Slice of Life Poetry Podcast

welcome to Slices, a weekly-ish publication of poetry, creative nonfiction, and more. subscribe to get the next post right in your inbox!okay, i’m gonna bring up therapy again. once my therapist learned that i rode a motorcycle, and commented on how i would probably, inevitably, crash (i’m not offended, every non-rider is compelled by the universe to remind riders how dangerous it is for some reason), he took it on as a creative metaphor. do you ever feel asleep? like you walk around and you’re just there? the people around you are blurs and life is flowing around you like beige goo?that is what happens when we’re not paying attention to our inner existence. like Neo in the Matrix, we are living in one reality while remaining asleep in another. all our thoughts, emotions, and beliefs flow through us unbidden. as my therapist has pointed out, many many times, riding a motorcycle requires constant awareness; external awareness to see and understand the road, the environment, and any dangers; internal awareness to see and understand where my focus is at, if i am limited physically in my ability to ride safely. if this sounds tiring to you, i will confirm that riding can be very exhausting. this constant awareness and mental processing takes a lot of energy. it takes a lot of practice, too, to mitigate threats and ride defensively. the instant i no longer practice this is the exact time i put myself at risk of death or worse.with this metaphor applied to real life, how can i not strive to live more awake? paying attention and living within understandable reach of my mind, heart, and soul are now more essential than ever to me. i have lived so much of my life unaware of myself, and this has led to dangerous situations: bad relationship choices, painful words, poor money habits, alcohol dependency, and more. it’s my hope that every day i can face myself and continue to live awake. what about you? how do you go about choosing to be awake?here’s the poem:Thruxton Meditations It takes far too long to settle into myself I can only think of the things left behind, things unsaid, undone, half-done. And then the motor rumbles to life. The sound calls to me, like a heartbeat reminding me that I need to get away, to be away, to be myself and inside my own body, looking through my eyes of flesh, not those of a scattered mind. Clutch, rev match, down shift, speed into the curve, the camber calling my existence into question— I must keep my real eyes up and ahead; I must remain firmly planted, connected to the seat, knees hugging the bumblebee-yellow gas tank for dear life; there is no room for error. To be distant, to get distracted, to hide away within myself means destruction. There is only myself on this death machine, hurtling through the air perfumed with asphalt and fumes, past hills browned by winter’s touch. There is only the control in my hands and feet and eyes to keep myself safe; it is just like life. Close your eyes, close your heart, and you will lose everything; But enough of that. My heart races, my soul smiles, and on this motorcycle, I am totally free. Get the next poem right in your inbox by subscribing here:Thank you for reading! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

In therapy, I’ve learned a lot about differentiation. Here’s the printout my therapist gave me:I have had to work really hard to move away from co-dependence. And this has been a scary and painful process. But, ultimately, it has saved my heart and life. It has matured me in ways I did not expect. I have talked about my faith before and how I believe in a Source or an Entity that perpetuates goodness. As I have become more self-dependent and differentiated, I have actually witness and felt this Source more often. I pray more, too. This is something I did not expect. I see more beauty in myself and others, and I also see more darkness too. That’s the point of my mental health journey: to see and be seen as myself. Before, I have let others define me and I have tried to define others. Life is so much better now that I’m free from that. My depression isn’t so powerful as it was. I can deal. If you know someone who’s on a mental health journey, you know how important it is that they get the help they need. You can help more people, and men specifically, get that help by donating to the Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride, a non-profit that raises money for men’s health research. I’ll be riding my motorcycle for men’s health this May 18th. Help me and countless other men get the help they need by donating:https://gfolk.me/ZachARoushruminations on a September day, San Diego i can feel the world speaking to me “pay attention, pay attention” to the quiet working of the bee, the student, to the filtered sunshine through olive leaves, silver, green, and bright “i am the miracle all around you, in the wind, the table’s wood grain, that panting dog” i live inside a miracle inside an Earth of miracles — i miss this the key is silence and quiet the door is always there; it’s not the thing that’s locked my mind is often engorged on drinks, screens, desire these are the walls and vaults; i trap myself within them out of habit, a slave to my own chaos inner peace is freedom, its own shore apart from distraction an oasis of self people say transparency is everything but i can’t let the world pass through me like i’m a ghost; i’m not intangible i have to have walls. i must build them of glass so i can be seen, and there should always be a door in - but just one i have to be real, concrete, unbroken, holding the world at arm’s length but holding it all the same if i let go, i’ll die i’ll be gone forever; miracles can only be witnessed if i keep a grip on living. birds leap from branch to branch overhead, among the silver boughs, arrow shadows, chirps calling cheerfully i can hold on just a little longer. If you like this poem, please subscribe to Slices! You’ll get the next one right in your inbox! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

