Homeless, Wild, and Free

[dybmh]

... a work in progress ... a very very rough draft ... something special for my friends on SF ... I hope you enjoy it.

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scraping on the surface
with man made metal
honed sharpened unnecessary tools
i push away the earth

leaves sticks and wet garbage need to go

new sprouts are showing
new growth is coming
i want to see what's happening

last year i did a lot of planting
not much cultivating
not much composing
too much caregiving
not enough listening

i am listening now

scraping on the surface
pushing earth and moving soil
listening to my heart beat
and nothing else

What am I cultivating?
Who am I helping?
Where am I going?
Is this my home?

my eyelids open
lashes up
my roots go down
swirl around
slowing pushing against the ground

the ground pushes back in gratitude

[dybmh]

life in the city
surrounded by concrete
a false world that maybe will someday slip away

i like to walk
head bowed
and listening
eyes wide
unfocused on periphery

if it's on my back
or in my heart
a song
a memory
a tiny spark

motivation
inspriation
pacifism
a cycle's terminiation

i like to walk
away from the lights
the city's creatures
crowded tight

and find my place
in the trees
among the moss
away from these

and find some snow before it melts away

[Wisdom keeperro]

Emotional story given thank you for sharing

[Ariaecheflame]

I hope you don't mind but I have found inspiration and resonance in your words and wanted to say so.

I've been thinking an awful lot about what home means lately and writing stories a lot in my own personal green coloured journal about it.

Finding ones internal home in whatever landscape of one's transient life is an interesting idea to me... I guess the nature of impermanence is a good motivating factor to being at home with oneself... Anyway...
I'm trying to leave a useful response haha but think I might be failing. Lol.
Thanks.

[dybmh]

Originally Posted by Wisdom keeperro

Emotional story given thank you for sharing

Thank you. I hope to continue adding to it.

[dybmh]

Originally Posted by Ariaecheflame

I hope you don't mind but I have found inspiration and resonance in your words and wanted to say so.

I've been thinking an awful lot about what home means lately and writing stories a lot in my own personal green coloured journal about it.

Finding ones internal home in whatever landscape of one's transient life is an interesting idea to me... I guess the nature of impermanence is a good motivating factor to being at home with oneself... Anyway...
I'm trying to leave a useful response haha but think I might be failing. Lol.
Thanks.

Thank you for your reply; it is useful. It's nice knowing that there are other people who can relate.

I always feel more at home outside. Sometimes it's hard for me living in the city. But it's nice having a garden.

On my spiritual journey, I am feeling torn between polarities: returning home vs. making progress; cultivating vs. wildness; freedom vs. restraint.

The concept of the poem is that all three things: being Homeless, being Wild, and being Free can be both constructive or destructive for me. Being homeless seems intuitively negative, but it also contributes to being natural, wild, and free. Being wild can be a bad thing, but I generally think of it in the positive. Being free always feels good to me, but too much freedom encourages a lack of restraint. And again, for me, all three develop and influence the others.

I hope to continue to explore these feelings in this thread.

Thanks again,

[Ziusudra]

Homeless and Free, yes, I relate.
Wild?, maybe. If living this life while forgetting how vulnerable and fragile this physical life actually is wild, then yes.

I never found my home.
It does not exist in this physical realm.
Freedom is an illusion
As I am trapped in this physical life
Being wild has been knocked down each time.
After all, I am reminded of destinies and fate

[dybmh]

Originally Posted by Ziusudra

Homeless and Free, yes, I relate.
Wild?, maybe. If living this life while forgetting how vulnerable and fragile this physical life actually is wild, then yes.

I never found my home.
It does not exist in this physical realm.
Freedom is an illusion
As I am trapped in this physical life
Being wild has been knocked down each time.
After all, I am reminded of destinies and fate

Thank you for your reply. Wild for me, in this set of poems, means uncultivated and natural.

I like the small poem you wrote above. I will look for more of your writing.

Thanks again,

[dybmh]

The air was thick when I got there
Emily opened the door
but didn't welcome me in

straining to speak
my words were like strangers
distant, unfriendly, unapproachable

her voice was clear soft and flat
her face expressionless
we stared at each other for a while

"we're supposed to be friends"
I finally said
"i don't know what happened"

"you're a fool, if you think that" she said
white as a ghost
behind dark hair and thick frames

I didn't know what to do
the rain was ready
so I left

and that was the last time I spoke with my friend
on the way to waking up from a very strange dream

[dybmh]

Waking from a dream is like coming home
unpacking and remembering where I've been
slipping into my old skin
finding myself again

sometimes it's like I've never left
sometimes i can't shake it off
it feels so real
or it feels so false
so rarely in between

someone told me that dreams are real
that we can control them and drive them like a car
i haven't figured that out yet
everytime I try to do it
it gets jumbled up in my jaw

in my dreams i wander
homeless
never knowing who I'll meet
or what to say
my emotions sink like butterflies
carrying an impossible weight

when I was a kid I had flying dreams
but now, those are gone

and now the only way I know
for sure I'm dreaming

is in the dreams
I never sleep