Eyes drawn blank from the pained portrait Staring back at me, shimmer in and out From the offset of these listless lids; Twin lighthouses through speckled fog A flippant form, convalescing from The fractures converging to every Broken promise born within, Flitters forth towards abject abandon A question grows out of the pockmarked Black, dissolving into tendrils beneath Seeking hands of rigid architecture; Two stones lost to the stoic creek Muted colours in disparate geometric Shapes—sail across uneven ridges of This earthen canvas, searching for the Brush that bore them to become Art
Author: Tyler Boettcher
Free Fall
Weightless I fall Feeling my body Stretched and torn As the past Deepens her hooks Into the souls Of my feet As the future arrests My hands—endlessly calling Drawing me forward Through every shift And turn—tumbling Forth in her waves Towards that deep Dark singularity I must become Fingers stretch out In all directions to Grasp any blade That has a root To try and bury Deep within a Sense of Earth a Sense of relative foundation Feet futilely descend Into blackened grains Trying to find A matching mold That can hold As the sands of time Slide out with Future's waves Heart goes out To break that Sacred limit of The universe And still I fall Hollow and alone Vacant in the void Mind descends into Chaotic battle Discordant notes Forming into Fractured chords Screaming out in Search of an echo And slowly As my senses leave me I hear my soul Speaking forth Softly as a whisper Reminding me Of this pre-breath form Reminding me I never had control Rolling forth I embrace the Crow's call That beckons me Towards what I thought Was lost but had Always been what Lied before me
Refraction
I stare into the eye of that gaping hole
That always comes to entreat my soul.
Provoking the grey fog to come crawling forth
Filling the far caverns of my mind
Adding weights to my thoughts and
Enshrouding my eyes to a dim monochromatic glow.
As I stumble forth in my shadowed haze
I almost miss the light reflected
From the tips of tulips,
From the cheeks of cherry blossoms.
Their luminous colors piercing through
The encroaching clouds as they scatter forth
Finding the deep recesses of my heart's retreat.
Silently echoing with every refraction,
Not today.
No!
Not right now.
Not this moment.
For now is for
Blades of green
Swirls of blue
Streaks of red
Hints of lavender
Reaching
Clawing
From a desperate dream
Breathing life
Exhaling death.
For tomorrow,
No,
The very next moment
I may be swallowed whole
And taken by the dark.
So I reach with every moment
To grab ahold of any light
That pierces through.
My Gift I Give Thee
I awake and think about
Commitment today
Think about discipline
Doing the work
Showing up
Those two words
That simple phrase
That became a weapon
Used against me
And so many others
A manipulation to force
An exchange
Of vulnerability
To an unsafe audience
A phrase that means
Everything to an artist
But can so easily be twisted
To harm the artist
Today I show up for myself
Long past the need
To placate another
Long past the need
For ephemeral reassurance
So that as I look inward
Instead of outward
I find, beneath the desolate dust
The gift I had long slandered
The gift of myself
I find my face again
In the mirror
Its worn edges
Its cracked smile
Its mixed eyes
There, there I am again
My truth
My self
My gift to the world
Redeath
Th’rabian bird was supposed to be the motif
That reflected the time I spent
In that city of the sun
Instead I ended up a lone leaf
Scattered across the wind
The wanderings of that prodigal son
Now I look to be born again
Rising from the predecessor
Aiming for something greater
than that which was remanescer
Past the horizon
I wonder now what remains
Of this storied pain
Waiting For Hello
A cold room elicits feelings
Not felt since that tepid morning.
A quiet not so true to its nature
That hangs braided
Mouth open
In a gaping grin
Waiting for that virulent vulnerability
To sink in its teeth
And tear from this world
Another star.
I reach out for hands not there
Converse with forms that live in my mind
Waiting for someone
Anyone
But myself.
