A part. (poem)

My train fell apart

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Pinprick (Poem)

If life were like a map laid out before me

i would still pick the stars to press my pinpoint into

and watch it unravel the fabric,

more brillant with every indention

evidence of my absolute intentions

and my penchant to aim straight for perfection

One pinpoint can hold my map up on the wall

why do so many take it out and watch it fall?

Pressed (poem)

Still, realizing real life pauses are important.

My mind speaks

“We can never represent it accurately”

My hand is pressed, cold palm to forehead

My fingers nestle deep in warm hair,

curve their nails lightly into my scalp

like waves of the ocean, brush by the tides.

But my eyes pause,

draw themselves closed, clothed, contorted overload of the land.

light, too bright, when I remember outside is night.

New moon, too soon leaves the room

slides by, hides, so sly.

Not I.

Sulk, slack, sit unseen.

Impressed with yourself for not wearing Maybelline.

It’s so obscene, you’re so damn lean.

Forgotten serenity, the entity of totality, til I’m almost ill.

Still, realizing real life pauses are important.

Pen poised, patient, prepared for the perfect timing to touch the paper,

to express a thought worth thinking (doesn’t happen a lot)

inking, indecodable, quotable quips.

Quick trip for some, an “oh yes, fun” then they “have to run”

always jump the gun… not saying I’m never one but what do they do once they are done?

I’d want a refund, but realize I refused to retrain my brain to refrain so I’d abstain~

Written 2002, Dec. 10th

 

Meaning (poem)

sadly structures rarely represent realistically

repeating rhythms

shaping sounds

making metaphors

 

sadly structures

rarely represent realistically

 

most meaning whittled away

with words

well intended

and poorly placed

 

*refound, written in 2001.

Whirling (poem)

…as I dive, derive, arrive again.

whirling

wheeled by a feeling

fresh unrest undressed

decompressed

dealing with etched out eroded bones

bursting with unburdening, done.

Dovelike tail spins, spun

as I dive, derive, arrive again.

Tho I shutter with shivers unuttered, I don’t stutter but

become unfettered, refeathered

free

“we”

“We” are special until we think we aren’t.

It still takes two to tango, even if we never learned how.

faults are natural, they occur.

they occur in the streets, in quiet spaces, in blank faces, in every nation.

no one can explain it all, nor understand it all.

but traveling widely it seems the world’s majority people are seekers of good, are good.

may “we” not fall into their hatred

may “we” be bigger than that.

 

For my grandmother (poem)

For my grandmother:

There is somebody who will remember

the map of your skin

and the candy you chose

to fill the heavy lidded,

solid fitted,

multi- faceted

bowl of your life.

I will remember

the powdered rose scent

of your bathroom

and what you chose

to surround you.

your unmatchable smile,

the way you giggled,

your love,

all still keep me company.

 

 

The flesh of this fish (poem)

From the moment I felt too close to you

Blushing at touching

Overlapping and apologizing

There was no denying

As we were filleting

More than the flesh of this fish was

Going to be exposed.

Because your eyes on me

Made me fumble

I was jumbling words

and stumbling for sentences

Everything got slippery

Scales shifted

You showed me the way

And made me try it for myself.

 

 

(I liked it.  Even if I don’t remember how to do it again in the future.)

(artwork by me in Notan Printmaking tradition)