Kenji
-In Germany I served to make a better world for us all.
Killed a man and earned a car.
Lost a leg, and earned a star.
Still I’m forced to look around and wonder where we are…
-Taught by American Teachers, pool halls, radios and drinking
-Years interned in the desert, left us wondering what they were thinking.
And so we signed up, marched to war to prove that we were worthy-
Of the freedoms guaranteed to us
-but stolen undeservedly.
-My Father worked to pay the bills, struggled raising a large family.
-And when at last they let us go, he started over smiling candidly.
I lost my soul that day that man fell bleeding from the roof top.
And hope that one day we see people as people so that eventually the hate stops.
And though dying, I dreamily envision
that America could be a place where people melt together.
But until then I say do what you can-
And if they steal another inch in hopes to stop the rotting…
Smile for another day - and pedal to the metal
Keep on hopping.
******This poem is about a character from the book No-No Boy, which is about a number of Japanese people who lived through WWII and struggled with their identities, values, culture etc and the aftermath of the war, internment, etc.This is not about the main character, I wrote a poem thats even worse than this one to include him... but this is about one of the more positive characters in the book....a friend named Kenji who became a soldier and was hurt... he ends up dying in the book, but tries to help the main character choose a more healthy/hopeful life...******
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Seven (oct 2007)
I can see your revolution building, but its not in the streets.
Marred by attitudinal adolescence,
but strengthened
by the justice of your mission.
My Child, My Brother, My Friend
There was time when you were bold and blatant
when each momentary need called for confidence, and I
sat watching,
worried and withdrawn, only reaching out when the cars
would have struck, or the embarrassment was too much.
But I reacted in those times with confidence because I knew you could trust me.
There was a time when each action seemed so inappropriate,
each conversation so conceited, and I passed judgment on you
and probably made it apparent.
but each time,
to be honest I was impressed
with the not so subtle ways you drew people to you.
Your laughter, and excitement contagious, and sometimes… even when I was hiding in the other room
I was laughing.
There was a time, when you were scared and lonely
You struggled with the first time, the first love, the first betrayal.
You couldn’t muster your normal excitement,
you couldn’t sit still
but you wouldn’t leave the house to find fulfillment,
and to that- I could relate,
So together we acknowledged our truths.
But now you are back to quick expansion,
and never since stopping you from car crashes have I felt more scared,
for in rapid increases you’ve proven already that you can outgrow me
and if danger nears, I’m unsure If I am prepared.
If your revolution calls will you take to the daring road,
And should you bring about that change
–will you judge me for being less bold?
(((((((((this is about a feeling I had when my little brother called me a few weeks ago, distraught, ambitious, ready for action and change... his values are wonderful, he cant stand the injustice... but I worried that he would be the bold free spirit he has always been, and run off to fight some revolution... and if so, i know i'd be worried, proud, confused... but what if he succeeded?)))))
Marred by attitudinal adolescence,
but strengthened
by the justice of your mission.
My Child, My Brother, My Friend
There was time when you were bold and blatant
when each momentary need called for confidence, and I
sat watching,
worried and withdrawn, only reaching out when the cars
would have struck, or the embarrassment was too much.
But I reacted in those times with confidence because I knew you could trust me.
There was a time when each action seemed so inappropriate,
each conversation so conceited, and I passed judgment on you
and probably made it apparent.
but each time,
to be honest I was impressed
with the not so subtle ways you drew people to you.
Your laughter, and excitement contagious, and sometimes… even when I was hiding in the other room
I was laughing.
There was a time, when you were scared and lonely
You struggled with the first time, the first love, the first betrayal.
You couldn’t muster your normal excitement,
you couldn’t sit still
but you wouldn’t leave the house to find fulfillment,
and to that- I could relate,
So together we acknowledged our truths.
But now you are back to quick expansion,
and never since stopping you from car crashes have I felt more scared,
for in rapid increases you’ve proven already that you can outgrow me
and if danger nears, I’m unsure If I am prepared.
If your revolution calls will you take to the daring road,
And should you bring about that change
–will you judge me for being less bold?
(((((((((this is about a feeling I had when my little brother called me a few weeks ago, distraught, ambitious, ready for action and change... his values are wonderful, he cant stand the injustice... but I worried that he would be the bold free spirit he has always been, and run off to fight some revolution... and if so, i know i'd be worried, proud, confused... but what if he succeeded?)))))
Oct 2007
It bothers me,
just how beautiful you still are
With traces of your skeletal braces protruding from skin -and not so gently,
And when we hug,
I feel the space between us that was once you…
so that even when you are wrapped up closely, I still miss you.
And like my grandmother’s hands which always felt so breakable,
I worry, and keep my distance though I’d love to hold you,
for my sheer presence must be like a freight truck
swaying your tiny frame on the highway.
But you’re the one smiling.
Perhaps.. finding your place in the world?
Finally.
My only… hope ,
is that you return home - as robust as your ambitions.
just how beautiful you still are
With traces of your skeletal braces protruding from skin -and not so gently,
And when we hug,
I feel the space between us that was once you…
so that even when you are wrapped up closely, I still miss you.
And like my grandmother’s hands which always felt so breakable,
I worry, and keep my distance though I’d love to hold you,
for my sheer presence must be like a freight truck
swaying your tiny frame on the highway.
But you’re the one smiling.
Perhaps.. finding your place in the world?
Finally.
My only… hope ,
is that you return home - as robust as your ambitions.
Baby Bird (oct 2007)
It seems baby bird, that as a youngling
you were just as small,
Big head, skinny neck outstretched
Calling out for nourishment
And got only your parents
regurgitated frustration
Never quite sure what you were supposed to sustain yourself on.
The push from the nest, that age old test
-and the slow spiral of flapping unused and untrained wings
Till the spiral bottoms out
And the hospital beds pump you full of nutrients
As if this latest liquid diet could replace the one you never had
And when they’re through
Another stay
in that uncomfortable nest of pine needles
The watchful eye of parents
Who want to protect and wonder in worry, if their next push
Will strengthen your wings or
finally kill you.
Baby bird you must have some direction,
Just to maintain altitude is not enough.
The nourishment you seek may lie in other trees,
Gather your needles, and flap your wings.
((((((((((((((The spacing on this will be all screwed up... thinking about someone... hope they dont mind))))))))))))))))
you were just as small,
Big head, skinny neck outstretched
Calling out for nourishment
And got only your parents
regurgitated frustration
Never quite sure what you were supposed to sustain yourself on.
The push from the nest, that age old test
-and the slow spiral of flapping unused and untrained wings
Till the spiral bottoms out
And the hospital beds pump you full of nutrients
As if this latest liquid diet could replace the one you never had
And when they’re through
Another stay
in that uncomfortable nest of pine needles
The watchful eye of parents
Who want to protect and wonder in worry, if their next push
Will strengthen your wings or
finally kill you.
Baby bird you must have some direction,
Just to maintain altitude is not enough.
The nourishment you seek may lie in other trees,
Gather your needles, and flap your wings.
((((((((((((((The spacing on this will be all screwed up... thinking about someone... hope they dont mind))))))))))))))))
Monday, October 08, 2007
You Filled With Spirit (oct 2007)
I’m falling in love with beautiful faces
Tastes, of relationships
Dimples when cheeks raise,
-Crazed, with the possibilities.
