Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for joy
Due
The world is just such a great, glorious place, full of wonder for those with an open eye and an open mind, but an open mind and expectations for how life should be are the opposite ends of the spectrum. A mind open to the possibilities, unexpected, is a beauteous thing, yet life in the modern world demands that we plan, plot, and prepare for the future. Unless there’s somebody here to take care of us as we wander aimlessly.
I have wandered and planned, and perhaps if I plan well enough, I’ll wander again with no care in the word but to witness the joy of life with friends and the kindness of strangers.
Your Picture
After all these years,
I found your picture on a friend’s Facebook page,
and when I look at you,
a small part of me (a very small part)
thinks that wanting you,
having you,
would steal the wonder of you away from a deserving world.
But mostly,
when I see you, and your eyes,
(those eyes!)
full of hope and joy, I just want you.
I want you all to myself.
I want you completely.
And I want to give myself to you holding nothing back.
But you’re a continent away,
and you have undoubtedly forgotten
the pull between us,
the tension,
the lust,
the powerful urges.
And you have undoubtedly forgotten
the push between us,
the pain,
the anger,
the heartache;
Otherwise,
your eyes wouldn’t be so
full of hope
and joy.
Could You Be More Beautiful?
I can’t get over how beautiful you look in this light.
Your skin is a creamy shade of cocoa
and glows from within
with a light that would guide me home
if you looked my way more often.
You look like a movie star,
and though I’m sure that you weren’t meant for this world,
or perhaps I wasn’t meant for your world,
your charm is such that I don’t feel awkward around you.
Even your smile is a welcoming expression of contented joy.
I would ask you to dance if I weren’t afraid of cracking the rare perfection of this moment.
Of course, you would dance with me
knowing that more such moments would come.
When I Know You
When I hear you,
I hear joy, tenderness, laughter, and light,
strength, passion, will, and might.
When I see you,
I see life, beauty, wildness, and truth,
the sun, the moon, wisdom, and youth.
When I smell you,
I smell flowers, musk, your hair, your hands,
dawn and dusk, the beach, the sands.
When I touch you,
I feel your softness, your power, your grace, your art,
the blood coursing through you, the beat of your heart.
When I taste you,
I taste earth, water, cool, and sweet,
body, blood, salt, and heat.
When I know you,
I will know everything worth knowing.
Recalls to Memory
Lying,
Music recalls to memory,
Passion,
Joyous great oceans of union, wide rivers of you.
I long for a shared moment, gentle moment,
Loving words, convincing words,
Your breast,
Firelight.
Standing,
Music recalls to memory,
Africa,
Intensity,
Great oceans of love, wide rivers of loss.
Give me a high branch, strong branch,
Strong rope, short rope,
Noose tight,
Take flight.
Old questions
A seldom-seen mist settled into my mindscape, obscuring nothing, yet dulling everything in sight. There is no mystery in this; nothing is masked by this fog. When I see blue sky, all else seems more intense and meaningful. Now that the brightness is gone, I see things merely as they are, though to say as much suggests that when these things are illuminated by that pervasive brightness that I see not merely what they are; I know this is false. The sun shines.
The problem with always living in the moment is that one gains no perspective on things. A person who sees the ups only when he or she is joyous and the downs only when he or she is dolorous may never understand the relationship of joy and heartache. We must find a balance between being in the here-and-now, and considering the past or planning for the future.
What am I? I am not this flesh, this pile of bones. If I were these things, I would not be able to step outside my body or ignore hunger and pain in moments of great joy or great fear, though a slap across my face often gets my attention.
I am not these thoughts, these scattered ideas. If I were them, I would not be able to rest in a place apart from them. Though when I sleep, I go with my dreams, or they go with me.
I trust that I will discover what I am through careful introspection, examination, or meditation, but I cannot be sure of this.
Perhaps I am that which asks the question, but if I am only that, what am I when I ask not? Do I cease to exist? Ho ho! No! Like a great riddle, I will only know I have the answer when I have it, and once I have it, I will know that I do, though I may stop asking the question before then.
