curled up in an overstuffed leather chair, notebook balanced on my knees,
my mind wanders lazy over disjointed prose and the chattering clatter
of customers wandering in like a steady tide as the
deep roasted aroma of coffee beans hovers in the air.
ice clinks in a plastic cup, melting slowly into diluted remnants of chai tea
as i twist the straw up and down - mindless in a dull, slow, echoing scratch,
repetitious harmony and the whirring whir of a blender
lulls my mind into a heightened sense of wait
the touch of my skin pulses with artificial frenzy
to the beat of some indie song no one knows the name of,
buzzed high on caffeination, anticipation, the hazy humidity of a summer day
and the falling in love with each stranger that walks through the door.
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Friday, March 26, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Ellipses
…want, this thing I want but cannot name
that sits, tantalizing, at the tip of my tongue,
dancing along the edge of my brain, (tap-dancing over curiosity)
My lips make shape of the formless word,
yet sit there silent – continue.
What is this thing? Where am I stuck
restless, legs sticking to green vinyl
as the waitress asks me again,
pen at the edge of the table, tapping out my indecision.
I am consumed with craving for food that doesn’t exist.
Some unknown taste concoction
of tangy and sweet and spicy and smooth.
This empty ache in my stomach persists, persists
for something that’s not even real.
What is this thing? Where am I stuck
restless, legs sticking to green vinyl
as the waitress asks me again,
pen at the edge of the table, tapping out my indecision.
This faceless thing that chases me.
feels perpetually close, closing in
The hair rises on the back of my neck
but when I turn there is nothing and just this emptiness
of something I didn’t know was lost.
What is this thing? Where am I stuck
restless, legs sticking to green vinyl
as the waitress asks me again,
pen at the edge of the table, tapping out my indecision.
I itch to jump up and run out the door, legs pumping, feet pounding the pavement in steady rhythm where there is no path, on the way to somewhere new, unknown, dancing over the edge of a cliff to where I can swim through satin dreams of yellow and pink hues and climb back up raindrops through a dizzying lightening storm whilst screaming myself into a million pieces of light and sound and fury.
Impossibility.
Running in a circle to places I can’t name.
And this is wanting… And this is wanting…
that sits, tantalizing, at the tip of my tongue,
dancing along the edge of my brain, (tap-dancing over curiosity)
My lips make shape of the formless word,
yet sit there silent – continue.
What is this thing? Where am I stuck
restless, legs sticking to green vinyl
as the waitress asks me again,
pen at the edge of the table, tapping out my indecision.
I am consumed with craving for food that doesn’t exist.
Some unknown taste concoction
of tangy and sweet and spicy and smooth.
This empty ache in my stomach persists, persists
for something that’s not even real.
What is this thing? Where am I stuck
restless, legs sticking to green vinyl
as the waitress asks me again,
pen at the edge of the table, tapping out my indecision.
This faceless thing that chases me.
feels perpetually close, closing in
The hair rises on the back of my neck
but when I turn there is nothing and just this emptiness
of something I didn’t know was lost.
What is this thing? Where am I stuck
restless, legs sticking to green vinyl
as the waitress asks me again,
pen at the edge of the table, tapping out my indecision.
I itch to jump up and run out the door, legs pumping, feet pounding the pavement in steady rhythm where there is no path, on the way to somewhere new, unknown, dancing over the edge of a cliff to where I can swim through satin dreams of yellow and pink hues and climb back up raindrops through a dizzying lightening storm whilst screaming myself into a million pieces of light and sound and fury.
Impossibility.
Running in a circle to places I can’t name.
And this is wanting… And this is wanting…
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Paths
The dreams of a seven year old are crystalline clear, simplistic and easy.
Growing and growing.
Within reach of chubby, sticky fingers that grab for all they desire.
Proclaiming with such strength, vivacious spirit, clear intensity, absolute truth
But time changes simplicity and the realm of dreams fades away
Further and further
Imagination, creativity, magic, innocence, fairy tale beliefs slip out of a weakening grasp
The world becomes too real, too boring, too close, too rationalized, too practical.
The years roll by and we are spectators to our lives, time moves faster and faster
On and on
Suddenly we are taller and older and somehow insignificantly less wise.