But I worry about your sanity, you who come with me
Heart a pounding, fluttering, sounding out every type of warning,
but you keep coming for me, forward in chase,
excited by chaste - talking
and walks on gentle nights
we cuddle in these flights from our dreary rain filled realities
but only in tight bounds of the spiritual presence
that’s where the essence of my friendship lies.
I hope it don’t come as a surprise
That you have rejuvenated I,
Re-invited the cause of hope in to my life.
And when united with beauty like that:
I sit and snap a pic, smile for awhile
Ego filled heart -I may act like a dick -
But I Care, cuz I mean it.
*************Well I was listening to Jazz/rap when I wrote this, so its got some strangeness to it. The title is because its the people that fill me with spirit, when they act like themselves and force me to realize how beautiful they are. lately I have been having a lot of this and its wonderful.. I dont really know if im worried about hurting anyone in particular... but i feel like everytime im on top of the world, im probably gonna hurt someone... and this poem is about being filled with joy, and worrying about the concequences.. Also... i have been wanting to write more I and me based poems all summer and fall... and more real, less contrived reaching for words types stuff.. so this one used pretty common languages.... *****************
Tastes, of relationships
Dimples when cheeks raise,
-Crazed, with the possibilities.
But I worry about your sanity, you who come with me
Heart a pounding, fluttering, sounding out every type of warning,
but you keep coming for me, forward in chase,
excited by chaste - talking
and walks on gentle nights
we cuddle in these flights from our dreary rain filled realities
but only in tight bounds of the spiritual presence
that’s where the essence of my friendship lies.
I hope it don’t come as a surprise
That you have rejuvenated I,
Re-invited the cause of hope in to my life.
And when united with beauty like that:
I sit and snap a pic, smile for awhile
Ego filled heart -I may act like a dick -
But I Care, cuz I mean it.
*************Well I was listening to Jazz/rap when I wrote this, so its got some strangeness to it. The title is because its the people that fill me with spirit, when they act like themselves and force me to realize how beautiful they are. lately I have been having a lot of this and its wonderful.. I dont really know if im worried about hurting anyone in particular... but i feel like everytime im on top of the world, im probably gonna hurt someone... and this poem is about being filled with joy, and worrying about the concequences.. Also... i have been wanting to write more I and me based poems all summer and fall... and more real, less contrived reaching for words types stuff.. so this one used pretty common languages.... *****************
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Patience Master (fall 2007)
R A B B I what has happened to you?
they've turned you into some monstrous god,
set you upon your knees
in tears
as they draw and quarter
your message of peace.
-and when you cried out
that you'd been forsaken,
perhaps some ugly vision of the future
had graced your strained presence.
And still you asked for our forgiveness,
claiming
that we knew not what we did.
And I fear you sinned there
on the cross, as tears fell
from your warm eyes, and you told childish lies
to our father, hoping to protect us all
from our due punishment. But teacher,
how do we learn to walk the righteous path,
if you won’t let us stumble and fall as we crawl so slowly towards you?
Have faith lord, moths always stumble
towards false light in darkness,
but one day we'll learn the difference.
they've turned you into some monstrous god,
set you upon your knees
in tears
as they draw and quarter
your message of peace.
-and when you cried out
that you'd been forsaken,
perhaps some ugly vision of the future
had graced your strained presence.
And still you asked for our forgiveness,
claiming
that we knew not what we did.
And I fear you sinned there
on the cross, as tears fell
from your warm eyes, and you told childish lies
to our father, hoping to protect us all
from our due punishment. But teacher,
how do we learn to walk the righteous path,
if you won’t let us stumble and fall as we crawl so slowly towards you?
Have faith lord, moths always stumble
towards false light in darkness,
but one day we'll learn the difference.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Jihad (sept 2007)
I’m the one who sent horror upon your spacious skies,
And left your amber weighs of gold buried beneath the rubble.
Stained your purple mountains red with blood so you could empathize
with the masses we see scared walking the streets of Kabul,
of Baghdad, of Jerusalem, Beirut and all our Holy Land.
You say I hate freedom, I hate freely watching you berate my children,
Freedom lost to teach the words of sacred God, but you keep screaming
Hollywood depicts my children engaged with Satan and still you question
Why I give my soul and life to protect our rights against your blaspheming.
Oh beautiful feet, of pilgrims who seek, their God,
need not your foul stench of oppression,
For you haven’t noticed the wild sands you tread upon
in your trance of oil obsession
-have been sanctified
with the blood of a thousand martyrs
and we’ll give glory to sacred God,
if he wills it too, for all our sons and daughters.
You say I hate freedom, I hate freely watching you objectify my wife and children
Freedom lost to testify to the sacred traditions that have been our redemption.
You call us backwards but we protected women’s rights long before you “gave them”
You say we’re brutal for punishing the same as you, simply because our laws don’t allow exemptions.
I’m the hero proved in living, zakat for all who need it
Liberating those in strife -with God’s mercy and beneficence
loving more than self, my faith, my God, and thankful for his blessings
So when I walk in the sacred lands of Saud, I wish to only perceive his magnificence
Not your hummers, tank and bombers,
Your Wall Street thieves and traders,
So when we defend our ways and rights
Remember that you’re the invaders.
******
There may be a video to come from the open mic performance.... what is this about?
Well Im one of those crazy kids who doesnt believe in war... so one of the strategies to try to understand why it happens is to actually listen to the reasons people give for fighting... now don't get me wrong, I know jihad isnt all violence... but for the people we are at war with, it is one aspect... and i think listening to their reasons and trying to understand them, helps us remember that they are human like we are, they have as logical of reasons for killing as we do. Not that i think any of them are logical... but they are actually pretty similar... they want to kill us, so we kill them first, they want to destroy our way of life so we destroy theirs first. etc etc..
so this piece isnt meant to scare or be treasonous or anything, but just simply to bring awareness that even the worst of the worst believe they are fighting for something worthy and if we are willing to sacrifice our children for our values why shouldn't they?
*****
video to come??? maybe??
And left your amber weighs of gold buried beneath the rubble.
Stained your purple mountains red with blood so you could empathize
with the masses we see scared walking the streets of Kabul,
of Baghdad, of Jerusalem, Beirut and all our Holy Land.
You say I hate freedom, I hate freely watching you berate my children,
Freedom lost to teach the words of sacred God, but you keep screaming
Hollywood depicts my children engaged with Satan and still you question
Why I give my soul and life to protect our rights against your blaspheming.
Oh beautiful feet, of pilgrims who seek, their God,
need not your foul stench of oppression,
For you haven’t noticed the wild sands you tread upon
in your trance of oil obsession
-have been sanctified
with the blood of a thousand martyrs
and we’ll give glory to sacred God,
if he wills it too, for all our sons and daughters.
You say I hate freedom, I hate freely watching you objectify my wife and children
Freedom lost to testify to the sacred traditions that have been our redemption.
You call us backwards but we protected women’s rights long before you “gave them”
You say we’re brutal for punishing the same as you, simply because our laws don’t allow exemptions.
