Electric Silence
have you ever been in a space
where it is so quiet
that you experience
electric silence
as your ears rest
you feel the natural electrical currents
running through you
connecting you to mother earth
if you relax enough
you can feel each tiny vibration
in a soothing sensation
rippling through your nerves
caressing all your curves
making you swerve
in an intricate motion
electric silence
deafening
yet soothing
My Special Place
I want to hug the palms
because their leaves
feel like pliable arms
able to hold me close
let me caress the bougainvillea
even with their rounded edge needles
the beauty outweighs
any worries of pain
but the flora that excites me the most
is the cocoplum
darkly beautiful
carrying a special tasty magic
I smell the sweetness while
basking in the uniqueness
tasting the tropical treats
while sitting by the pond
filled with lily pads
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“The strong man is strongest when alone.”
Friedrich Schiller
The poet is strongest when alone at their desk, or in a hot garden during summertime, or when writing in a journal. Is the poem alone or lonely, is the hour lonely, is the silence lonely, is the lily pads lonely, is the flora lonely? Does the poet have to be lonely to plan a poem, to make a poem about nature their goal, to rise to the expectation of putting thought and pen to paper?
This is who I am today. I am a poet alone at my desk, I am alone in a hot room during summertime, yes, even the room is filled with a heat that I can’t take. I sit here in this heat, in this coastal city, writing this comment and all I can think of is my loneliness, this lonely hour and the lonely lily pads, the lonely flora in the poem and I wonder if the poet was lonely when they wrote this poem, was that their goal, did they set out to write this lonely poem, in a lonely hour, surrounded by the loneliness of the hour?
Even pain has a kind of magical thinking. Even pain is not easily diminished or erased. Pain is a bird, soaring, flying high above the clouds. What is pain for the poet? It is an opportunity to meditate on loneliness, it is an opportunity to pray, to get to the sacred heart of matter and method and madness and materialism. Pain is wise, I want to tell this poet, it is wise because it knows everything intrinsically about us, what moves us to write sad poems about nature, what moves us to write sad poems about loneliness discovered in bougainvillea.
Beauty, vibration, silence. They are what remain of our humanity, the poet’s humanity and the poem’s intrinsic value. What is external is as important as the internal in this poet.