Bus Poetry.

Sometimes I write poetry as a catharsis exercise, to get out what bothers me or to give me a moment to focus on what I am feeling so that I can ignore it. Besides, this warms up my fingers...

Fear! Anxiety! Exaustion!

I feel as a Hollow Man

Not Hollow souled, Not hollow legged,

But as a puppet without a hand.

The strength and solidity I feel is that of my frame

Looking full bodied, Vital! Enlivened.

But feeling myself open and exposed like a skin slapped onto a skeleton.

The world beats against my chest like a Drum,

My Body feels wave after wave Resonate in emptying Architecture.

Every Bump, Boom! and Drop makes my giant's frame rattle the child within.

The Child is in Command of the Castle

Yet the empty halls bleed loneliness like a midwinter Draft, excising warmth.

Do all of us feel this way when we feel so weak and vulnerable?

May we life in wonder of the Child that commands the giant's Frame.