I’m the hero proved in living, zakat for all who need it
Liberating those in strife -with God’s mercy and beneficence
loving more than self, my faith, my God, and thankful for his blessings
So when I walk in the sacred lands of Saud, I wish to only perceive his magnificence
Not your hummers, tank and bombers,
Your Wall Street thieves and traders,
So when we defend our ways and rights
Remember that you’re the invaders.
******
There may be a video to come from the open mic performance.... what is this about?
Well Im one of those crazy kids who doesnt believe in war... so one of the strategies to try to understand why it happens is to actually listen to the reasons people give for fighting... now don't get me wrong, I know jihad isnt all violence... but for the people we are at war with, it is one aspect... and i think listening to their reasons and trying to understand them, helps us remember that they are human like we are, they have as logical of reasons for killing as we do. Not that i think any of them are logical... but they are actually pretty similar... they want to kill us, so we kill them first, they want to destroy our way of life so we destroy theirs first. etc etc..
so this piece isnt meant to scare or be treasonous or anything, but just simply to bring awareness that even the worst of the worst believe they are fighting for something worthy and if we are willing to sacrifice our children for our values why shouldn't they?
*****
video to come??? maybe??
Saturday, August 11, 2007
(Untitled- so far) august 2007
Always a sort of Trembling, a nervousness
Held in secret, held back to protect her.
Her.
Perhaps she trembles too
Sometimes with joy
Flash
Smiles
No hinting
Sheer excitement
1 second
but in each 5th a new face
a new desire
a new secret
a new dream
new hope
tremendously fulfilling
Eyes Bright all the time, with surprise
like greeting a beautiful stranger
shocked with delight
cuz only she speaks that
Sacred, Secret language that connects them
and she speaks it with the clarity in her eyes.
a Picture a Snapshot
a Photo a Click
but not quick enough for hyper swinging
round, round and back again
like waking up in
free fall
fantastic skydive
but one second it’s a choice
the next, a push off the
precipice
And She looks back with that
Scared nervous questioning Horror
Sacred Eyes crying out “Who pushed me?”
And you’re afraid to tell her it was…
Always a sort of Trembling, a nervousness
Held in secret, held back to protect her.
…Her.
((((((((um blogger will probably screw up the spacing... i was sitting in dunn brothers trying to describe a feeling I get sometimes when Im looking at people.))))))
Held in secret, held back to protect her.
Her.
Perhaps she trembles too
Sometimes with joy
Flash
Smiles
No hinting
Sheer excitement
1 second
but in each 5th a new face
a new desire
a new secret
a new dream
new hope
tremendously fulfilling
Eyes Bright all the time, with surprise
like greeting a beautiful stranger
shocked with delight
cuz only she speaks that
Sacred, Secret language that connects them
and she speaks it with the clarity in her eyes.
a Picture a Snapshot
a Photo a Click
but not quick enough for hyper swinging
round, round and back again
like waking up in
free fall
fantastic skydive
but one second it’s a choice
the next, a push off the
precipice
And She looks back with that
Scared nervous questioning Horror
Sacred Eyes crying out “Who pushed me?”
And you’re afraid to tell her it was…
Always a sort of Trembling, a nervousness
Held in secret, held back to protect her.
…Her.
((((((((um blogger will probably screw up the spacing... i was sitting in dunn brothers trying to describe a feeling I get sometimes when Im looking at people.))))))
Friday, August 03, 2007
False Teachings (august 2007)
I overhear a would be teacher speak in subtly off tones of soothing,
talk like hes trying to smooth over bumps in his own and maybe her personalities. ignore the flaws. be genuine by rejecting the insecurities, oh god I wish it were new to me.
but I done played the role too many times not to be disgusted -hes holding on in that casual "Im at your level because I choose to lower myself to you" and shes so taken aback by the attention -of someone, anyone who would do so with out mention..
-what a player.
What a fool, you wish to be a mentor, a friend? stop your pretenses,
genuinely you believe yourself to be her savior... and she
she needs to seek a teacher within her.
You and I, we bullshit trying to preach with our false wisdom,
but really... we dont deserve them
and each time we prove it.
******thoughts in a coffee shop... i spose a little explanation is in order... um i often find myself in a role, and rather than be the person i should be, i sometimes play the role... I saw this guy being very smooth and friendly on what seemed like a first date, and thought, wow that guy does the same thing, I dont want to be like him when i am connecting with people... and thats that************
talk like hes trying to smooth over bumps in his own and maybe her personalities. ignore the flaws. be genuine by rejecting the insecurities, oh god I wish it were new to me.
but I done played the role too many times not to be disgusted -hes holding on in that casual "Im at your level because I choose to lower myself to you" and shes so taken aback by the attention -of someone, anyone who would do so with out mention..
-what a player.
What a fool, you wish to be a mentor, a friend? stop your pretenses,
genuinely you believe yourself to be her savior... and she
she needs to seek a teacher within her.
You and I, we bullshit trying to preach with our false wisdom,
but really... we dont deserve them
and each time we prove it.
******thoughts in a coffee shop... i spose a little explanation is in order... um i often find myself in a role, and rather than be the person i should be, i sometimes play the role... I saw this guy being very smooth and friendly on what seemed like a first date, and thought, wow that guy does the same thing, I dont want to be like him when i am connecting with people... and thats that************
The San Franciscan (Dunn Brothers 2050) (august 2007)
The San Franciscan was an old Brute, Happy,
but far past his time,
so they kept him around midstore -as a sort of monument.
The Customers couldn't enter without seeing him but sadly,
they usually avoided his gaze,
eyes past or to the side,
and so his happy smile and red coat was usually
wasted.
A sign hung above his head,
that read:
"Roasted Fresh Daily! ...Right here."
loud and clear,
-but maybe not as loud as those Walmart signs above the other old time greeters working the Superstores
on the other side of town.
The San Franciscan -ready to roast
boasting only the best
he use to put the others to rest -to shame
but now he sits lame in a coffee shop uptown
as young baristlings scramble
to handle
the new and improved machines
and the free flowing customers
yuppies and hustlers
salesmen and artists
and the saddest part is...
he use to make a damn good cup of joe.
*******Um fairly self explanatory, if you have been to that Dunn brothers***************
but far past his time,
so they kept him around midstore -as a sort of monument.
The Customers couldn't enter without seeing him but sadly,
they usually avoided his gaze,
eyes past or to the side,
and so his happy smile and red coat was usually
wasted.
A sign hung above his head,
that read:
"Roasted Fresh Daily! ...Right here."
loud and clear,
-but maybe not as loud as those Walmart signs above the other old time greeters working the Superstores
on the other side of town.
The San Franciscan -ready to roast
boasting only the best
he use to put the others to rest -to shame
but now he sits lame in a coffee shop uptown
as young baristlings scramble
to handle
the new and improved machines
and the free flowing customers
yuppies and hustlers
salesmen and artists
and the saddest part is...
he use to make a damn good cup of joe.
*******Um fairly self explanatory, if you have been to that Dunn brothers***************
Blue and Pink (August 2007)
Oh Goddess
Flustered,
in blue and pink.
Anxious reaching
for top shelf books
contends to send you heaving
or delicately weaving
your, procured finger tips
to touch the book cover
folds
each longing for your hold.