There are no easy answers and the future looms near
We are told to chose a path but there is no path, not one taken, not one less traveled
Searching and searching
Reaching only cloudy nothingness and continuing to walk blind
Desiring, yearning, wanting, wishing beyond all hope to go back
Back to innocence and dreams, creativity, magical wonder and wide eyed splendor
Dreaming and dreaming
To see what that little girl knew, look in her eyes and find it, find the answers, find out
That somehow in my heart of hearts, in my childlike memory, I’ve always known
Impossibilities of all impossibilities, there is no going back, no standing still, but…
Maybe just maybe
In this all too real, practical, rational, logical, suffocating world there is still time
To dream…
Growing and growing.
Within reach of chubby, sticky fingers that grab for all they desire.
Proclaiming with such strength, vivacious spirit, clear intensity, absolute truth
But time changes simplicity and the realm of dreams fades away
Further and further
Imagination, creativity, magic, innocence, fairy tale beliefs slip out of a weakening grasp
The world becomes too real, too boring, too close, too rationalized, too practical.
The years roll by and we are spectators to our lives, time moves faster and faster
On and on
Suddenly we are taller and older and somehow insignificantly less wise.
There are no easy answers and the future looms near
We are told to chose a path but there is no path, not one taken, not one less traveled
Searching and searching
Reaching only cloudy nothingness and continuing to walk blind
Desiring, yearning, wanting, wishing beyond all hope to go back
Back to innocence and dreams, creativity, magical wonder and wide eyed splendor
Dreaming and dreaming
To see what that little girl knew, look in her eyes and find it, find the answers, find out
That somehow in my heart of hearts, in my childlike memory, I’ve always known
Impossibilities of all impossibilities, there is no going back, no standing still, but…
Maybe just maybe
In this all too real, practical, rational, logical, suffocating world there is still time
To dream…
Friday, November 13, 2009
Drift
I etch my words upon the shore.
While time ticking- tock flies past
Lines scrawled, scratched into the sand
All knowing a fleeting thing won’t last
The tide tumbles in on curling waves
With a rumbling crash and hissing foam
Salt watery hands take my words
And slip, crawl down back to home
Out to sea and the churning black
A million messages float and swirl
Speak out, speak out, where no one hears
In voiceless cacophony unfurl
And here on this beach, with the sun dipped low
This slate of sand is wiped clean
I start again each day to write
This echo, this story, this dream.
Someday I'll carve my words to stone
Deep and dark to stay
But for now I’ll etch along the sand
And watch as they’re washed away
While time ticking- tock flies past
Lines scrawled, scratched into the sand
All knowing a fleeting thing won’t last
The tide tumbles in on curling waves
With a rumbling crash and hissing foam
Salt watery hands take my words
And slip, crawl down back to home
Out to sea and the churning black
A million messages float and swirl
Speak out, speak out, where no one hears
In voiceless cacophony unfurl
And here on this beach, with the sun dipped low
This slate of sand is wiped clean
I start again each day to write
This echo, this story, this dream.
Someday I'll carve my words to stone
Deep and dark to stay
But for now I’ll etch along the sand
And watch as they’re washed away
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
until never and again
fists clenched (hold on, hold on, please).
crescent indentations of red
etched into the palms of my hands
but still
it slips, slips, slips
pulls away from me until my fingers grasp at empty air.
it is weightless, I am weightless, floating, helpless
nothing left
to do
but fall…
through all this strangeness,
chaos controlled by months and days and years,
through a shimmering wave of gossamer weave -
when you’re gone and you’re here and you were never really,
anything more than a flicker in the distance
of possibility
but
you smile, and I fall
sinking into you but I’m only falling
into whispered sighs and the want, aching want, so wanting that it needs.
the press of your body against mine, the frantic undress of your lips, fingertips,
arms wrapped around, over, between, everywhere
my skin is alive,
it jumps, electric
pulsing, pulsing, pulsing…
Oh.
your tongue tastes like vodka and half-truths and I drink it in,
thirsty, desperate…. until…
drunk off nothingness
i am empty
gone
fingers cannot unclench, they do not know how.
holding so, anchored, sane
a tightly wound coil that is ready to spring
At….
….any….
….moment…
… falling, weightless. Everything into nothing.
