poems

I’m probably wrong about most everything

I’m largely and less disconnected from most things here.
Thoughts ramble & callous like they own the space.

Mostly I believe in all my mistakes.  I am the opposite
of what I might become.  All because it was thought.

One writers vanity is to think I am what I write.
Or worse, if writing nothing at all, then so am I.

I don’t believe in can’t say words, only unwillingness.
Maybe I’m right about that.

Brush your teeth.  Tell the truth.  Keep open
wounds clean.  Wash your hands.

Still, I favor using random blemished words.
A fortune of omens found.  Maybe go fish.

All the best ideas turned to be only best ideas.
Nothing more.

Old feelings get written in ink.  No matter how,
we mistake years of wear as wisdom’s bark.

Whispers say, first – break the rules you own,
no keys, no locks, no thirsty cheshire grace.

See trees as faces, faces trees.  Look for clues.
Simple is the shorter thread.  No hiding,

Except by the imagined rules of circumference.

No speak, being the genuine lie.
 
 
 
neil reid © 2016 february
 
 
for This is Not A Literary Journal, prompt, The rules

Advertisements

the wish fulfilling jewel

    a Found poem, for his Holiness the fourteenth Dalai Lama
 
 
the same crow in the morning awakens us.
the same bowl of rice.    tell me a story.

you never cried.

on the roof a pair of crows nested when
you were born.    like before.

a door speaks before it opens.    listening.
he says he wants to go where heaven begins.

you are here to love all living things.

mother mother why do you leave me here?
these shoes are mine.    too big, but mine.

to look is to have confidence in one’s
own ability to end suffering.    all beings
desire happiness.

separation has an abundant face.
I don’t want you to go.

what can I do?    I am only a boy.

I will take those sheep.    all of them.
inside my care.

I write without writing.    I write words inside thoughts.
I write air.    I give my breath to you.

make no barrier where a face is meant to shine.

to  l o v e        it takes a long time.
how long holiness?    I don’t yet know.

all things will become nothing.    I will become nothing.
yet here I am, inside you.    we say our names, continuous.

the moon is full.
these stones we pile for you, saying where we have been,
saying our way home again.    change is this much high.

we give this sand back to you.
this home.    these fingertips.
we pour ourselves into the seas.

I am a reflection of the moon on water.

why?        to be a good man.
 
 
neil reid © 2015 november

read footnotes about this poem

t o u c h  s   t   o   n   e

poem in progress, not done yet

t o u c h  it comes in twos, doesn’t it?

dark, no, late into the body of the night.  truth resides
anywhere it wants to do, no difference a frown.

it takes the place of gold.  landscape face.
it is joys first step.  landscape feet.
no matter the dress, always welcome at the door.

so that says the who we mean when we say who.

it is everything we care to want.  it is heavens coin.
(it is in every single pocket.) (it wants to be found.)

its favorite color right now is red.  no big deal, you know,
changing desires is as fast as lightning is.  as fast as
I turn the page.

say your name into the air.
feel the reflections coming back (no surprise)
now listen as well, echoes.  inside what feels,

how they mean differently.

charming.     charming the way heaven works.

even tells tales.
there are shelves abundantly.  fall leaves do fall,
do make this floor celebrate.

amber and rust, we say, pretend not by saying yes.
but true, we thirst then joy then thirst, then yes,
your eyes were always first.  not my fault.

it is only to joy they fall.  there is no other soil.

middle of the night, you know, and I could believe
just about any small boys tail, the way they wave

the way they dance.
 
 
 
neil reid © 2015 october

a real live boy

I just wanted to be a real live boy.

I just wanted to dance, but refused.

I wanted to be bigger than me.
I wanted to let go of that bench.
I wanted a father who was not.    a sky around my arms.

I wanted threads to connect not bind.
I wanted to be not alone, but was, by my word.
I wanted a grilled cheese sandwich.
 
 
I want our distance to melt like sugar does.
I want poems to make a difference.    like meals do.
I want my child to grow.    tall corn reaching the feast.

I want this poem in a pie.

I want seeds to be my feet.    you will find me in weeds.    everywhere.

I want dawn to be fresh turned dirt.    new meanings eager to be.    and are.

I want close to be ripe apples on your limbs.
I want discovery to matter more than measured history.
I want dreams to keep their sleep.    let eyes answer more than doubts.

I want the world to change because I asked.    by world I mean you.
by change I mean raise your hand.

I want your world to look exactly like you.    I want leaves that rise and fall.
I want to share this poem with someone reading me.

I want words better spent upon your lips.

I want what is to be.    I will call it home.

I want wanting to be as water is.

I want a world bigger than my imagination.    your face in each dawn cloud.
 
 
imagine feet kissing earth.

imagine children being found, not lost.

imagine no discomfort without mending embrace.

imagine when you speak heart the world listens you.

imagine blooms like waves.    and the sea.

imagine enough.    that is who you are.

imagine your voice contains what you want life to be.    make it so.
 
 
my legs are trees that walk.
my arms are feathers rooted in sky.

my thoughts do what windows do.
my feelings are water.    and clouds.

my fingers are painting curious.

lips thirst for another thirst.
feet define my home, my shoes.
 
I am here to dance with you.
 
 
neil reid © 2015 october

inside my body

inside my body every breath has touched.

inside my body a lion’s share of faces called close to feast.

inside my body, every thirst, every storm, every doubt.  every boat.

inside my body the summer skin like talcum earth.  then she moved away.

inside my body each hurt who sits with a thread wrapped ankle-round.

inside my body fear, fear when she said, no more.

inside my body whispers kept.  yes, I do remember you.

inside my body, scissors & fingertips, a little here, a little there.  some images remain, even when gone.

inside my body lightning thought.  water washes me.

inside my body the texture of every thing and everybody I have touched.

inside my body the creases of sheets.  head to toe to you.

inside my body everything I think smart, even when I’m not.

inside my body each flirting glance.  evidence why watches have second-hands.

inside my body every rain and tear and every kiss.  thus, these crops, these shared meals.

inside my body a template that makes my fingers write.

inside my body left & right & sometimes flight.  honestly.

inside my body blinks that resemble bricks, like a wall.  make mine mud.

inside my body, memories.  all of them.  all of you.

inside my body my sense of time.  but, I forget.

inside my body, theft.  one best measure nearly lost.  then you.  then me.

inside my body peace they say.  inside my body joy they say.

inside my body you speak loudest.

here, these poems in red.  only some few.  and this prayer, where I am falling right now.
 
 
neil reid © 2015 october

don’t read

don’t read.  wash your face.
don’t read.  feed the cat.
don’t read.  imagine words.

don’t speak.  pour the milk.
don’t speak.  turn the bowl.
don’t speak.  find words that came first.

find the poem no one wrote.
leave it be.  fallow heart.
make what you’re blind to see.

make breakfast.  make sleep.
offer it to the moon.
or maybe me.

write.  write more.  you have to have
enough to throw yourself all away.
  

2015

some words begin

some words begin with a.
some words begin with a-boy.
some words begin with a-boy-and.
some words begin with a-boy-and-hat.
some boys will die.  hats-don’t.
some words end with a dove
or maybe sky or maybe love.

some words begin-and-end with
you.  my child, who was-and-is.
  

2015