Olvida Mi Corazon
Pensé que yo fuerte. Confié en que la esperanza ganaría. Me encontré en la oscuridad una noche y nunca escapé de ella. No me desesperé. Me aferré a lo que ardía por dentro y encendí un fuego en mi corazón para guiar mi camino. Me arrojé al corazón del abismo y me aferré desesperadamente a un hilo de esperanza que sentía que permanecía allí. Ese hilo era todo yo que tenía. La única conexión con un poco de luz dentro de mi alma para mantener caliente el fuego en mi corazón. Ese hilo se rompió hoy y ahora me quedo frío, desamparado y solo. Perdí mi corazón y ahora mi corazón nunca volverá.
In Corde Meo Memoria
I always envisioned myself as some archangel battling demons across clouds of crimson that streaked the skies. Everything was so straight forward; everything made sense. Two sides, good and evil, pick one or the other and make that the good side. Even in that fantasy hell could be heaven.
As I flitted through life I found no strong connection to either side. For both were born from inside me. Machinations that tie the history of humankind together. And yet, even in that I found no belonging. I wished to fight both sides which bears no fruit and could only lead to one outcome: my destruction. A single man pitted against to towering ideologies that existed before me and will continue to after me. How could I hope to win?
I loved it all the more. Incessant in nature to fight the losing battle. Further forward in life the colours swirl and black and white was simply an illusion. A way to make the chaos of the world seem somewhat manageable; as us versus them is an easy concept to hide behind. I dip in all the colours and taste their delights with no one colour hitting that sweet tooth of my soul.
It is not the black I hide in. Nor the white I use to blind others. It isn’t the myriad of millions of colours that dress me in their spirits. It’s the vacancy of verisimilitude; a vacuum vivacious in its viscosity, and venereal in its vernacular.
Look, I gave away my heart and it will not return. The sea is my only friend, far swept from any land or dwelling place. No one to visit me and no place to call my home. I am not lost…I simply do not belong.
Quis Scit
One of my favorite moments is right before a show, hanging out alone: hidden in the wings, as the audience gets settled. Feeling the energy and buzz of the crowd as they stream into the theatre and settle into their seats. Where I am unnoticed and they are all that their day has led them to be. It fills me and feeds me and I can sit in those moments into perpetuity.
My other favorite moment is when the show is over and the stage is empty. The crowd has all gone home and even the crew, and I have the stage and theatre absolutely to myself. Sometimes it is showing up early to a rehearsal, sometimes staying late: either way, when I and the stage are alone. Most often it is when I am not involved in any production or cast or crew. Just visiting a stage of past: a raised platform of wood, or stone, or rock; or an entirely new stage. I love to grab those moments by myself.
To sit alone on stage and let its history or dreams of its future swirl around me. Everything else has its moments and they are brief in time. A play goes for ninety minutes on average, and maybe I get a run of a month; how I would long for a year. Even then it would serve its time and move on. The stage however remains, and I with it.
People come and fill the stage with a variety of sets and decorations. Many lives are carried out on its surface. Sweat, blood, and tears stain its grain and it absorbs it all. Carrying each life and production lived deep into its core and there lie the memories and experiences of all time. It serves its many parts as I play my many parts.
Those are the moments I often ruminate in and sit in more and more. My heart has heard the roars of love. A spell which lifts me up towards the greater sky and sails me to different heights. The stage though, absorbs all heartbreak.
Hope
What did I know about Hope?
It always felt to me
To be a little lingering lie.
I dismiss it, denigrate it,
And depart from it.
Still it slinks close by;
My silver lining shadow.
It makes its home
Deep inside my bones
Coursing through my system
Always connected to my heart.
Pulsating in perfect symphonic
Chords that discordantly play
With respect to the reality
Grounded in my soul.
And even when the chaos
Bursts forth and brings the
Truth to light:
The opposition to the refrain;
My lifelong friend,
My compassionate companion
(Dangerous demon)
Still remains.
It cannot,
Nay
Will not:
Die.
What did I know about Hope?