Dark tree legs sandpapered smooth
and that pink bow in your
held tight hair…
Were we to meet
I’d say “Its rare to see a beauty like you in a used book store.”
Your tattoo the same
Blue and pink
Speaks in Hebrew
But Babel set us apart
And I wonder where
Your heart lies
Somewhere in that low cut dress
Magnificent breasts
And if you are aware, than you are unashamed
Stretched and bare.
And though I cant see,
Im sure what you wear under there is the same color
as that bow.
***********The spacing on this is all screwed up because of blogger.... uh a chance encounter, leads a mind on spinning.*************************
Flustered,
in blue and pink.
Anxious reaching
for top shelf books
contends to send you heaving
or delicately weaving
your, procured finger tips
to touch the book cover
folds
each longing for your hold.
Dark tree legs sandpapered smooth
and that pink bow in your
held tight hair…
Were we to meet
I’d say “Its rare to see a beauty like you in a used book store.”
Your tattoo the same
Blue and pink
Speaks in Hebrew
But Babel set us apart
And I wonder where
Your heart lies
Somewhere in that low cut dress
Magnificent breasts
And if you are aware, than you are unashamed
Stretched and bare.
And though I cant see,
Im sure what you wear under there is the same color
as that bow.
***********The spacing on this is all screwed up because of blogger.... uh a chance encounter, leads a mind on spinning.*************************
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Seeking Hole-ness Holiness and Wholeness (july 2007)
Rub my Buddha belly right out of existence, for like Buddha who entered eternity by denying all earthly ambition, I wish I could deny my Buddha belly its ambition to grow.
Rub it away, like gold statues, rub it till the shine is worn away and only the tranquil look and sparkling smile remains. Pay attention to the movement in the hands, the cross legged seat, the colors in the cloth, the gleam of his forehead, peaceful eyes that have moved beyond worrying about small insecurities, but not yet for me… I’m staring down, not sitting tall. Chin to chest, for my belly at rest seems to protrude like the ultimate test
-those devils who tempted Buddha at the Bohdi, berate me blatantly, keeping me from patiently, entering nirvana.
***********just one commentary on eating disorders and religion... I spose i could write another one on fasting and what not*****************
Rub it away, like gold statues, rub it till the shine is worn away and only the tranquil look and sparkling smile remains. Pay attention to the movement in the hands, the cross legged seat, the colors in the cloth, the gleam of his forehead, peaceful eyes that have moved beyond worrying about small insecurities, but not yet for me… I’m staring down, not sitting tall. Chin to chest, for my belly at rest seems to protrude like the ultimate test
-those devils who tempted Buddha at the Bohdi, berate me blatantly, keeping me from patiently, entering nirvana.
***********just one commentary on eating disorders and religion... I spose i could write another one on fasting and what not*****************
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Dissent
When the first bombs dropped in Kabul
I was called a traitor,
My silent display of values strived for,
drawn each day on my face.
When the first bombs hit Baghdad
I was on the march,
Frozen cold in Minneapolis,
But we shivered till they heard us.
When the first bombs hit our soldiers
I asked to call it off,
but the death toll continued
for each casualty should not be in vain
When I questioned why the bombs were ready
They told me we’d been hit
When I asked for proof of guilt
They pointed to U.S. receipts.
When I questioned why the bombs were ready
They told me it’d be over soon enough,
But each time they said “our way was righteous”
It reminded me of the day
When the first bombs hit our buildings
and no one asked their motives
because the courage to answer questions
disturbs the freedom to ignore.
I was called a traitor,
My silent display of values strived for,
drawn each day on my face.
When the first bombs hit Baghdad
I was on the march,
Frozen cold in Minneapolis,
But we shivered till they heard us.
When the first bombs hit our soldiers
I asked to call it off,
but the death toll continued
for each casualty should not be in vain
When I questioned why the bombs were ready
They told me we’d been hit
When I asked for proof of guilt
They pointed to U.S. receipts.
When I questioned why the bombs were ready
They told me it’d be over soon enough,
But each time they said “our way was righteous”
It reminded me of the day
When the first bombs hit our buildings
and no one asked their motives
because the courage to answer questions
disturbs the freedom to ignore.
She sits solid in her box of isolation
-preferring to assume that responsibility plays the only role.
But sturdy in my resolution and goal
I do not give in to intimidation.
Big picture thinker I am,
she prefers to not give a damn.
So I highlight the theories, the critics,
she scoffs at my cynics.
I, like a junkie activist who can’t get enough,
She stops me,
says she’s heard enough of my stuff
she insists on the individual,
so I break in to the personal.
She slings it off, saying
I don’t know her so well.
(((((a fight with my step mom)))))
-preferring to assume that responsibility plays the only role.
But sturdy in my resolution and goal
I do not give in to intimidation.
Big picture thinker I am,
she prefers to not give a damn.
So I highlight the theories, the critics,
she scoffs at my cynics.
I, like a junkie activist who can’t get enough,
She stops me,
says she’s heard enough of my stuff
she insists on the individual,
so I break in to the personal.
She slings it off, saying
I don’t know her so well.
(((((a fight with my step mom)))))
Fever dreams
This man is Green, quite green, and bright as lime
but lemon colored face repudiates-
the sweating Hero stands, in shimmer gold
Without a sword, a monster he beholds.
He fears, they armed the mannequin,
that man akin to lying in wait.
Courageous he stands, no attempts to flee
A sword in hand, a showdown to be.
The two men stand, one sweating, one calm-
but as plastic stabs he wakes, and fever breaks.
(((((((from a dream)))))
but lemon colored face repudiates-
the sweating Hero stands, in shimmer gold
Without a sword, a monster he beholds.
He fears, they armed the mannequin,
that man akin to lying in wait.
Courageous he stands, no attempts to flee
A sword in hand, a showdown to be.
The two men stand, one sweating, one calm-
but as plastic stabs he wakes, and fever breaks.
(((((((from a dream)))))
Expectations of Spring
The girl on the left speaks of lying with the sun streaming around her face, wrapping her so tightly with its warmth that the light traces of wind that tickle her cheeks stimulate smiles on her skin- stimulate smiles within, till she falls asleep.
She wakes to be comforted by the closeness of friends, who have protected her from: small creatures, Frisbees, kites, tackles from the flag carrying capturers but never the sun, to which the one on the right exclaims “I know, I always wake up with the white around my eyes painted solidly pale, contrasted with the blister, a gift (she supposes) of glasses.” The blame positioned on mechanical devices, on creams that do not suffice, on green grass which entices a rest and a guitar playing its best, but never the sun.
Blame withheld, for that which has been withheld by seasonal turns, rotten weather, exhaust-pollution and momentary solutions to energy confusions.
Eagerness and never blame for that which has been longed for, because
expectations of spring = green grass and burned skin.
(((((((pretty much everything in this poem is from a conversation I was listening to about spring)))))
She wakes to be comforted by the closeness of friends, who have protected her from: small creatures, Frisbees, kites, tackles from the flag carrying capturers but never the sun, to which the one on the right exclaims “I know, I always wake up with the white around my eyes painted solidly pale, contrasted with the blister, a gift (she supposes) of glasses.” The blame positioned on mechanical devices, on creams that do not suffice, on green grass which entices a rest and a guitar playing its best, but never the sun.
