something angsty (june 2008)

My sugar level is dropping rapidly.
Reminds me of the sky today.
Reminds me of the casual way you spit fire,
half thrust and half shield, as if uncertain of the venom you wield,
as If expecting some reproach of it.

Times like this I see the shakiness of limbs
The droop and stretch,
Feel exhausted from catching it all
Atrophy on a massive scale, somehow allows the fat to succumb so I’m not perceived as frail
But inside this large mammal, a broken creature.

My dreams are escaping
Both in memory and in reach
And it seems sometimes that time is leeching it from me.
The parasite that once promised freedom we’d receive, now demands us to achieve,
With such little time left.

observations at a coffee shop (may 2008)

Impatient would be Buddha seeks wisdom from the sweater-ed elder who goes on with his story despite the eager pushing of his listener. The elder’s white hair tied back, glasses in hand, displays treasured writings as he continues the story at a gentle pace. Crosslegged, Impatient Buddha, thin and swamped in a button down, leans forward, bearded chin in hand and jabs small assurances in youthful vocabulary “sweet, cool, awesome” and thinks up another question to ask the elder. The cranky artist, old, disdainful face seeks new experiences to prattle onto paper, his pen strokes straight, his wrinkles ragged. He contemplates existence, but not the big picture, simply Why is there a chair there? stares intently at each person Are you my creation? Will you be my salvation? Young Buddha gives up the pose attempts to impart gained knowledge to fortify the elders history, See what I know? As he relaxes in his confidence. The artist finally walks out for a smoke after turning the cigarette in his steady hands for an hour, perhaps waiting for a sign that came, just then.

Two cell phones command their owners Play with me! They call on them. One the businessman the worker intrigued by all the knowledge he surfs despite his labor, he turns his back from the window, and from the briefcase to the plugged in laptop that offers him amazement, engagement in online communities, posts to profiles, erases, reposts, he’s in that world, adulterous to his responsibilities, but just then the pulse hits straight into his brain, reminds him of his heart’s home, calls her on the phone, braces her with the news that the storm is on its way. She’s glad to hear from him but sends him on his way with muffled phone kisses. He puts the phone down and surfs away.

((((((Well crap I wasn't prepared for demands... Um I haven't really been writing anything lately.. well not of any substance. And I have tons of crap poetry that is literally labeled "crap-_____" with the title but rather than that... this is just something I was free writing while at a coffee shop yesterday. If I had continued writing, it would have described about 5 more people.... but I was interrupted by a friend. I told her as she sat down that I had decided everyone in the room was the same person at different stages in life. So eventually the 7-10 people I wrote about would start revealing themselves to be the same person in some way. anyway. thats that)))))))))

??? (april 2008)

She reacts to his wasp stings by tightening and turning over, doesn’t say much but projects her desire that he keep his lips where they came from, leaving him agape with three options. He could overpower her, pressure or ponder her motives, and he chooses the latter, contemplating her reactions. This woman who shares a bed with him but never bares any more. And he mimics her turning, facing the other direction, projecting with just enough flare that he might cause her some despair, but she doesn’t come calling. Both silently crying, their bodies on that bed, like two heavy fortresses separated by an empty field. A heart torn at the middle so that the skin peeled back.

(((((I cant think of a title)))))

God wins over the crowd (we like cliches ) April 2008

God was at his drum set again tonight. I was driving when I first heard the soft splat, he never counts with the sticks, he never plays for the crowd, it’s a soft spat on high hats, 1, 2 then combat. Headed in quick with the 16^th time, drivers weren’t ready for it, saw them swerve from line to line. But that’s no crime, and anyway he leveled off. That’s God after-all comes in strong -then he’s gone, just so that the cynics scoff. Let em deal with it, the snare drum softly rattles, calling out the solo’s battle. Just like that it’s a soldier’s stomping, snare drum march with toms a bomping. Funny how one learns to like it, repetitive it sounds so nice, I heard he once played “wipe out” like that for 40 days and 40 nights. I’d imagine even god on a snare solo gets real old though, So though it frightens he sometimes heightens with the set and gets bold. Its that double bass Crash that thunderclap that sets the audience a screaming. I think that’s where people lose themselves and start to wonder what God is meaning. I saw her earlier, lady earth, she was dry mouthed with anticipation, she’d been yearning for that steady beat, spirit refreshed by the creative rhythm. Now she danced intoxicated over run with music he created, and her moistened lips began to spit the choruses but she didn’t know the verses,

so she just whistled -as if cheering him on.

