Of feet and roots

I thought I could write poetry.

Because I have overwhelming feelings and what not.

The kind that I can’t seem to get a handle of.

Why would I want to do that?

No clue.

Coffee. That seems to work.

And music. That works too.

I’m trying out yoga.

To get in touch with the earthly side of me.

Earthly side of me.

Right.

They talk about roots in yoga.

Rooting yourself to the ground.

It’s a really nice metaphor.

I try to picture it in my mind while I work out.

My feet, the roots that bind me to that greater thing.

————————————————————

In the meanwhile my mind wonders.

To the mountain. To the car.

To the road not taken. Yes. Frost.

To the lack of road.

To the past.

That happy childhood gone too fast.

Come back childhood.

I was the kind of child that was not eager to grow up.

Now I am all grown, trying to catch the train.

A train. Some train.

May be it’s not a train I am supposed to hop on.

May be it is a donkey.

May be it is a bike.

I hadn’t stopped to think may be life rides in all forms of transportation.

Though I feel more like I should be riding a rocket

A turtle is my actual vehicle.

———————————————————-

So here I sit.

On top of my turtle.

Thinking about the poetry in my head.

The puzzle that makes no sense.

The pieces that came with out a box.

That seem to form no pattern.

Desperation?

Yes. Ocasionally.

Coffee. It always works.

Music. It works too.

People. They rarely work.

Desperate today?

Yes.

It’s a temporary thing they say.

I know.

Patience is not a virtue of mine.

Anyway.

—————————————————–

Right. Yoga.

Feet! Root thyself to the ground!

After yoga class I breath deeply.

Hop on my turtle.

And head back home.

Poetry?

Still working on that.

Is this a poem?

Hardly.

My turtle’s name is Democracy.

Hurry Democracy!

The world is about to collapse.

Or end apocalyptically.

Financial breakdown!

What?

No idea.

—————————————————-

Cup of coffee. Radiohead.

Everything is fine again.

I’ll just stop and daydream about my trip to the galaxy next door.

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

Just a kid.

A kid who?

A kid who lost her way.

But thanks the world for being so very nice to her.

Give it one more try.

Feet. Root thyself to the ground!

And then… keep on dancing.

Feet are hard to draw

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4 thoughts on “Of feet and roots

  1. i think i know you better through your poems and your writings. “of feets and roots” is a portrait of your momentary state of mind very well acomplished. I really liked it.

    Like

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