Alone with my memories and this fall, this constant fall,
this rushing wind in my ears, this
drip, drip, drip like a leaky faucet.
tap, tap, tap at my brain
a drum beat.
bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum
I lose my fucking mind.
(stop)
please, please
pick out the little pieces of my brain, my heart, my soul
that contain you, every inch of skin you’ve touched,
lips, throat, inner thigh.
the moments that contain you, wherein you exist
so wholly, so you
take them. they’re yours
they murder me,
leave me slain, bleeding, an empty corpse…
…twisted and tangled in confusion
nothing is as it seems (seemed)
and everything is everything
weightless and heavy. light and dark. lost and found. love and nothing
you and me…
you and…
you…
(wait)
you are me and I am you and everything all rolled into one shapeless formless mess of bones and hair and skin and veins everything all that I have ever met and known and thought or considered you are part of this uncontainable universe that is ever changing pushing outward swallowing whole everything that lives and breaths and loves and dies and…
me
you are a moment,
incandescent happenstance
(end)
you smile, I return
…let it slip away
a long ribbon waves back to earth
I stand and watch (destroyed, glad) as
a single balloon floats away toward the clouds,
stretching up and away and gone.
crescent indentations of red
etched into the palms of my hands
but still
it slips, slips, slips
pulls away from me until my fingers grasp at empty air.
it is weightless, I am weightless, floating, helpless
nothing left
to do
but fall…
through all this strangeness,
chaos controlled by months and days and years,
through a shimmering wave of gossamer weave -
when you’re gone and you’re here and you were never really,
anything more than a flicker in the distance
of possibility
but
you smile, and I fall
sinking into you but I’m only falling
into whispered sighs and the want, aching want, so wanting that it needs.
the press of your body against mine, the frantic undress of your lips, fingertips,
arms wrapped around, over, between, everywhere
my skin is alive,
it jumps, electric
pulsing, pulsing, pulsing…
Oh.
your tongue tastes like vodka and half-truths and I drink it in,
thirsty, desperate…. until…
drunk off nothingness
i am empty
gone
fingers cannot unclench, they do not know how.
holding so, anchored, sane
a tightly wound coil that is ready to spring
At….
….any….
….moment…
… falling, weightless. Everything into nothing.
Alone with my memories and this fall, this constant fall,
this rushing wind in my ears, this
drip, drip, drip like a leaky faucet.
tap, tap, tap at my brain
a drum beat.
bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum
I lose my fucking mind.
(stop)
please, please
pick out the little pieces of my brain, my heart, my soul
that contain you, every inch of skin you’ve touched,
lips, throat, inner thigh.
the moments that contain you, wherein you exist
so wholly, so you
take them. they’re yours
they murder me,
leave me slain, bleeding, an empty corpse…
…twisted and tangled in confusion
nothing is as it seems (seemed)
and everything is everything
weightless and heavy. light and dark. lost and found. love and nothing
you and me…
you and…
you…
(wait)
you are me and I am you and everything all rolled into one shapeless formless mess of bones and hair and skin and veins everything all that I have ever met and known and thought or considered you are part of this uncontainable universe that is ever changing pushing outward swallowing whole everything that lives and breaths and loves and dies and…
me
you are a moment,
incandescent happenstance
(end)
you smile, I return
…let it slip away
a long ribbon waves back to earth
I stand and watch (destroyed, glad) as
a single balloon floats away toward the clouds,
stretching up and away and gone.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
The Greatest of These
In the beginning there was a place.
And in this place there were some people.
And these people had a story.
XOXOXO
The morning dew clings to blades of pale yellow grass,
begins to slide slowly off leaves as the day warms.
Wispy pink clouds are light on the horizon
– illuminated by the steadily rising sun.
The air is crisp, biting cold red-noses, as they walk
slowly up the sidewalk of that familiar street,
Their hands, wrinkled, clasped tightly between them.
His breathing is heavy.
Her knees are sore with aching pain.
They are quiet.
There is only the sound of a songbird calling to a mate
high in a tree above them.
XOXOXO
The television screen flickers silently,
casting a strange blue glow about the darkened room
as the clock in the corner reads a bright green 1:09 a.m.
A brown tabby cat is nestled onto a cushion in the corner,
its ears flickering at any sudden noise.
The girls are curled up on either end of the sofa,
clad in pajamas and wrapped in warm fleece blankets.
