Poets and Dreamers

I have a friend from high school, Bill. We shared a creative writing class together and fancied ourselves poets at 17. I always had a crush on him, and thought of him as mysterious and dark. Ten years later, he still writes poems like a fiend, and he inspires me to do the same. So here's a poem for Bill.

here we are
cursing and spitting
teetering on a tightrope
no one told us we would have to cross.

to one side we fall
sinking sad into the past
with its longing and lament
only to pull ourselves up
and over
crashing headfirst with worry
speculation and grimey, grabbing fists
to an unknown future
not yet promised to us.

when there is balance
it is not balance
but quiet anticipation
of the falling and crashing
we set ourselves up for
again and again.

this is not life,
this is a circus.

Invitation by Shel Silverstein

INVITATION

If you are a dreamer, come in,

If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,

A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...

If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire

For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.

Come in!

Come in!

-Shel Silverstein

From Where the Sidewalk Ends

Leave the Past in Ashes

I am born anew each morning, expecting nothing and grateful for everything.  I am pulled toward an idea of god with every breath and sigh and whimper and hiccup.  I am the inherent nature of things.  I am the peace I long for.  I am letting go.  I leave my past, my pain, my fear in ashes at the edge of the world, swept up by the wind and carried away like the fading song of a distant Siren stretched taught to the end of her invisible tether.  All is silent.