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)))))

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.

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))))))))

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

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

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. ))))

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...)))))

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))))

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)))))

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?))))

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)))))

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.

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))))

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)))))

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)))))

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))))))))

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******

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)

**** (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. )))))

Blessings in Disguise (dec 2006)

Wake up another day,
another chance to count my blessings
Though on the horizon
I spy the dark clouds coalescing
This is the way - to fortify my spirit,
Confront the wave of change
And never fear it

There is a place here
for every feeling
every notion
and when the waves near
we learn by dealing
with the motion

Oh when I’m doubtful
I reach for the hand of who ever is nearest
I guess we all do
And sometimes our vision aint the clearest
This is the way -we place our faith in others
Rather run with the crowd
Than cement ourselves to the covers

For those who stay there
Wind up sealing
Their fate - by their devotion.
while those who flow away but care
learn through healing
their emotions

So come stormy horizon
Rain down on my parade
I know you’ll do your best
To leave me lost, hurting and afraid
This is the way - I’ll learn as I’m tested and baptized
That this fiery rain of hell
Is heavens’ blessing in disguise.

((((just trying to remind myself change is good, things that seem bad arent always...written in the shower)))