Pressed (poem)

Still, realizing real life pauses are important.

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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)

Nomenclature (poem)

This is a poem I wrote Jan. 13th, 2015 at 10:43 am Hawaiian time. I just refound it.

Nomenclature

In your abbreviated goodbye

I see it all very clear

The second you know you can affect me

Is the same as when you disappear.

You talk big story, say you want me to be raw and real,

How did I know when I tried

It would turn in to a raw deal?

But no matter,

rebuilding skin is second nature,

And I hate to say it, but it’s all nomenclature.

What you say I am and what you see

It’s just the version you attached to me.

 

I thought maybe you were different

Could see through to the other side.

But somehow I’m always just a symbol

And all I’ve got to keep is my pride.

 

Yes, I know I got a chest full of lions,

That no man has ever tamed

Not sure why I keep trying  to think all men aren’t the same.

So I lock up the cage again,

Walk around pretty untouchable me

Going into the jungle again to let me roam free

Maybe this was just the way my life was meant to be.

 

But when you caught my eye it felt more than fleeting

Sound disappeared in eye smiles meeting.

The way my heart felt, like it never felt before.

Each time I found you at the threshold of my door.

 

Now I wonder was it all a dream

Can anything ever be as good as how we seemed?

Cause it was give and take

and tea and cookies

The middle of the night and the sunrise

It was the running river and the stars above

I don’t want to wonder what happened to our love

Because life is beautiful and life is free

And that’s how I want to

Remember you and you me.

 

Why does it scare me to see your fallibility?

The trees lose their leaves,

The river gets muddy

And I never worry

Cause I know they’ll come around again

Grow again and clear.

170216 Magnetic Poetry

Internal gifts of moments
stretch through you
from time to forever
to never again.

I will also write out my refrigerator poetry by the pictures, since sometimes I can’t find all the words I want to use.  To learn more about the beginning of this process for me visit the first of my magnetic poetry posts.  For more poetry posts visit Poetry under the Projects tab of this site.

This first one encompasses the first four pictures so I will transcribe it here:

Internal gifts of moments

stretch through you

from time to forever

to never again.

And every minute is a deposit,

a correspondence,

an order to rebel against the faithless swarm

who are beaten and lost.

You are the one

who can remind them

that power lives in moments,

real and imagined.

img_6658img_6657img_6662img_6660

 

This next poem had a few different endings and includes the next three pictures:

vanish

and

appear

amid the stars

in the midnight sky

nearby.

flood me

with the right

soft

search

light

that i may see

my

destiny.

img_6665img_6666img_6668

 

and the last one for this round is simple:

ask the absurd

supply the response

img_6653

170203 fridge poetry

create anything. art is in the image of everything.

img_6508

create anything. art is in the image of everything.

img_6504life inserted choices around her.

running

by

passing

machines.

always let the stemware go missing.

always may the kids run free.

come, as wine, with me.

alike,

not by the letter,

but

better. 😉