Blame withheld, for that which has been withheld by seasonal turns, rotten weather, exhaust-pollution and momentary solutions to energy confusions.
Eagerness and never blame for that which has been longed for, because
expectations of spring = green grass and burned skin.
(((((((pretty much everything in this poem is from a conversation I was listening to about spring)))))
20 Days Past Equinox
I see their eager tails twitter.
Those birds, who hobble.
Foot to foot- shuffles.
But the spring sun is deceiving.
Its reflection two-fold,
off the ice, and the sky.
Snow barricades away the seed and bud.
And all that anticipation,
Soon leads to starvation,
but not for you and I. No,
never for you and I.
Those birds, who hobble.
Foot to foot- shuffles.
But the spring sun is deceiving.
Its reflection two-fold,
off the ice, and the sky.
Snow barricades away the seed and bud.
And all that anticipation,
Soon leads to starvation,
but not for you and I. No,
never for you and I.
ars poetica
Sometimes when the beat is in me,
My hand starts dancing
A mind of its own
And it’s conducting
Each increase and decline,
Reaching across, line after line
My toes are tapping,
They keep the meter
And my thoughts all scatter
But the dark of eyes closed
Is replaced,
by a spectrum of beautiful images.
Sometimes I connect with the music
Aware of the next movement.
Other times, lost and confused
I miss the obvious cues
and feel like an idiot when,
I don’t understand the timing.
And as my toes miss the step
And a ninth beat adds to my stumble
Open eyes jolt to seek
the position of my fumble.
((((((((have u seen me listen to music? its like that, only ars poetica means a poem using some other metaphor to describe writing poetry))))))))
My hand starts dancing
A mind of its own
And it’s conducting
Each increase and decline,
Reaching across, line after line
My toes are tapping,
They keep the meter
And my thoughts all scatter
But the dark of eyes closed
Is replaced,
by a spectrum of beautiful images.
Sometimes I connect with the music
Aware of the next movement.
Other times, lost and confused
I miss the obvious cues
and feel like an idiot when,
I don’t understand the timing.
And as my toes miss the step
And a ninth beat adds to my stumble
Open eyes jolt to seek
the position of my fumble.
((((((((have u seen me listen to music? its like that, only ars poetica means a poem using some other metaphor to describe writing poetry))))))))
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Polishing the Silver (sping 2007)
Stampede of the Serengeti –thoughts and feelings
Noble, Majestic, Anxious, Weary
Forced and enclosed in tightening muscled grasps
My arm lifts my head
For she who once told me slouching permits the protection of the heart
But yogic words escape from my Brahman mouth
Garden mantras, each flower its place
And she collects them, bouquet-ed courage,
And shimmering again
hopes to beautify this frustration filled junk yard home
Of his and hers
Of Hers, and His,
the familiar and the disheartening
Bejeweled, gold and silver treasures line the book shelves
And my fluttering, frustrated, encapsulated heart –urges
to reach out, for the one true coveted connection
In his vaulted treasury
The misplaced and forgotten,
She who had once,
with unintended clawed grasp
Ripped the strength from my ribbed side.
(((((((((A poem from class, based on some free writing I did about an event. We also had to write smaller descriptions: so these are each smaller poems on the same subject, these poems are all about a strange feeling, a sort of ripping feeling in me that I get sometimes when Im trying to be good to someone else instead of for myself, and I think that its the same feeling each time, a strange sort of selfishness, but I dont think I let it win too often- anyway my teacher is obsessed with using "concrete images" which isnt really my thing, but maybe should be, as you can see these dont really make all that much sense, but i was trying to be concrete and describe an event that was all very non-conrete a mixed emotion)))))))
Cramped and dirty room
Filled with frustration, his and hers
I am nestled on their couch
Coveting that which he hath left
I forgotten lover,
Replaced by frustrated apartment
He is vacant, I the trespasser
He the unhappy King
I, her revered vagrant
She is surrounded by familiar turmoil
I am the oddity, though not out of place
I bring her peace,
spoiling
my heart’s palpitations
Noble, Majestic, Anxious, Weary
Forced and enclosed in tightening muscled grasps
My arm lifts my head
For she who once told me slouching permits the protection of the heart
But yogic words escape from my Brahman mouth
Garden mantras, each flower its place
And she collects them, bouquet-ed courage,
And shimmering again
hopes to beautify this frustration filled junk yard home
Of his and hers
Of Hers, and His,
the familiar and the disheartening
Bejeweled, gold and silver treasures line the book shelves
And my fluttering, frustrated, encapsulated heart –urges
to reach out, for the one true coveted connection
In his vaulted treasury
The misplaced and forgotten,
She who had once,
with unintended clawed grasp
Ripped the strength from my ribbed side.
(((((((((A poem from class, based on some free writing I did about an event. We also had to write smaller descriptions: so these are each smaller poems on the same subject, these poems are all about a strange feeling, a sort of ripping feeling in me that I get sometimes when Im trying to be good to someone else instead of for myself, and I think that its the same feeling each time, a strange sort of selfishness, but I dont think I let it win too often- anyway my teacher is obsessed with using "concrete images" which isnt really my thing, but maybe should be, as you can see these dont really make all that much sense, but i was trying to be concrete and describe an event that was all very non-conrete a mixed emotion)))))))
Cramped and dirty room
Filled with frustration, his and hers
I am nestled on their couch
Coveting that which he hath left
I forgotten lover,
Replaced by frustrated apartment
He is vacant, I the trespasser
He the unhappy King
I, her revered vagrant
She is surrounded by familiar turmoil
I am the oddity, though not out of place
I bring her peace,
spoiling
my heart’s palpitations
Thursday, March 22, 2007
opium den (spring 2007)
I remember sitting in your peach pit of joy
that scented apartment, with haze of incense
captivated,
as I still am by your stare,
feeling the warmth surround me
You would sing along to the exotic tunes
shaking your hips as you walked,
Wearing something that hung off your shoulder
Revealing a hint of silk or lace
-a hint that enticed
a sheepish grin on my embarrassed face.
Now you’re distant, like the lands of Troy
Separate and walled away, my heart is tense
Captivated
As I still am by a smile so rare
that without it I forget how to be
I’m sure you still dance under exotic moons
The reflection off our moment’s outline chalked
Dressed for weather far colder
Having given up the chase
And that intoxicating aroma just one sacrifice
for a chance, of a healthier embrace
that scented apartment, with haze of incense
captivated,
as I still am by your stare,
feeling the warmth surround me
You would sing along to the exotic tunes
shaking your hips as you walked,
Wearing something that hung off your shoulder
Revealing a hint of silk or lace
-a hint that enticed
a sheepish grin on my embarrassed face.
