A collection of poetry from Josh Preston
The Green will come back to us
it has to,
the passing of its shade
simply a setting sun.
Nothing lasts forever now
how could it,
life carves the wonder
deep in the bark and root.
So don’t mourn the leaves
it’s not water they need
but time,
simply time,
and my sweet Loves
time goes on.
The Green will come back to us.
“How does one become a butterfly? she asked. You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar” – Anonymous
Two wings and all the soft wisdoms
needed to weave eternal grace and
every blooming tranquility. How true
and how precious the butterfly: to
place those kisses on our open palms.
Silken bodies in their immortality,
stolen from the dreams we hand
them, to deliver to the fairies and
pixies. Our curious couriers, so
quaint in their regal spring flights.
In the quiet moments. The rising
mornings. Their silhouettes dance
on the window blinds. I trace their
journeys in notebooks and canvas,
they are truly all we will ever need:
butterfly kisses,
on our open palms.
Do not let the sunsets pass quietly
those hues will not stay
the reds and yellows and purples
will melt into recession
dripping in tranquil nightfall.
Do not let the couples and lovers
chat in unnoticed companionship
the souls and masses and families
continue to prove to us
loving sprouts in those needed cracks.
Do not let the planes fly by
without thinking of its passengers
the lost and travelers and coming home
drink deeply from a sea
glistening in perception and imagination.
Within the innate dissatisfaction
blossoms these endless wonders,
bathe in them,
know them,
hold onto them,
until the noticing
crystalizes into radiant impenetrability
while we gloriously
endure.
The other day she slid her feet
into cool soft sand and listened,
to a lighthouse whisper its wisdoms
into the crashing ebb of waves
showing through stalwart radiance:
How to weave a quiet serenity
in the moments of solitude
and vast wild openness,
How to be the only structure
in an endless sea of blue
and find substance there,
How to truly inhabit one’s self
in such a voracious authenticity
and beacon that light out to others,
So she wrote that light house
a thank you in the sand then watched
as high tide carried that gratitude
to the wise lighthouse.
On my balcony I watched a child
play with an imaginary friend,
and while texting my own friends
I laughed and laughed at him.
Then the kid starting slow dancing
with his little invisible partner,
‘how cute’ I thought to myself
while texting some girl.
The boy then started talking, talking to it
this intangible person of his mind
but I had seen enough
and had all my laughs.
So I stood up
went inside
started my shift
of talking, talking
into a computer screen.
After work
I sat in my car scrolling
scrolling until my phone
grew a face on the back
that scowled and hissed
and laughed at me.
So with tears in my eyes
I threw the phone
in the glove compartment,
then I drew a nicer
friendlier face
on the wind shield,
it was the second realest thing
I’d seen all day –
right behind that boy’s imaginary friend.
First,
I scan with my eyes
I notice patterns
see the shapes and sizes
that this piece could fit into.
Second,
I gently glide my fingers
across a forming landscape
feeling for opportunities
that would benefit
from this piece’s presence.
Third,
with firm resolution
I attempt to insert this piece
maybe it fits
contributing to a more complete picture,
maybe it doesn’t fit
and more force
only bends the piece…
So once again,
I scan with my eyes
I notice patterns …
Eternal Venus silver
you sweet magnanimous creature
let me chase and let me love
this luring gem,
dear Luna.
Majestic foxen angel
just pose in space forever
not too close not too real
my guiding light,
oh Luna.
So pray for me
this muse tonight
who won’t stay or know
her grace in time:
my word,
my dear,
my Luna.
you’ll shine
you’ll see
you will kiss the crisp morning
then lullaby the sun down.
One day
real soon
every footstep will ring out
with the sound of belonging.
I know it
I see it
like a solar eclipse mystifies
your glory will here align!
and I will be there friend
to cheer you on
while holding you up
to setting sun.
So shine –
you sunset darling,
shine for everyone!
Watching planes take flight in the night sky
and for the first time in my life
I’m not jealous of the planes,
this is exactly where I wanna be:
right here
tasting July’s air.
I can look at birds floating against the clouds
without rage or spite
just a similar sense of weightlessness ,
cause my mind doesn’t fly away now:
it stays
laying itself bare.
So this poem isn’t a poem
about beautiful women
or angsty expression
no
not this one,
this poem:
it goes out to the planes
and the birds
and the staying here-
with feet on the ground
breathing in
July’s air.
The wind kisses leaves,
a butterfly rests on a daisy.
For millions of years
an ecosystem of grace.
A majesty beyond me
outside me
eternal.
blessings in a moment
a fragment
breathe.
The wind parts my hair
I watch the butterfly
float away.
Of Poems and Places 