Sunday, December 20, 2020

Daybreak Rises, by Mark Tulin


On the West Coast,

stars hang over

palm trees,

crescent moons

display a gentle tilt,

nights grow shorter,

tides move further

out to sea,


daybreak rises,

setting up its stakes

like the homeless

who line the dunes

with makeshift tents,

who fish for food

and bury their past

deep in the sand.


The Heartfelt Catatonic, by Mark Tulin

My client often lapsed into a fugue state

His eyes rolled to the back of his head,

body rigid in the distant past

where crimes go unnoticed


He could sit in one spot without moving,

labeled a waxy catatonic,

drooling dreams and memories

out of the corner of his mouth


Friends tried to break his stupor,

scolded him for acting like a child,

but he refused to shift his posture,

standing in one place for hours


My client had a heart the size of a mountain,

a soul that flowed downstream like a river,

and will always remain a captive,

loud on the inside and silent on the out.


Flower Power, by Mark Tulin

I walk in beautiful gardens

to feel the flower power,

to ride its pollen grains

to plants unknown,

to fly with the wind

and rest in green meadows

where the roses cluster,

to dream of my first yearning

where memories were sweet

and love bloomed

and wilted.


Truth’s Slippery Essence, by Mark Tulin

As a poet,

I search for the truth,

speak to what’s real

but I seldom do

Instead, I become one man

with two minds

and notions crossed


It’s not easy

being a sojourner

of truth

It’s downright hard

to be a rebel of honesty

when there’s a revolution

of one


I reach out with good intentions

and grab truth’s slippery essence

with uncertain fingers

and watch my version of reality

slide from my grasp

into murky waters.








1 comment:

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Bring the night I, the poet, did walk around that day living like I was actually alive. And the next day, I the poet lived rather like I wa...