Now you’re distant, like the lands of Troy
Separate and walled away, my heart is tense
Captivated
As I still am by a smile so rare
that without it I forget how to be
I’m sure you still dance under exotic moons
The reflection off our moment’s outline chalked
Dressed for weather far colder
Having given up the chase
And that intoxicating aroma just one sacrifice
for a chance, of a healthier embrace
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
the influence of angels (spring 2007)
Aimee calls to put a smile on my face,
but I was thinking I was quite replaceable
She asks me why I'm down, and I say I don't quite know the way up right now,
still im treading that water
she sighs, and says to me that I was the one who was happy
but maybe that wave has caught her
in dreams of working Hawaii
And she reminds me of the songs we sang of divinity
and she dont know it but shes been sent to remind me of what I been missin
while I just sit here, thinking and writing
hoping to happen upon what I needs to have ambition
Still she points the way saying "chill, enjoy the present,
dont you know you are Illy's and mine"
and while she sings the songs on the radio
I smile and know I'm Closer to fine.
(((((pretty much what it says.... I wasnt feeling good... my girl called, did what she does.... I felt blessed... i felt better.... she asked me what indigo girls song that was.... it worked out well. ))))
but I was thinking I was quite replaceable
She asks me why I'm down, and I say I don't quite know the way up right now,
still im treading that water
she sighs, and says to me that I was the one who was happy
but maybe that wave has caught her
in dreams of working Hawaii
And she reminds me of the songs we sang of divinity
and she dont know it but shes been sent to remind me of what I been missin
while I just sit here, thinking and writing
hoping to happen upon what I needs to have ambition
Still she points the way saying "chill, enjoy the present,
dont you know you are Illy's and mine"
and while she sings the songs on the radio
I smile and know I'm Closer to fine.
(((((pretty much what it says.... I wasnt feeling good... my girl called, did what she does.... I felt blessed... i felt better.... she asked me what indigo girls song that was.... it worked out well. ))))
Monday, March 19, 2007
random scribblings (spring 2007)
when a single rain drop falls from the sky
there aint a cloud in sight or a reason why
you’re wishing you could pull that speck from god’s eye
you gotta remove your plank, before you even try
*******************************
Kit
Tight and rhythmic to create the beat
Right arm pivots across the left for the teet teet
right leg steadies the Boomph from the feet
Mighty left pummels snare for the tscheet tscheet
*******************************
(((((these are just little scribblings... the first one i sang in the car as it did not actually rain, the second i was trying to work with sounds...)))))
there aint a cloud in sight or a reason why
you’re wishing you could pull that speck from god’s eye
you gotta remove your plank, before you even try
*******************************
Kit
Tight and rhythmic to create the beat
Right arm pivots across the left for the teet teet
right leg steadies the Boomph from the feet
Mighty left pummels snare for the tscheet tscheet
*******************************
(((((these are just little scribblings... the first one i sang in the car as it did not actually rain, the second i was trying to work with sounds...)))))
the suit (spring 2007)
It was my birthday the other day
So naturally I dudded myself up
In that suit handed down from my grandfather’s grandfather
To his son, and his
That survived the ages without any missteps.
In front of the mirror I took stock
In what I felt was its shabby exterior.
My Grandfather, a butcher
made steady alterations to his,
Large in the arms to lift and cut the meat,
Still beats us in arm wrestling at 83
My Dad, an athlete in high school and college
needed it lean, and fit,
and now he employs all manner of
voodoo tailors
providing capsules
filled with herbs and magic
My older brother, a left handed baseball pitcher,
had no one to teach him to bat left handed, so he had
both arms lengthened and strengthened.
Now he works as a politician,
unshaved and unpolished
for the grassroots and unions.
My suit is now the color of
a too many South Dakota and Minnesota
winters spent inside-
Lebanese tan.
And I see in it each man
And it’s tight in the arms and legs
for me –the way its always been
And it’s loose in the breast and torso
but not comfortably so.
And here I stand Finally
feeling I’ve embraced my family
and they me, and not awkwardly to boot
So why is it after all these years
I still can’t embrace my suit?
(((((*from class* i was surprised people didnt get this... my teacher did, she called it original, i thought it was pretty wall warn territory))))
So naturally I dudded myself up
In that suit handed down from my grandfather’s grandfather
To his son, and his
That survived the ages without any missteps.
In front of the mirror I took stock
In what I felt was its shabby exterior.
My Grandfather, a butcher
made steady alterations to his,
Large in the arms to lift and cut the meat,
Still beats us in arm wrestling at 83
My Dad, an athlete in high school and college
needed it lean, and fit,
and now he employs all manner of
voodoo tailors
providing capsules
filled with herbs and magic
My older brother, a left handed baseball pitcher,
had no one to teach him to bat left handed, so he had
both arms lengthened and strengthened.
Now he works as a politician,
unshaved and unpolished
for the grassroots and unions.
My suit is now the color of
a too many South Dakota and Minnesota
winters spent inside-
Lebanese tan.
And I see in it each man
And it’s tight in the arms and legs
for me –the way its always been
And it’s loose in the breast and torso
but not comfortably so.
And here I stand Finally
feeling I’ve embraced my family
and they me, and not awkwardly to boot
So why is it after all these years
I still can’t embrace my suit?
(((((*from class* i was surprised people didnt get this... my teacher did, she called it original, i thought it was pretty wall warn territory))))
spring 2007
Unnoticed go the wind swept leaves
For heavier breezes have caught your concentration
And though your gaze lays grounded as you walk
All things seem muddled by the pounding half whispers
of unknown dread
smiles and laughter, seem shallow, distant
your mind is cued to more subtle tunes
the footsteps behind you in the alley,
the heavy awareness that you are unaware
of what cruel intentions, wait around that corner.
Even in such familiar surroundings as your living room
each creak, or tick of the clock, suggests the impending…
cuddling couches, comfort you not
as if waiting on the hospital’s call
every thought,
the wrong step in a mine field
…the mind field, takes
such heavy steps.
(((((*from class* I was told this one needed some work.... the assignment was to describe a feeling without saying i feel this... i probably screwed that up)))))
For heavier breezes have caught your concentration
And though your gaze lays grounded as you walk
All things seem muddled by the pounding half whispers
of unknown dread
smiles and laughter, seem shallow, distant
your mind is cued to more subtle tunes
the footsteps behind you in the alley,
the heavy awareness that you are unaware
of what cruel intentions, wait around that corner.
Even in such familiar surroundings as your living room
each creak, or tick of the clock, suggests the impending…
cuddling couches, comfort you not
as if waiting on the hospital’s call
every thought,
the wrong step in a mine field
…the mind field, takes
such heavy steps.
(((((*from class* I was told this one needed some work.... the assignment was to describe a feeling without saying i feel this... i probably screwed that up)))))
winter (spring 2007)
Trudging thoughts in solstice snow
Down dull hills and up again
Heavy boots and heaving foots
Embroil unsought knots to cause
a planted face in winter soot.
Firm dethronement complete
Look upon the heightened heaps
Where children play, so brilliantly
Watch them fat with frolic and glee
For gifts of winter dust
are heavenly
((((from class.... the assignment was to write using certain tones in the word to describe the feeling or something.... and to write about something like a season or something.... right.... but its cute no?))))
Down dull hills and up again
Heavy boots and heaving foots
Embroil unsought knots to cause
a planted face in winter soot.
