soulful concoction

an ounce of sadness,twenty warm tears
rolling off red cheeks, dripping into a 
splash of blended grief, heartache jarred,
seasoned over time, a teaspoon will do,
not a drop more, roomy enough so
to add a lonely sigh, a fiery spice,
and pour, slowly, upon glacially
chilled blocks of life’s artic ways, 
abandoned as they crack open,
cold to hot, like a hug after winter’s 
storm, yet no one’s around, to hold, to
warm sluggish blood, the work is
unfinished, move, step forward,
include sprinkles of passion,
purposeful reason, I will, I will,
toss in a shrig of desire, to float 
above all that aches, a chasm,
then stir, gently with care, shake not, 
avoiding slight releases of nauseating
aromas, be gentle, finishing off
with garnishments of hope, drink,
that I will be remembered, embraced,
and renewed, that love’s arms will 
find me, before the glass runs dry.

                                             Jaymes Ian Woode

Finding self

losing
misplacing hope once had
possessing something
an object or belief
walking towards dreams
colors dancing freely
to roam without restraint
closed in boundaries
lines meant to cross
pathways connecting
remaining in touch
feeling hands in mine
receiving what is given
to offer a gift to another
a person other than self
the one never misplaced
absent from usual location
a place to find what is missing
forgetting to participate.

                   Jaymes Ian Woode

Squinting eyes

It is strangely bright outside my window,
glaring reflections, eyes squinting just
enough to keep from blindness, though
it is somehow expected, a glimpse of insight
into patterns of the past, i am left to wonder,
to guess, possibly, that what i see is
also seen by those I long to be near,
the few whose faces are burned
in the reels of movies continuously
playing in my head, encore viewings
without end, but they cannot see
inside my mind, closed off theater,
empty seats, a family album, boxes
filled with photos of the past, black
and whites, fading colors, aged,
stuck in a time when we stood
side-by-side, gazing in the same
direction, when life wasn’t as narrow
as what can be seen through closing eyes.

                                             Jaymes Ian Woode