These poems describe some feelings I had while living in Ha Noi, Vietnam’s capital. My partner and I lived there in a small apartment with a big dog. I took her (the dog) on a lot of walks. Many of these poems came to me during these excursions. Morning, noon, and night I walked her.Looking back, I feel immense gratitude at how nice a life I lived there. Not only was it convenient and easy, but I was lucky to find amazing people to share my life with. ha noi, night my dog loves sniffing garbage it brings her joy like nothing else. as we walk, we taste charcoal, meat, and cigarette smoke on the air. the night also carries with it the rhythmic, happy chatter of young people free from their apartments. we turn a dark corner there’s a flash of brightness! a couple is taking photos snuggled up tight, smiling like forever. you wouldn’t know it unless you were in the moment or, like me, an interloper but there’s eternity everywhere in cool nights and my dog's nails on asphalt, her curious ears triangulating, pointing the way toward happiness and fullness and love. xuan dieu skinwalker it’s these late, damp streets, pockets of dusk gleaming , the dark dots of bats flitting, lovers in midnight lanes laughing that finally make me feel free to leave myself behind. scooters rush by, exhaust smoke curling up in the air; young men drinking and laughing; a tailor folds up the last of her work; couples sit by the lake, unfolding their hearts like flowers; a security guard lights another cigarette; I possess these other lives and squirrel them away for dark times, to wear them like another skin. it's not enough to be myself, living in one place, in one life. I give myself the day for sleeping, and the night for walking beneath the cool moon's gaze, soaking up all the people I could have been, imagining who I could still be. yellow vespa, vintage jacket, a million dollar man: I'm cruising on my friend's sunshine yellow vespa, wearing my chocolate-brown bomber jacket; wind in my beard, blue skies overhead there is nothing that could go wrong or ever has been wrong. and I know tomorrow everything could be different. that’s how it goes; I take the sun when it shines and the clouds when they crawl. don’t get me wrong I never never want to feel like I did five minutes ago before the jacket, before the vespa, when I was writing a very different poem. I don't want to think about it anymore. I twist throttle and wish I could bottle up this million-dollar-bomber-yellow-vespa feeling; here's hoping, these words can do just that. leaving the gym, ha noi fallen star fruit perfumes the air like sour candy rain. a laughing child soars, is caught in the arms of her father. a smiling dog trots beside a woman in a polka dot jacket. a mechanic's shop is now a karaoke bar; the singing grinds and clamors worse than the work itself. I weave through schools of motorcycles and scooters, finding my rhythm. we are all fish in our seas, we are such small things. when I get home, my landlord is angry with me. and suddenly I am smallest thing in the universe. Thank you for reading! If you like these poems, please subscribe: This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

If you like poetry about life and its little moments - and you also like getting poetry right in your email inbox, subscribe today. You’ll get next month’s poem before everyone!Also, I’d like to highlight a couple of things:* I’m part of this amazing newsletter forwarding community that helps me grow. It’s called The Sample. If any of you are looking to grow just a lil’ bit with your own newsletters, hit up this link.* Also, I want to shout out Scrivener for keeping all my writing madness together. It’s like Microsoft Word if it went to the gym, took testosterone, and then got a job at Apple and became a tech bro. Scrivener is the best word processor out there. Here’s my link, just for you.Full disclosure - I do get some kickback from these organizations. But they’re so solid, I wouldn’t recommend them otherwise.- Zach This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

If you like poems about love, doing dishes, and the little moments of life that speak loud, subscribe today!littlemoments.substack.comDrop a heart in the comments if you've ver been through a hard breakup:littlemoments.substack.com/p/after-two-thousand-days This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

Slice of Life Poetry Presents: Faulty NeuroplasticityRead the poem and answer the reader question here: https://littlemoments.substack.com/p/neuroplasticity This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

This poem was written as a response to a missionary who grew ill while serving God in Scotland.Discussion question: Do you think there’s a force for Good or Evil in the universe? Read the poem and answer the discussion question here: https://littlemoments.substack.com/p/becauseofyou This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

Forget, a poem about letting go... This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

As I get older I feel less wise and more harsh, growing Jagged like slow-melting ice; I don’t want to be patient, I don’t want to taste and see What life might bring; There is only so much time Before the next wave Takes our place: We end up like terracotta soldiers Scowling into the future We never get to see, The living marching over us, perpetually Stomping into the horizon, Into their own burial grounds; All of us melting Into the earth like glaciers; All things die as one. Damn, my coffee got cold While writing this. And the microwave Is on the fritz.Name something that makes you instantly annoyed…For me, it’s a bad movie. Can ruin my whole day until I watch something that’s really good. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