Firm dethronement complete
Look upon the heightened heaps
Where children play, so brilliantly
Watch them fat with frolic and glee
For gifts of winter dust
are heavenly
((((from class.... the assignment was to write using certain tones in the word to describe the feeling or something.... and to write about something like a season or something.... right.... but its cute no?))))
books (spring 2007)
It sits on shelves, on shelves, on shelves
Seemingly multiples, but each distinct
And thus it,
sits on shelves.
We call them cases,
for they are meant to display
the wonder, the wealth, the knowledge,
each so delicate each so distinct
it sits on display, it sits in cases.
It hasn’t been opened in years,
dry and dusty,
Each page a screen for the filtering of air
Each knowledge filled page
a screen for what had once been here.
So that on some fine day
A girl may stumble over
a world that she hadn’t known
though, no fault of her own
She may read about her grandparents
through tearing eyes
and sneezes.
(((((((*for class* um the assignment was to write about a household object)))))
Seemingly multiples, but each distinct
And thus it,
sits on shelves.
We call them cases,
for they are meant to display
the wonder, the wealth, the knowledge,
each so delicate each so distinct
it sits on display, it sits in cases.
It hasn’t been opened in years,
dry and dusty,
Each page a screen for the filtering of air
Each knowledge filled page
a screen for what had once been here.
So that on some fine day
A girl may stumble over
a world that she hadn’t known
though, no fault of her own
She may read about her grandparents
through tearing eyes
and sneezes.
(((((((*for class* um the assignment was to write about a household object)))))
birth control (spring 2007)
Each one a bullet
destroying dreams of preservation
a wound, a hesitation
cheapens and cheats the would be life
each one a bullet
holstered alongside the pistol
each use, a war for survival
inevitably, ends in the loss of life.
((((*from class* this one probably doesnt make sense, and might not be finished.... its based on a dream I had, where a woman was explaining to a bunch of other people that each condom was the death of a life))))))
this is a rewrite
Preservation of Life.
It’s that hesitation
of bringing about the next generation-
two competing notions of preservation
“I don’t want things to change”
traditions, nature, history, culture, religion the family structure,
My life, your life, our collective life through natural populating.
And
“I don’t want things to change”
diapers, bills, spit up on shirts, long nights waking to ease baby’s crying.
My life, your life, our collective life in an overpopulated world.
Two sides stand:
We call out death to those who would prevent.
Who Cheapen, cheat, and cancel out all hope of life’s survival
Because we call them bullets, but they, call them birth control.
We stand, calling out deaths for those who won’t invent.
Wont Create, conceive, or concoct new plans for life’s survival
Because we call it our savior, they call us sinners.
destroying dreams of preservation
a wound, a hesitation
cheapens and cheats the would be life
each one a bullet
holstered alongside the pistol
each use, a war for survival
inevitably, ends in the loss of life.
((((*from class* this one probably doesnt make sense, and might not be finished.... its based on a dream I had, where a woman was explaining to a bunch of other people that each condom was the death of a life))))))
this is a rewrite
Preservation of Life.
It’s that hesitation
of bringing about the next generation-
two competing notions of preservation
“I don’t want things to change”
traditions, nature, history, culture, religion the family structure,
My life, your life, our collective life through natural populating.
And
“I don’t want things to change”
diapers, bills, spit up on shirts, long nights waking to ease baby’s crying.
My life, your life, our collective life in an overpopulated world.
Two sides stand:
We call out death to those who would prevent.
Who Cheapen, cheat, and cancel out all hope of life’s survival
Because we call them bullets, but they, call them birth control.
We stand, calling out deaths for those who won’t invent.
Wont Create, conceive, or concoct new plans for life’s survival
Because we call it our savior, they call us sinners.
For His Love (I played the Role of Isaac) (spring 2007)
The hangman stood in black, nearing high noon.
The sun was ripe
stealing the moisture from the dry mouths in the church
intensifying the anxious perspiration.
The crowd had gathered in Sunday best.
Relatives wept, or so it seemed
facing the hangman, accompanied by the priest,
and the woman in white.
The singer sang the prayers and blessings.
The last rites were offered,
but were not intended for me
their prisoner.
Instead the priest spoke,
the words repeated by the man in black
and the woman in white
and it seemed this verdict offered to the crowd alone would kill me
but although the sacrifice had been offered,
I went on living.
(((((*from class* The assignment was to underplay an event, i dont know if i did that, but this is about my dads wedding))))
The sun was ripe
stealing the moisture from the dry mouths in the church
intensifying the anxious perspiration.
The crowd had gathered in Sunday best.
Relatives wept, or so it seemed
facing the hangman, accompanied by the priest,
and the woman in white.
The singer sang the prayers and blessings.
The last rites were offered,
but were not intended for me
their prisoner.
Instead the priest spoke,
the words repeated by the man in black
and the woman in white
and it seemed this verdict offered to the crowd alone would kill me
but although the sacrifice had been offered,
I went on living.
(((((*from class* The assignment was to underplay an event, i dont know if i did that, but this is about my dads wedding))))
A Portrait of Ana Maria by the Window (spring 2007)
You stand staring
out at the seaside
maybe your favorite seaside.
At the time,
his favorite view.
I wonder how long you posed there.
Smelling the heavy salted air,
the breeze and softness of transparent white curtains
Grazing your young arms.
Your skirt and blouse a lighter shade.
Your skin so radiant it brightens walls,
The tan of the landscape
and those walls, so dull.
And that being the case, it makes me wonder,
If all he painted later
the curves and glowing gold
deserts and hills,
were yours.
You’ve shifted the weight to your left foot,
Bending heavily on your right arm…
But could you have known that the book you wrote,
relying on your right hand
would cause him to paint a new portrait
chastising with left handed morals.
You must’ve known,
for he had always been
Forever fixated on that view in the window.
After all,
only one of you was staring at the sea.
((((*from class* this is based off a couple of Dali paintings, and the personal history of one of his first models (his sister)))))
out at the seaside
maybe your favorite seaside.
At the time,
his favorite view.
I wonder how long you posed there.
Smelling the heavy salted air,
the breeze and softness of transparent white curtains
Grazing your young arms.
Your skirt and blouse a lighter shade.
Your skin so radiant it brightens walls,
The tan of the landscape
and those walls, so dull.
And that being the case, it makes me wonder,
If all he painted later
the curves and glowing gold
deserts and hills,
were yours.
You’ve shifted the weight to your left foot,
Bending heavily on your right arm…
But could you have known that the book you wrote,
relying on your right hand
would cause him to paint a new portrait
chastising with left handed morals.
You must’ve known,
for he had always been
Forever fixated on that view in the window.
After all,
only one of you was staring at the sea.
((((*from class* this is based off a couple of Dali paintings, and the personal history of one of his first models (his sister)))))
agreements over coffee (spring 2007)
The sovereign entities met,
diplomatically at the door,
a strategic location, a neutral territory.
The exchange agreement
opened with pleasantries,
fair trade coffee,
the P.C. move.
The players didn’t speak of the technicalities
of the future arrangement:
the exchange of wealth and resources,
the alliances and defense agreements.
Nor their history of traumatic violence,
of personal repression
but rather of their tribes’ rich history
of cultural expression.
And though their advisors
eagerly anticipated
the boom
the arms race
the liberal spread of open borders.
