She was laying in my bed tonight. Hidden beneath my pansy covers Wrapped up for warmth I’d gladly offer. But I was showing her my treasures, hoping to reignite some interest, hoping she’d derive some pleasure from my strange creations, as I had in her explorations. And she smelled like the glow of great memories. So I rubbed her head cuz I couldn’t keep my hands away. And I offered her my bed and said I’d gladly take the couch, if I could kidnap her for another day.
**********************************
You were always the strong one even if I was the one reminding you.
I’d wrap you up gently a thousand nights, a thousand shivers relieved with whatever warmth I could offer, a thousand tears wiped away, a thousand mumbled words when I have nothing to say, a thousand jokes, a thousand tales, a thousand patient hours, ears turned to hear your concerns, a thousand glimpses half knowing it shows that each moment I fall harder and that you won’t grow more tender to my pleading confused eyes, and half hearted but loving replies.
**********************************
Wanting to be your shelter, but not your reason to continue wandering,
I am a plain house.
Still you journeyed on, leaving me scared still standing there… not sure if your next roof would have leaks, paint chipping, narrow stairs that creaked and offered no escape should fires rage… but you had told me you liked the idea of living (with)in a fixer upper –despite your history of burns and jagged nail cuts… Some where you could rage against and simultaneously grow in. Somewhere passionate, unafraid to show its love, by shedding and giving, pushing towards you, matching your ferocity.
**********************************
I would ask you to marry me,
but I look in your eyes and notice you don’t share my fantasies,
so I just sit quiet.
**********************************
After the panic shocks -me scaring you - you leaving bruises on my arm,
I was careful to not mention the reflection in the “empty” van window
in front of us that looked too much like a face.
Certain
that it wasn’t “really” a zombie.
********************************************************************************
****Yeah so these are the types of things i have been writing lately... they are mostly about conversations I had in my head (exception of the first one) -different people...
as you can see I didn't bother with poetic spacing... and mostly didnt bother with poetics... a little rhyming but i do that naturally half the time... I guess they arent meant to be wonderful... just to capture small thoughts and feelings.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Kenji (Dec 2007)
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...******
-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...******
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))))))))
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