They lay upside down, angled, tilted Their lips poised on a bamboo spatula So they can dry all the way. The bowls will remain until someone Recalls they must be put away. Yet they belong there on that towel. In the dotted light coming through that old curtain. There is something to their pleasant persistence: To the stained and well-loved towel To the water stains like tear tracks, As if they had something to cry about. They’re somehow eternal, Beautiful in the mundane sense. Reminiscent of those statues missing arms, Teasing us with shapely torsos. At any point in all of history Be there flaming arrows falling onto thatched roofs, Or a train rumbling past a prairie house, Or intimate promises whispered in the bedroom next-door, Or when the laughter of children rings in the air – There they will be - dirty dishes and bowls left askance; And you and I will have to put them away On shelves, in cabinets On circling Lazy Susans. But we could also just leave them there For one more day For one more hour Until they dry.Thanks for reading Slice of Life Poetry! Subscribe for free to receive new poems bi-weekly and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

A room is a shell. It can have nothing and still be a room, but The crown molding wants lamps to illuminate its curves. The maple floor wants for a rug, a leather armchair, A couch, and coffee table. With those things it’s a fertile egg, porcelain skin Ready for life, for voices and warm bodies Content to keep people together and safe So they can dance, drink coffee, make love —Or whatever people do in rooms, on couches— The point is The room’s waiting for a moment to hatch For the silence to break like a fallen dish For its loneliness to have some company. It’s ready to make memories with mug stains and scuffed floors With laughter that rings in the windows, Like fingers dancing on crystal And the maple floor sighs with the weight of life. —But none of this is about living room accoutrements— It’s about a person who Fills up the attics, basements, and cupboards With mumbles and shouts and something more: Weight, solidity, a change in polarity A change in everything. Someone Who helps bury those forgotten, hidden skeletons Who teaches us that nothing is wasted, no, that everything Grows and seeds itself, becomes part of the next soil for the next moment, for the next year and life and —God, why are there so many ways to say— That you give me life like You’re breathing into me and I’m swelling, A house in a storm, joinery and foundation fit to burst And I don’t know when it happened, but You’ve cracked me open, made me full with Something I can’t buy make or steal and Loving you is an awesome weight I carry and I’m never, ever going back To entertaining empty rooms.This poem was written for a couple…that is no longer together. Moral of the story: this love poem is so good it broke them up. Just kidding. It was just bad timing. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

These poems are pieces that I pull out of my eyes and memory Examined with my mind's eye served up to you on a silver platter: in text, in airwaves Life is all in slices and molecules and only we can string them together and build something worth living for I hope my words help make sense of things that never make sense sometimes... These poems save me and sometimes they unravel and break things in to smaller pieces That's why: Slice of Life Poetry Is here for you and also for me. (Delivered bi-weekly). This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

Newton’s first law: A body continues in motion Or in rest Unless acted upon by a force. And so it goes with you: You live for yourself, Hurtling through time Where the only things that matter Are pleasure Ambition And greatness. Your lone wolf days Make for lonely nights And inspire a burning longing, A desperate cry: My life should mean something! My life needs love! Without it, you will Continue on, An aimless particle, A rogue asteroid Waking, working, eating, sleeping, Going through the motions, Living as though dead. The second law: A body acted upon by An outside force Will react According to its momentum And conviction. And so it goes when you find love, When you find the one your soul needs, Your orbit shifts. Gravity asserts itself, The laws of attraction are imminent. And there is no stopping them. You stay up all night Whispering into phones Sneaking away at parties into quiet, forgotten corners. Every moment is excitement, Every word is something new. There is heat - like reentry. There is the realization That you carry Things from the past: Relics, wounds, dangerous thoughts. They could destroy your love Before it ever becomes Its own universe. The third law: When two bodies exchange forces They are changed Equally Completely Indefinitely. So it goes as years pass: Things are different. Love is no longer a collection of Whims, passion, or creation - Your fissile material Has lost its sear. Yes, after years, You now have A language of eyes And shoulders. Every word and sigh Has its own wake. You might sit on the couch On Saturday mornings And never utter a single Word. Now, every day, You must decide between love And yourself: With love, Gravity applies: You have weight, You have alignment You have a partner. But without them You are cursed With long, silent days And loud, empty nights. Hurtling aimlessly as you once did, A wolf among the stars. You understand That you don’t need Newton to tell you What the world is like anymore. You don’t need physics to explain How things work. You don’t need Books or blogs or advice: You’ve lived it. On those Saturday mornings, Sitting in the memory of Your first love, In the ruins of your oldest wounds And in the carcass of old ambitions You know, without a shadow That love And gravity Are the same thing. And without them You are nothing. But with them, You have everything. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com

Milagros de Costa Rica The reflection of A plane’s silhouette On a cloud- Haloed in rainbow A cappucin monkey Flying from an ancient ficus Onto a fern frond That’s outlived the dinosaurs The kindness of strangers Who share not my tongue But will help you find The hotel key you lost. Swimming beneath A thundering waterfall That makes its own waves During a rainstorm A pizza oven A cold beer And puffy clouds Before a fiery sunset. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit littlemoments.substack.com