They smiled and held hands
presenting
to their respective parties
the formalities of
civilized
mutually beneficial partnership.
((((*from class* I forget what the assignment was)))))
diplomatically at the door,
a strategic location, a neutral territory.
The exchange agreement
opened with pleasantries,
fair trade coffee,
the P.C. move.
The players didn’t speak of the technicalities
of the future arrangement:
the exchange of wealth and resources,
the alliances and defense agreements.
Nor their history of traumatic violence,
of personal repression
but rather of their tribes’ rich history
of cultural expression.
And though their advisors
eagerly anticipated
the boom
the arms race
the liberal spread of open borders.
They smiled and held hands
presenting
to their respective parties
the formalities of
civilized
mutually beneficial partnership.
((((*from class* I forget what the assignment was)))))
Spring 2007
In circle, person by person,
Play the game
And in public, no less
Kiss and hug the taboo
Cheeks of red
and Lips the same
Smiling away the sense of shame.
Circulate embracing
Unexclusive and unrestricted
Scarlet flush faces
Facing the effrontery
With sensuous audacity
((((((*from class* these are supposed to describe the same event using anglo and then latin words... (the aftermath of a passion party))))))))
Play the game
And in public, no less
Kiss and hug the taboo
Cheeks of red
and Lips the same
Smiling away the sense of shame.
Circulate embracing
Unexclusive and unrestricted
Scarlet flush faces
Facing the effrontery
With sensuous audacity
((((((*from class* these are supposed to describe the same event using anglo and then latin words... (the aftermath of a passion party))))))))
Sunday, January 28, 2007
May You Rest (Jan 2007)
Sudden tears at the news of death,
You were tightly held notebooks scribbles and scribbles, masterpieces child novelist.
You were our wonder, our hero unspoken, laughed at, held in awe and uncomfortable.
Our tormented genius, our Beethoven our Vincent,
You were his partner -for only genius could comfort genius and the rest of us...
we backed off to allow the demons to play their tunes for you, amazed
and assuming they would feed your excitement,
perhaps we were mistaken,
thinking your strength and expression would save you
I’m sorry if you needed to hear our shallow pop music too.
*****Not sure how I feel about putting this on here... my first reaction to the death of kid I went to elementary-highschool with******
You were tightly held notebooks scribbles and scribbles, masterpieces child novelist.
You were our wonder, our hero unspoken, laughed at, held in awe and uncomfortable.
Our tormented genius, our Beethoven our Vincent,
You were his partner -for only genius could comfort genius and the rest of us...
we backed off to allow the demons to play their tunes for you, amazed
and assuming they would feed your excitement,
perhaps we were mistaken,
thinking your strength and expression would save you
I’m sorry if you needed to hear our shallow pop music too.
*****Not sure how I feel about putting this on here... my first reaction to the death of kid I went to elementary-highschool with******
Friday, January 12, 2007
entangled (fall 2006)
And in his casual rants dropping hints of my displacement, or in your desire to lead a normal life, find me in a place of friendly confession taker, and in the art which he shakes out consistently amazed me, and in the poetry formed and flowing image dancing changed me, and in our bedroom whispers, eager, files of secret pictures, and in the last does she keep those? Share, exposing tincture, how volumous how beauteous how bountiful in tone, how hard it is to share in innocence the memories of home.
I find it complicated, mis-entangled as in it wasn’t meant to be so, but adaptation lead us here and its hard to see who’s heart is clear - and maybe its all but me.
In the way of beauty, but delving further deeper, and as I fall the walls jut and scrape, growing ever steeper.
And as we bleed so centrally, that cruel pool crimson shimmer, run around bandaging but hopes seem ever dimmer.
((((this is about 8 relationships getting tangled together -and some thoughts)
I find it complicated, mis-entangled as in it wasn’t meant to be so, but adaptation lead us here and its hard to see who’s heart is clear - and maybe its all but me.
In the way of beauty, but delving further deeper, and as I fall the walls jut and scrape, growing ever steeper.
And as we bleed so centrally, that cruel pool crimson shimmer, run around bandaging but hopes seem ever dimmer.
((((this is about 8 relationships getting tangled together -and some thoughts)
**** (2000-2001 Winter I think)
I saw her in the picture
A self proclaimed Goddess
She mocks our gentle voices
She cuts into muscle with her
Elegantly crafted sarcasm
She blows off her life
And with it
Our self esteem
She rolls her eyes
As often as she rolls her escape into
Small white paper
She’s a world of self involvement
She drinks her friends away
He mind is slightly altered
Not from drugs
She’s always been like this
I see her smile only while escaping
She dances like she’s trying to forget
She sees Beauty but turns it dark
Allthewhile proclaiming her
Affection to it
And when you talk to her, it’s never
Quite warm
She leaves an edge with every other line
But even in the Depths of Confrontation
I’m sure she’d say
“I’m Fine.”
((((((The line spacing may get horribly distorted with this..... This was published in the 2001 Mandala along with the one that starts "she always smelled like cigarattes" like all poems, I think part of this is about me, I guess at the time -maybe more so than now... but it was about a sort of mental image i had of someone who i actually liked a lot-someone I was very in awe of. I guess some of the cutting lines, were probably because I felt like she was too hard to impress... now -i dont feel like it has anything to do with this person, or rather the person is no longer this way -in my head- but even at the time it was a complete exaggeration, similar to the idolotry one, sometimes i like to take characteristics of people or thoughts or feelings and blow them out of proportion in my head... I should add, I was both horrified/ashamed and proud that this got published. the first two because I didnt think anything so abusive should be published the second because at the time I liked that I had been able to project a mental image (even a terrible one) to the extent in writing that other people liked it or identified with it. )))))
A self proclaimed Goddess
She mocks our gentle voices
She cuts into muscle with her
Elegantly crafted sarcasm
She blows off her life
And with it
Our self esteem
She rolls her eyes
As often as she rolls her escape into
Small white paper
She’s a world of self involvement
She drinks her friends away
He mind is slightly altered
Not from drugs
She’s always been like this
I see her smile only while escaping
She dances like she’s trying to forget
She sees Beauty but turns it dark
Allthewhile proclaiming her
Affection to it
And when you talk to her, it’s never
Quite warm
She leaves an edge with every other line
But even in the Depths of Confrontation
I’m sure she’d say
“I’m Fine.”
((((((The line spacing may get horribly distorted with this..... This was published in the 2001 Mandala along with the one that starts "she always smelled like cigarattes" like all poems, I think part of this is about me, I guess at the time -maybe more so than now... but it was about a sort of mental image i had of someone who i actually liked a lot-someone I was very in awe of. I guess some of the cutting lines, were probably because I felt like she was too hard to impress... now -i dont feel like it has anything to do with this person, or rather the person is no longer this way -in my head- but even at the time it was a complete exaggeration, similar to the idolotry one, sometimes i like to take characteristics of people or thoughts or feelings and blow them out of proportion in my head... I should add, I was both horrified/ashamed and proud that this got published. the first two because I didnt think anything so abusive should be published the second because at the time I liked that I had been able to project a mental image (even a terrible one) to the extent in writing that other people liked it or identified with it. )))))
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