Category: Blog

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Breathe Vol. 2

Been there and back but the panic attacks clap with the sound of deep thunder and return with the whiplash of a well-thrown boomerang,

Random and abrupt these emotions emerge, the flood’s surge suffocates, a work-stoppage in my mind and I’m unable to produce words

Energy sparks like a super saiyan transformation, but all the wild hair and screaming is on the inside,

‘Alive and well’ turns to a silent hell at the blink of an eye’s notice,

The day’s events’ recap just kindles the flames, stimulating the flight/fight response, my

Heart rate goes off the charts, looking just
like this poem, when you rotate your screen 90 degrees to the left –

Engaged in a battle with the heavy, inner winds, but I win all these bouts when I just follow the first letter of every line, and remember to breathe. – RSM

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Recharge.

When each day ends we plug in our devices
and then we plug ourselves in, to our own screen-based vices –
Mind/body/spirit pacifiers, they almost feel required
as we take a break from our busy days and whatever else that transpired..


The ‘news’ is the same old and our eyes feel older
after so much exposure to bright lights and sudden motion,
It’s like a sunny, sandy beach, falling victim to erosion,
how our day-to-day is turning’to a sensory explosion..


The script is already so twisted, inverted,
that flipping it back seems a wee bit absurdist,
but what an idea it would be to just breathe, and relieve our five senses from digital screens. – RSM

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The Sculptor

A chisel and hammer stammer with the speed and clamor
of a hand driven jackhammer –
and the artist, the handler –
is precise as he is impatient,
sparring with the marble slab to carve a sacred new representation.

The stone was flown in from the doldrums over in Moldova, and
he’s crafting a goddess – so graceful, so flawless.

His hands cultivate a muted peace while fighting against time;
unfocused energy heads up his spine,
increasing his heart rate
with each imperfect puncture of the stone he molds.

As somebody once told,
it’s the work done preparing for the future that makes us old;

He make these fine cuts and chisel away.

He sculpts his dreams into the waking day. – RSM

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Haikus Vol. 4

A single leaf leans

forward, out from the main branch –

it leans toward the sun. – RSM

–

A ladybug runs

around the tip of my cup,

changing its direction. – RSM

–

Brightness prevails on

the highway’s grand horizon.

all hues stripe the sky. – RSM

–

Fatigue is the weight

of heavy experience.

Rest. Lighten the load. – RSM

–

Consciousness surfing

is the way we all traverse

life’s chaotic waters. – RSM

–

I get just enough

sleep that ‘one more episode’

is barely worth it. – RSM

–

The body protests

the mind with fatigue; the mind

answers back with guilt. – RSM

–

Silence is the world

reminding us to listen

to our deepest thoughts. – RSM

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Weird Space Island Life

We’re in a weird time where real life doesn’t even feel like real life.

It’s an uncharted little island that we’re on,
Floating through a mystery of darkness and stars,

on a little wet rock that spins along this universe, or ‘one song,’

while the clocks click and the teens tok-tik and the IG reels flick
and the snaps play,
live streamers speak – even when they have nothing to say,

and 500 stories later there goes the whole day.

Not gonna lie, I’ve low key kind of hated
how the distance created
between us all has stayed vacated. – RSM

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Seven Years Later

It all worked out, despite the odds.

It’s on me to keep the good going.

A setback or two has no place in my mind

cuz I crush those with one hand now, without even trying.

The strength gained from it all isn’t seen on the physical,

Rather a strong mind, soul, my ‘guns’ are metaphysical –

I love the love that I have, it’s a skill

that’s built through the storms of life, even still,

I know our lives are a painting or a novel unfinished

as we look back on our bad times when we felt diminished;

But trust me, my guy, my ‘rock bottom’ is a flex

Cuz I know the grit and grime it took to manifest

The present, past, future that rises each morning,

Seven years later I’m not just flying, I’m soaring. – RSM

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Life is Funny

How many mountains so we have to climb

to finally feel worthy of a little bit of time to unwind?

How many victories require a tax?

How many little breaks ended up bringing us back?

How often does a good life moment have some heavy fine print?

How do the happiest times turn to shit?

How does a celebration end up a challenge?

How do emo songs at midnight once again become valid?

How does paradise come with a catch?

How are we to face this? How are we to act?

How many little tricks does life like to play, and what do we make of it all, anyway?

– RSM