Stream of Consciousness Poem

Stream of consciousness
Like a ribbon
That can’t be caught
Or held onto for very long
But which keeps unfolding
And revealing itself
If you allow it to

It’s strange what exists in there
Those thoughts that you weren’t even aware you were thinking
Those foreign feelings
Unknown to you before, in murky depths,
But which seem to have been a part of you all along
Those images, shapes, signs
Of a universal language
Which seek you out
If only you listen

I wish I could always live in that exalted space
Of universal wisdom
Of electricity
Electric thought.
Buzzing and whirring at a million miles a minute
Yes, that’s it.
I like when I’m a receiver of the great beyond
I like to sit in my little house
At my desk
Beside my telephone
Whose chord reaches up to the sky, past the viewing point,
A universal hotline, if you will,
That’s where I like to live
Waiting to receive.
Waiting for the call.
And then hearing it.
And picking up.

-Lucy Schwartz



You are lovable when you feel crazy
You are lovable when you feel sane
You are lovable in the sunshine
You are lovable in the rain
You are lovable in all circumstances
In all places,
In all moods,
In all of your emotions,
And desires,
In all your certainties and uncertainties,
In all your fears, worries and regrets,
In all the things you’ve done,
And all the things you haven’t done yet,
And in all the ways you simply, incredibly EXIST,
Without doing anything at all.

You are lovable at your worst
You are lovable at your best.

Believe me,
You are as lovable as lovable gets.

-Lucy Schwartz



A poem written by the sun for the moon:

Come towards me
Hide my light for a moment
So that I can unearth truths
That have been lying in your shadow

Slow dance with me
My sweet companion
Even if it can only be for one song
Too many years have passed without your touch,
And it won’t be long before the fates separate us once again
So while we are here, together at last
Let us not weep for lost time
Or the coming goodbyes
Let us pretend
In this moment
That we have all the time in the world

As the morning birds sound “our song”
I will hold you in my arms
And dance with you cheek to cheek
And we’ll turn morning into night
With a fire so piercing it could blind
And all who witness us will be mesmerized
Standing on mountains
Sitting on cars
And porches
And lawns
Families and friends huddled together
Eyes shielded with spectacles
Hands pointing
Mouth agape
Some standing in new, unfamiliar plots of the earth
Just to say they caught a glimpse
Of you and I

And we’ll shake the world into remembering
That each being is a perfect union
Of both darkness and the light

Just like you and I, darling
Just like you and I

So before our song is through
Look into my eyes and
Hold me
In the way that only you know how

-Lucy Schwartz


Note: I do not own the photographs included in this post.

The Box

I started to wonder what would happen if time could be contained inside a wooden box
And if every New Year’s Eve
When the clock struck twelve
Each person on Earth was presented with a box and a key
Upon which they could choose to open their box of time
And see forth into the future
Of the coming year
Through dusty crystal ball
Or talisman
Or hand-scribbled clue left in the box
Perhaps each person’s box would contain something different
Unique as the person themself
One soul might open their box and find a roll of film and a projector
From which they could literally watch the entire year to come
Agonizing in advance over certain unpleasant chapters
And rewinding to watch their favorite scenes over and over
Reliving the best moments before they’ve even been lived
Another person might find a hefty script or a novel
Their life in print
Every word of their future dialogue written down, play by play
And seemingly unchangeable
Written in ink, not pencil
Or perhaps for some, this mysterious fortune-telling box would contain something much less concrete
Maybe the only thing they’d find in that large wooden box would be a small, simple, poem
Cryptic but telling
Words that could be interpreted and misinterpreted a thousand different ways
The box would deliver them truth and still leave them guessing
Or maybe for an unlucky few
When they opened their annual New Year’s box, they’d find –
Nothing –
Just an empty box
The end of their future near

Imagine the possibilities
And the danger
If the future was not this foggy thing
Unclear and out of reach
But instead something that you could hold in your hands
And if it were so
And your very own box was laid out in front of you
Would you open it?
Would you look?
Would you dare?
Would I?

-Lucy Schwartz