Their eyes burn with exhaustion and grow heavy but they do not sleep.
They talk and talk and talk as the minutes tick by.
A chorus of giggles startles the night.
The cat perks up in alert, looks around the room sleepily,
Then falls asleep once again.
XOXOXO
The long shadows of dusk begin to fall over the yard.
A window is illuminated by a warm yellow light.
They sit around the table, leaning back in chairs,
Smiling.
Children giggle and make faces.
Steam curls in lazy circles over the top of mismatched coffee mugs.
A half empty glass of milk is accidentally over turned
and the sound of laughter echoes out over the ever-darkening day.
XOXOXO
Tulle and lace flutter carelessly
as a soft breeze stirs the warm summer day.
White lilies, so carefully arranged, nod in response.
Everyone waits anxiously, murmuring in hushed tones
To the soft melody of a single violin.
He waits for her, his skin already sticky with the salty sea air,
his hair tussled lightly, his feet bare in the soft sand.
She walks toward him, practically shaking with excitement,
Her eyes shining with unshed tears.
Their hands meet, fingers twining together as the waves continue
to sweep across the shore in a steady crash… crash… crash…
XOXOXO
The room is filled with the soft murmur of voices,
the low hum and beep of machines.
A light glows overhead, fluorescent and harsh.
A pair of eyes strain to open in this too bright, new world
and then flutter shut once again.
She watches carefully and a tired smile eases onto her face
as she smoothes her finger over soft skin.
Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes.
She shifts the bundle in her arms, leans back against the pillow.
The child stirs – a tiny fist waving in the air – and then settles again.
XOXOXO
And the place was made good
And the people were made good
And the story was forever.
And in this place there were some people.
And these people had a story.
XOXOXO
The morning dew clings to blades of pale yellow grass,
begins to slide slowly off leaves as the day warms.
Wispy pink clouds are light on the horizon
– illuminated by the steadily rising sun.
The air is crisp, biting cold red-noses, as they walk
slowly up the sidewalk of that familiar street,
Their hands, wrinkled, clasped tightly between them.
His breathing is heavy.
Her knees are sore with aching pain.
They are quiet.
There is only the sound of a songbird calling to a mate
high in a tree above them.
XOXOXO
The television screen flickers silently,
casting a strange blue glow about the darkened room
as the clock in the corner reads a bright green 1:09 a.m.
A brown tabby cat is nestled onto a cushion in the corner,
its ears flickering at any sudden noise.
The girls are curled up on either end of the sofa,
clad in pajamas and wrapped in warm fleece blankets.
Their eyes burn with exhaustion and grow heavy but they do not sleep.
They talk and talk and talk as the minutes tick by.
A chorus of giggles startles the night.
The cat perks up in alert, looks around the room sleepily,
Then falls asleep once again.
XOXOXO
The long shadows of dusk begin to fall over the yard.
A window is illuminated by a warm yellow light.
They sit around the table, leaning back in chairs,
Smiling.
Children giggle and make faces.
Steam curls in lazy circles over the top of mismatched coffee mugs.
A half empty glass of milk is accidentally over turned
and the sound of laughter echoes out over the ever-darkening day.
XOXOXO
Tulle and lace flutter carelessly
as a soft breeze stirs the warm summer day.
White lilies, so carefully arranged, nod in response.
Everyone waits anxiously, murmuring in hushed tones
To the soft melody of a single violin.
He waits for her, his skin already sticky with the salty sea air,
his hair tussled lightly, his feet bare in the soft sand.
She walks toward him, practically shaking with excitement,
Her eyes shining with unshed tears.
Their hands meet, fingers twining together as the waves continue
to sweep across the shore in a steady crash… crash… crash…
XOXOXO
The room is filled with the soft murmur of voices,
the low hum and beep of machines.
A light glows overhead, fluorescent and harsh.
A pair of eyes strain to open in this too bright, new world
and then flutter shut once again.
She watches carefully and a tired smile eases onto her face
as she smoothes her finger over soft skin.
Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes.
She shifts the bundle in her arms, leans back against the pillow.
The child stirs – a tiny fist waving in the air – and then settles again.
XOXOXO
And the place was made good
And the people were made good
And the story was forever.
Monday, October 12, 2009
My Words
My voice is lost. I can’t speak.
