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Plato  (Teal)   

Poet’s Corner is the biweekly post where I invite local Word Press poets to be highlighted on my blog. This week I invited Teal from Plato’s Groove to put in an appearance. Seems he has a bit of a difficult time talking about himself. .😉 But here’s what he said:

platosgroove_1440451387_82BWI don’t know what to say about myself.  I’ve started several things but they all get on my nerves. I’m a human born and raised in the south, primarily Louisiana. I’ve been a boy, a son, a brother, a husband, a father, and a lover. I’ve played sports and read books. I’ve lived in the city and the country and the wilds of Africa. I’ve studied the “ologies” and built businesses.  Teal crop reverseI’ve made money and got stuff and lost much while finding more. I’ve searched for answers and found that questions are much more important.  I have filled my world with words and learned that the real lives in the silence. My earliest memory of me is a sweet shy boy who would suck his thumb and grin if he was payed attention to. I’m still him. The favorite thing I’ve written is the Princess and the Dragonfly.  Much of my heart is there.

Poets-CornerThe Princess and the Dragonfly is a beautiful story and is the first thing of Plato’s that I read. It blew me away. It’s a wee bit too long to post on here, but I really encourage you to go have a read. I think you’ll feel like he’s been in your head and heart afterward!

Now I had one heck of a time trying to pick one poem to post. So I finally had to stop reading because I wanted to post them all. But here are three that I couldn’t decide between. Enjoy!


The Boy — The Man

I recall a memory that was etched like a holograph somewhere in me.
It has popped up recently like Princess Leia did when Luke touched R2D2.
It was dark. I was a little boy alone in a new house, a new room.
I remember the boy trying to find his way in the dark of a strange place.
I remember the tiny cautious footsteps.
I remember my small hand reaching out in the darkness.
Tentative fingers outstretched seeking feedback from a wall, some furniture, anything.
He needed something to help him get his bearings.
I remember the boy’s initial confidence being replaced by a growing and gradual anxiety.
It started at the base of his throat and spread up and down through his shoulders, chest, and belly.
It was not the strangeness of the house or the darkness that made him doubt.
It was the not knowing that terrorized his heart.
His heart learned fear in that space between his little brave heart’s reaching out and the wall that led him back to the familiar.
That was a long time ago but I remember.
Perhaps I have stored that memory for such a time as now,
The context is different perhaps but the terror is the same.
The hopeful part of the story is that the little boy, thumb in mouth, pressed on in spite of his trembling.
Perhaps the man will find a way to do the same.


Fishing in the Weeds

I recognized that look.
It originates in the depths, in the dark, in the unknown.
That place where restlessness never sleeps even when engaged in conversation, prayer, love, play, work, travel, or dance.
Unconsciously seeking, scanning, assessing for that shape, that fragrance, that sound, that taste which would satiate the hunger of the heart, that which would quench the thirst of the soul.
At times ravenous, at times less demanding but never completely still, never at rest.
Restless eyes never still.
It’s not their fault.
They are not aware of the hunger much less that they search.
The object is therefore unfathomable.
Endless loop, boredom, interest, excitement, disappointment.
Becoming more and more bitter.
Tired, torn, and ragged from the search.
Seeking that which is unnamed, unseen, just desire cast upon a world of people doing the same thing.
Hooks cut and mangle soul as they are ripped and yanked out of flesh and spirit.
Like fishing blind and in the weeds.


Change the World?

I have decided
I no longer want to change the world
I have failed utterly at that
My powers spent in futile efforts
I am weak
I am so tired I can only focus on what is right in font of me
The huge problems can no longer even hold my attention
But even if I were interested
I can do nothing to alter the current manifestations of the same old shit
There is nothing new under the sun
Well there is Facebook and Twitter and and 24 hour news cycle that spikes anxiety on a mass scale now
Good thing there is 24 hour shopping and all manner of distraction now so that like crackheads we can move between anxiety and binge, anxiety and binge
But nothing is new
Just goes round and round faster
I am jumping off that ride
I don’t think that I am big enough for it anyway
Let the would be movers and shakers be moved and shaken by all of that
I’ve played that game and got the t-shirt, several in fact
But why in the hell did I do all of that for a f..ing t-shirt
I need to focus on something small, something less grand
Perhaps I can start with one thought
I can change one thought
I can do that
I can say yes when I mean yes and no when I mean no
And if I don’t have an answer I can say that too
I can do that
I can be faithful to my promise
I can do that
If I can do those few things
That will change me
And if I am changed then, the world by definition is altered
At least in some small but real way
So if I change me I will change the world after all


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