((((((yeah sometimes i talk to myself when im driving))))

untitled (march 2008)

Pointing at a picture, glued firmly in her memory but with a view blocked by scattered gatherings on the table, she says that’s the real me, or at least the me I need to be. Shoving aside casually the trinkets and charms, she reveals a confused white girl swarmed with small brown children.

((((I don't think this is done yet... but i cant think of anything else to write)))))

Forgive My Forgetting (april 2008)

I’m forgetting your name already. Sweet face that comes to me when I dream, sings me to sleep, smiles at me so many times- so many repeated pictures cuz I was bored and you were beautiful. A warmth above the left side of my tummy, aches my heart when I wake up.

This fragile memory so forgetful. It would take nothing but a few hours, a road trip, a fill up, a voice wrecked by car karaoke - To see you on a swing set, a coffee house, a walk, a hug a chitchat till tomorrows midnight. But time is never what truly separates us, is it

(((((this was inspired by pictures of beautiful people in morris)))))

Another Game? (feb 2008)

I deleted your e mails the other day. I’d been saving them like lover’s notes, though self interest on both our parts is all that they’d contained.

Your poetry written for another, your stories of far flinging adventure, your pictures captured for your memory, well let’s let it be (yours)

I’d let you handle all the boundary work, mending the fence, stir the concrete, duct tape the edges.

It allowed me time to fall in love with your crafty craftsmanship all over again.

A new blanket sings the song of the divide as clearly as the respect and peacefulness of this time, but I’m sick of subdued passion. So maybe it will be games, seated opponents with differing strategies and subtle jabs instead of compliments, smiles for the challenge of coming together for connection and -not sharing affection.

morning calls (winter 2008)

I was somewhere between ordering breakfast and portraits
You seemed somewhere between surprise and excitement
I wasn’t available for conversation,
Hurried goodbyes felt like…
Deposed disposables

neverends (winter 2008)

Cesar Chavez took us back, without thought of promises people make, she said thank you and laughed when I shooed her away. We couldn’t help but notice others entering into mundane routine as we concluded it would not be the last of our adventuring.

a note (winter 2008)

Light up eyes can only mean one thing, and I feared meeting them for connection in this case is inappropriate. But thanks for the note that implied some level of enjoyment in our silly connections, missed worlds - acknowledged simply with “I’ll miss you.”


******Don't worry this isn't about anyone you know. But the more I think about it, it might be about all of you. ********

love taps (winter 2008)

Didn’t it surprise you the way God lifted her fingers, and with a push you were planted squarely on the seat of your pants, you should have been laughing, instead, wanting to cry.

personal space (jan 2008)

Maybe it’s your foreign comfort, or because its cold, or because we are sharing a blanket, or because you are so absorbed in the film that you don’t notice, maybe it’s my overly strong tendency for personal space, maybe you are too tired to notice, but shouldn’t you be pulling away?
Or are you trying to say you like me…

capitalism in recession (Jan 2008)

I’m raving about the economy like a capitalist bourgeoisie, reminding me I am upper class roots, entrepreneur family, liberal education, but my student sentiments are not for thee liberty

with all its gambled excitement,

but security for equality..

The King’s Monopoly hotels and housing, the losers,

a dice throw from being us all.


**********Just whats been on my mind lately... rants and rants and rants....****************

little poems (winter 07-08)

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.

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...******

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?)))))

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.

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 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.... *****************

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.