stills has nails of deep red and
wears night gowns with flowers galore.

But Zoe reads the first page over and over,
because her decaying mind can’t remember.
Flowers, books, stuffed animals, ornaments,
cards, and me surround her crisp full sized bed.

I wonder if she’ll remember my visit, but
she called me by name so I know that in those
old brown eyes recognition has yet to ghost.
She’ll surely tell the old hens about her beloved nephew.

I ache for Zoe, I guess because she feels no pain.
Nestled in her lap are her weathered hands,
and as she stares out the window I muse about
if her days of glory come gently streaming back.

One Road

One road ahead in an autumn wood,
And five hands behind with fingers “should”.

But these shoes are mine that walk this path,
and what I do is on my behalf.

If love is my light then what is my need
for power, or money, or lust , or greed?

I chose now to start my path anew,
and part these brambles that grow askew.

With a burning warmth within my soft eyes
I’ll make a way here of my own device.

Swiftly carve this, my trail, clean and true,
because living for them I can’t do.

Now I walk my own self-deliverance,
and THAT has made all the difference.

Take Me

Take me somewhere with
endless waves of green grasses.
I want the fingers of the
breeze to stroke my naive face.

Let the sky be an azure mirror
upon which birds lazily drift.
Now, put me to rest between two mountains
in a valley fit for one.


When I awake from my rest may
the sun cause shadows to dance
all around my bed of lavish moss in
shapes of beings wild and free.

Take me to solitude unlike any other.
Give me rest in the heart of the wild,
where water is free to lope and trees are
old enough to remember the first rising moon.

The glaze of humanity won’t taint this place
and the colors here will blush before me.
Flowers will make a carpet of riches and
even the mushrooms will drip with vibrancy.

I close my flickering eyes and
a silent hand lifts me gently aloft.

Agreement

She keeps a ring,
a soft glowing halo
that surrounds her always.
She says “You can’t hurt me.”

When the parking lot was a field;
when her feet fell like cold hammers
and she ran away.
He didn’t even chase her.

She lay sprawled out in the cold air.
She willed heaven to take her,
and heaven took her.
Hell on earth was gone forever.

She made an agreement.

She stands in flames and poison,
but she feels no pain; impregnable.
Choice was saturated with simplicity.
Imprison the judge, and burn his book.

Copper

This time of year
the trees turn into copper
as if they beckoned the lightning
to burst forth from their fingers.

A blanket of molten
that spreads across the
pocked and scarred mountain
valley beneath my dangling feet.

I can see the cloud ahead of me,
but I fail to realize it’s all around me.
Despite sitting within, I feel exposed.
This sensation is much like love.

Each little person is a flicker in time
but what significance that flicker can
affect; I wonder if my time is mine
or am I a tree in a forest?

I want the lightning no matter how briefly
it burns; the leaves quake and die in the breeze.
I am small.

Hypnos Release

I have been asleep inside,
and my furnaces are candles now.
The people who love me crease their brows.
Sideways crescents break the calm flesh.

Signals come at me from everywhere.
I awake to a thousand misty eyes and
unsatisfied frowns. My friends all
want to know where I’ve been.

I AM RIGHT HERE. I AM STILL HERE.
DON’T LOSE FAITH IN ME.
I am the sun today and the
ashes tomorrow; slack jaw.

I’m not dying I’m just sleeping,
and I’ve been weary for so long.
How inconvenient the last fight would come
when I stop to embrace slumber.


But…


Fear not for beneath the cypress
the roots still clutch the bowels
of everything that has supported
the wooden giant all along.

These digits still know the grip and
when it is time the kinesthesia will return
and my joints will unwind like spindles
to take up the task once again, again, again…

(The sigh that births the gale)

Get Up

I’m tired of touching myself
where your hands are missing.
I am pushing my weakness out
the window and letting the air in.

I need to breathe, and I need to see.
I need to let the world wrap its arms
around my tired body, because it’s
time I realized you’re not the one.

Kick the golden spindles down the stairs
and the threads sparkle, tumble, and
still I can’t work magic with them.
No coat of gold to rest in your closet.

When I would go driving the sides of the
road were canyon walls, but now when I look
again it seems I am flying high above the clouds.
Frankly, I don’t give a damn what happens to you.

As I suck in that sweet air, and
watch the clouds roll into the valley
I find inside myself that all this misery was
for nothing; I was always right below the surface.

I Am My Own Jailer

I am my own jailer.
I posses my keys.
And unlike any sailor,
I roam on no rough seas.

I hide in webs of hypocrisy;
the lonely spider soul.
My arms are false synecdoche
that gladly hide the whole.

Who else could weld these bars,
if not the one inside?
I tried to swallow stars,
but my gut has only sighed.

I want those hands to grasp me,
and pull me towards their need.
I want to want nobody,
and overlook my greed.

A queer and quaint pauper
begging problems to resolve.
I trap myself in others,
so I won’t feel so small.

Moving On (or at least somewhere)

I met you.
Then the only eyes I cared for
were those dull emeralds you hid.
Your happiness made me high.

And in the light of all honesty about
how our two hearts really beat
I realize that you were more or less
a fantasy and although you’re real…

You’re not the man I thought you were.

But, the blame is my own.
You are only a human; like myself.
And I am a romantic who clothes you in purple.
I am the one person, right now, who sees you as so much more,
placing glue and feathers across your shoulders.

Now, when tart reality bites my hand
and the cold truth settles on my chest
I feel so foolish for ever thinking that things
were some damn fairytale.

Really, I’m just delusional.
Things are… confusing.

Now with fresh lessons engraved
into the bark of my heart,
maybe, I can deserve love.

We don’t choose which thorns stick us…
But we choose which ones to remove.
And we can endure,
and face the pain of losing that familiar sting.
We can persevere through the hurt and taste soft freedom.

Remove my empty rattling dreams, and
let the new sun fill me with warmth
where the body that used to lay next to mine
left only a cold indention.