Snippets By Jonathan Berman

7/29/2013

Like trying to find a single drop of water after it's already returned to the sea.

7/28/2013

Life's too short to worry about pebbles on the path, enjoy the flowers instead.

*

There's an innocence in the eyes of a kitten that is found in all babies of this earth... a special jewel, and it is not our job to change it, but to polish it with love for all the world to see.

*

If you want to truly live life on your terms, first you must understand what it means to live in the world by its terms.

7/22/2013

All is temporary, beauty lasts forever simply because it's earthly reflection lives so brief, but it warms us still, long after it's sun has set.

7/21/2013

The heart is a truth mold, we pour into our experiences, the ones that awaken the blood and spark the senses, open the eyes of the cells. There's an upward that's not the sky, and maybe we go there when we die. Until then, remember the things that gave you wings to fly, even just an inch off the ground, because they add up, and you'll be flying free as a bird, once you lay your body down. Take heart starling, the baby birds bounce without fear, perhaps because they don't know that danger is near. But you, you've got a head start, you know the danger's real, it taught you how to feel. So close the windows of the mind, and open the door of eternity and step inside.

Everyone is talking, everyone is moving, how can we find something, we've never found before? If we don't know what it looks like, and we can't remember what it is we wanted and what we're looking for? This will be my last call, unless in warm reception, stillness is the light in the hall, that leads to your door. If knocking will not open, and shouting's an explosion, I will wait here patiently, behind the old bastille. Where I have done my time.

7/20/2013

Sometimes it is as though the ego is a bubble being burst by the pins of the universe.

7/18/2013

The brain needs the heart, the heart needs the brain.
Balance is the key.
A little earth, a little rain.

7/17/2013

I'm a poet living in a world that has lost its appetite for poetry. Publishers have told me they love my work, but there simply isn't a market for poetry anymore, unless you're famous for something completely unrelated. I imagine if I had been a poet in the '50s, the '60s, or even the '70s, I'd have found my niche quite easily, and heavenly, but I live here, now, in a world that has found my ways and ideals quaint and borish. Even now I know with each passing word, I lend myself one phoneme closer, one word, one phrase, one sentence closer to obscurity. Matte is for paintings, not for real life. They say no one is alone, clearly they were mistaken.

Reality is everything that still exists once you stop thinking about it.

Do not sorrow the sun going down, for without it, there could be no sunset.

~*~

The moon is as much a prisoner as you or I. Like us, it has a dark side that no one sees, but every so often revolves close enough to the sun, casting shadows on the memory of water.

7/15/2013

Compassion is the smell of empathy's flower, that embraces all beings, in every waking hour.
(9:08am est)

A little horror movie appreciation song I wrote this morning... enjoy... if you dare!

Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead! So I can plant pretty flowers, in their caved in heads. Dismember your kids, place their eyeballs in balloons, and float them to the sky, so they can be free of you. Murder isn't wrong, when you put it in a song, all these things I say, as heartless as they sound, point towards salvation, in the imagination that you've found. So take the screaming teen, and show her no remorse. Naked and crawling in the dirt is just par for the course. Love a little murder, thrill a little death, for soon we'll all be worm dinner, a movie on the shelf.

7/13/2013

Alone is not real, but loneliness has nothing to do with reality. Apprehend reality, and find your wings, hidden within, like the ocean hidden within every drop of water.

*

Sylvia, how your oven cooled your room
And how so many if they only knew
The smoldering flame that still remains
I fan the flames and dream of you.

The ancient cacophony shatters still
But we walk the hallways between us
Ghosts are not people, but only memories
Longing to be remembered in hearts that so easily
forget.

Perhaps only the shooting star knows the heart
of the dark moon's side that we only guess the
motion of its tide by how it turns us
and upon waking from our despair,
return with loving kindness.

(6:18pm est)

7/12/2013

If you're the only person who talks about something, and it's profoundly meaningful to you, then that is your truth, that is your little illusory map towards a ray of sunshine... it is meant for you alone. By all means share it, but don't expect anyone else to care for it, after all, it has already found the perfect gardener in you.

*

Sometimes we are the ocean, sometimes we are the rocks.

7/10/2013

You my love, are not a dancer nor a dreamer, you are the dance, you are the dream... an aurora borealian grail beyond the ideological, vastness of time and space, the stuff of folklore, legend and mythology... the fertile soil of eternity... the immortal heart that forever breaks...

7/9/2013

There is a path through despair... it is filled with the sounds of music, and the colors of art and the flowing hair of paint brushes, dancing on the air... your imagination is the oxygen there, your belief a boat across the tumultuous waters of the great struggle... we go together, dripping wet, in tears and laughter.

7/2/2013

Are we all still chained inside plato's cave? I keep earning new links on my chain,

7/1/2013

If poetry is forced to rhyme, the way we force nature to grow in line. Then what of the linearality of time? And the birth to death, box life paradigm? Spoon feed me religion, spoon feed me spirituality, spoon feed me when to wake and go to sleep. Spoon feed me into the grave... but I will not go, I will fly without wings to places you'll never know... in mocking, in condemning, you close the doors, the ones that could set you free, and with discontent, feed the soil that grows more people like me.