love-notes.jpg

love notes

a ritual to start the work week

Monday, October 7, 2024

Hum and rumble reverberate
between bone and muscle, up
the right leg, bouncing behind
the knee cap. Hubcaps spin faster
as toe presses, knowing a moment
of truth waits just far enough
ahead. As the fork approaches,
an inner map populates, the head
fills with minute details, memories
of traffic patterns and weather
delays, flashes of yellows and reds,
the whether or not this morning
will be different, if some loss
will slow our momentum. As
the leg shifts and toe hits brake,
final arguments close in. In
the right’s defense, it is slightly
more traveled, the gravel just
ever so subtly smoother, its sights
a mite more familiar. And though
unknown potholes may await,
as the foot returns to accelerate,
the left hand takes the lead, taking
us a way that may not lead us
toward righteousness, but could
never really be deemed wrong.


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard
Monday, September 30, 2024

Does the bud know
the bloom it will become?
How its petals will unfurl
just so? Does it know
the sacred architecture
it holds? The radiant
perfection it will unfold
when it wakes, bleary
one morning? Or does
its dance and delicacy,
its curves and fecundity
surprise even itself?


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard
Monday, September 23, 2024

Leaves lean away from their branches,
tempting air to take them, lower them
slowly home, tokens of love returned
to nurture their earthen partners below,
short scribbled notes and brief kisses
slipping from you to me and back again.


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard
Monday, September 9, 2024

We lean on each other in heaps
awaiting some savior to file us away,
turn our turmoil and devastated disarray
into a library of broken spines,
realigned and rebound one page at a time.
Compile us, we plead. Come,
pile us. Rake us up like leaves.
Break us, again, if you must. But
remake us so that we may be remembered
together: a collection; a community
of hurt and exhaustion; a reservoir
of survival; a wildfire flicking
at the gates of Alexandria, hungry
and hunting he who would erase us.


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard
Tuesday, September 3, 2024

All the good things hurt —
the pain of growing, loving, living
all mere redundancies,
the same ache by another name.
Such fertile blooms, heavy
with pollen and cloying, claw
at our eyes and inflame our sinuses,
tear at our insides so that we may
expand into the fissures.


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard
Monday, August 26, 2024

Leaves stretch to catch more morning
beams peaking out from holdover
overcast that darkened the stars
overnight. You can almost
hear them devour the light. Breakfast
in bed and lunch all day. A monstrous
hunger feeding our quiet
meditations in turn. Feast, my loves,
feast.


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard
Monday, August 19, 2024

time travel       your hand in mine
rumbling thunder       harmony
universal truth       bitter
eyes       where do you keep your mugs?
transmogrification       dreams
freedom       still but still breathing
inhale       space exploration


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard
Monday, August 12, 2024

black ink on a blank sheet;
closed-eye listening;
how moss hugs my soles;
the streak of sky in my hair; 
inquisitive animal head-tilts;
your lips at the base of my neck;
sweat-drenched vistas;
gut-punching poetry;
peat and wood smoke;
late-night cackles;
bitter citrus cutting biscuity sweetness;
weightlessness;
curling incense smoke;
berry and honey notes in dark coffee and chocolate;
smooth cool glass heavy in my hand;
heavy rain;
knowing the glittery shower of peak Perseids twinkles above us even when it hides behind wisping clouds and the city’s ambient glow;
cacophonous cricket hum;
The Sun and all it warms;


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard
Monday, August 5, 2024

to do:   |   to don’t:

moisturize   |   pick at scabs
text a friend   |   white knuckle it
call your parents   |   point fingers
ask forgiveness   |   beg
take a sip of water   |   gulp
take a deep breath   |   hold it
take small bites   |   gorge
leave no crumbs   |   leave no trail to follow
take a step   |   take big swings
take a break   |   work a 10-hour day
cross things off this list   |   cross things off this list
look in the mirror   |   stare
share a selfie   |   filter yourself
light a match   |   burn yourself
light a candle   |   walk away
write a poem   |   write a novel
read a poem   |   compare yours to it
make a list   |   live by it
[                   ]   |   finish everything


love notes
a ritual to start the week

Christopher Shepard