Blake Leitch Poems

Back to Sleep

I can hear the morning birds chirping,
and see the new season’s rain
bring newness once again.

I can feel the crisp bite in the air,
and smell what they try to catch
in the aerosol cans.

I can see the blue grey sky,
and still feel sleep in my eyes
and dreams in my mind.

But for every piece of beauty here,
my only wish is to fall into
the slumbered reality that I knew.

The Most Misunderstood

It’s what causes loneliness for the heavy hearted,
and depression for the lonely.
It’s something that kills again and again,
something too many must live with.
It keeps the poor ones hungry
and the rich ones wanting
and it’s responsible for so much bad.

It’s also what kept a heart beating
when violent hearts were pounding,
what kept one from making an unforgettable, unforgivable mistake.
It’s been known to keep the good as good
and to keep the bad away
and to let us all decide for ourselves on which way is right.

It is a blessing.
It is a sin.
It is part of you
and me
and them.
It is the only thing,
one of countless,
and none of any.
Some days,
it is my saving grace.

Linear Conundrum

I am no mathematician
and I am no deity.
I am human
and see linear time.
But logarithmic thinking
has got me thinking;
time feels shorter as time moves onward
because each new year is a smaller slice of life.
So time maybe isn’t linear;
time may be more complete now than seems.
What we call time may not be time,
more an unveiling of the whole self.
And if that is true…
fate may be real.

Cloudy Tuesday

There’s a whole world up there;
not beyond the clouds,
but in the clouds themselves.
Up there lies the basis of life,
a reservoir of existence
ready to reinvigorate every ant down here.
And up there lies mystery –
a series of questions we still can’t answer,
a series of questions we don’t know how to ask.
I like the sun moreso than many,
but sometimes, just sometimes,
thank the heavens above
for the silver-lined reservoirs of life.

Silver Lake, Washington – June 13, 2015

A picture from a postcard,
a Rod Major masterpiece,
an image of perfection.
Clouds scatter far and wide
to let the north-west sky
be the blue reflected below.
And the trees,
the endless ocean of trees
I could only dream to name;
they are something purely beautiful.
Log cabins are dotted shore-wide
while kayaks skim the water top.
A picture from a postcard,
a Rod Major masterpiece,
an image of perfection.

Memories in the Dark

When the cold of winter is settling in,
when distracting normality is gone for a moment,
when the only noise left is the buzz of the television
and the dragging of feet on carpet,
and when I am here in my dark kitchen alone…

When I am faced with nothing more than myself,
I remember the things beyond the material.
Flesh is nothing for a moment,
and the happy soul is all to recall.

When I remember flesh,
I wish for nothing.
When I remember a kindred spirit,
I wish for yesterdays to return
and oceans to disappear.

The New Life

Life and death are the problem
until progress changes truths.
As age becomes a distant bother,
time increased with friend and brother,
a chance to go ‘tween lust and lover,
it’s meaning that we lose.

As truths evolve for some,
rights are changed for all.
And new problems take their place;
from a right-to-laugh to fashion taste,
it really doesn’t matter, whatever the case.
It’s life made superficial.