The words are there on my mind in practiced rhythm, but speech falters.
Syllables get caught up on my tongue,
rolling over each other in a stuttering (repeating, repeating) mess.
I lose my thoughts and a deep red spreads up my cheeks
as I’m thrown into a twisting and churning sea of babbling nonsense.
I am strange, voiceless.
I cannot say what I mean so I don’t say anything at all and it’s quiet,
deafening quiet until ideas and hurts and passions and pains and answers
build and build and build
and there’s nowhere left to go but tearing out through my lungs
in one rebellious cry of sound and fury.
A loud cacophonous clatter of sounds and words and empty phrases
floating in empty space, meaning nothing, saying nothing.
They are lost. My voice is lost. There is nothing left to say.
The world isn’t listening anyway.
**
But here. Here there is release.
Here on this page, pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, I write.
In a clack, clack, clack, scratch, scratch, scratch, I write.
Words spill, splash, pour from me, onto the page.
Words, words, words released and running free,
stampeding from my mind, fingertips, every pore,
a force of glorious energy that wraps around me in cozy warmth,
fills the page with me in a soundless scream.
All at once I can be strange and awkward and stuttering,
say what I mean, mean what I say,
talk in circles and round and round until it makes complete nonsensical sense of this,
this beautiful mess of words and verbs and question marks.
Formed from thought, like clay, molded and laced and pieced together,
sentences take shape, paragraphs and pages, pages telling a story,
winding, weaving together in a vibrant tapestry of vision, concept, imagination.
A reckless abandon of flowing consciousness.
Where at last, at last
my voice can speak.
Here, here are my words.
The words are there on my mind in practiced rhythm, but speech falters.
Syllables get caught up on my tongue,
rolling over each other in a stuttering (repeating, repeating) mess.
I lose my thoughts and a deep red spreads up my cheeks
as I’m thrown into a twisting and churning sea of babbling nonsense.
I am strange, voiceless.
I cannot say what I mean so I don’t say anything at all and it’s quiet,
deafening quiet until ideas and hurts and passions and pains and answers
build and build and build
and there’s nowhere left to go but tearing out through my lungs
in one rebellious cry of sound and fury.
A loud cacophonous clatter of sounds and words and empty phrases
floating in empty space, meaning nothing, saying nothing.
They are lost. My voice is lost. There is nothing left to say.
The world isn’t listening anyway.
**
But here. Here there is release.
Here on this page, pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, I write.
In a clack, clack, clack, scratch, scratch, scratch, I write.
Words spill, splash, pour from me, onto the page.
Words, words, words released and running free,
stampeding from my mind, fingertips, every pore,
a force of glorious energy that wraps around me in cozy warmth,
fills the page with me in a soundless scream.
All at once I can be strange and awkward and stuttering,
say what I mean, mean what I say,
talk in circles and round and round until it makes complete nonsensical sense of this,
this beautiful mess of words and verbs and question marks.
Formed from thought, like clay, molded and laced and pieced together,
sentences take shape, paragraphs and pages, pages telling a story,
winding, weaving together in a vibrant tapestry of vision, concept, imagination.
A reckless abandon of flowing consciousness.
Where at last, at last
my voice can speak.
Here, here are my words.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Why
words without names
characters without faces
from the deepest cracks
of all I know
an idea
a spark
nothing…
nothing…
nothing…
lost
forever lost
with all these words
these faceless nameless words
the pain
gut wrenching searing pain
reaching where I do not want to reach
scratching the unscratchable
I didn’t know was there
a soul pouring out
screaming screaming screaming
laughing
oh the wonderful ceaseless joy of those inky scrawls
simplicity
flow
tumbling rolling thinking towards…
nothing…
nothing…
nothing…
everything
Butterflies
lightness sudden melting weakness
a flipping flopping fluttering wave under my ribs
brief feather light touch brushing smooth skin
inhale deep sweet air fills my lungs
heart pounding blood in veins pulsing rushing in ears
smile eyes lighting up the bubble of laughter
consuming warmth down tips of toes fingers clenched
knees tremble
words (you know) voice words words words
a pink spreads up my cheeks betrays
up through the roots of hair on fire burning
thought unbidden a secret a dream whisper close
eyes closed exhale
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