One Mixed Girl

After All

2011-03-30T16:47:00.000-04:00

Bonjour, mes amis.

Still here.
Kicked while I was down, (multiple times),
but still here.

i have meandered the full spectrum of grief:
i have been wild and angry,
despondent,
and have begged on my knees.

i have cried out,
stamped my foot,
shaken my fist at the Heavens.
i have rationalized,
withdrawn,
and turned myself inside out.

but i am still here.

Love Song

2010-12-29T10:22:00.001-05:00

cacophony, zombie, sidestep, formed, migraine, French, too, nominal, dialect, swallowed, habitual, bonfire

whisper lovingly to me over the cacophony,

the primordial zombie soup of noise and colour.

we can sidestep the elephant

we've formed from our feces

but it still grows like a migraine...

there's only French in my head

mixed too with bits of glitter,

a nominal portion of oil paint and linseed

and i speak a dialect only you know.

we have swallowed each other

it's habitual, the nature of us,

to watch it all go up in the smoke of a bonfire

we started.

Lunar

2010-12-22T22:50:00.001-05:00

It took a little out of her, that eclipse. She just wasn't really whole after it was over. Maybe the effort to produce that luminous orange glow would continue to eat away at her year after year, until one day she was just a part of the velvet expanse of the night.

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Added To My Verbal Bag Of Tricks

2010-12-10T11:59:00.003-05:00

–verb (used without object)

to come into close contact or union.

Geometry . (of a curve) to touch another curve or anotherpart of the same curve so as to have the same tangent andcurvature at the point of contact.

–verb (used with object)

to bring into close contact or union.

Geometry . (of a curve) to touch (another curve or anotherpart of the same curve) in osculation.

to kiss.

Origin:
1650–60; < L ōsculātus (ptp. of ōsculārī to kiss), equiv. to ōscul( um ) kiss, lit., little mouth ( see osculum) + -ātus -ate¹

Haikus For Otis

2010-11-30T18:26:00.000-05:00

rhythm, fits, storm, breath, sea, touch, fog, rocks, swallowing, night, tide, searches

UN.

the rhythm we make

in fits and starts, heroic

is my perfect storm

DEUX.

time my breath with yours.

drown myself in your green sea,

reach out and save me.

TROIS.

fog rolls slowly in

still we sit, two craggy rocks

swallowing the dark.

QUATRE.

the Moon, wrapped in night

finds her image in the tide

she searches her face

Letter To An Unknown Gift-Giver

2010-11-30T09:01:00.002-05:00

Dear Mr. Samlidis,
   I am writing concerning a very lovely pair of Anthropologie earrings. They were sent to me, as it would appear, by you. However, I have never been to New York; neither have I - based upon your Facebook photo - ever met you. Understandably, I find the motives behind the earrings dubious.
   If it was a mistake that they came to me, (as I presume), please let me know and I will return them forthwith. If, however, these earrings are connected in some way to an attack upon my identity, I must ask you to please desist. I assure you I haven't an identity worth stealing...

   Yours,
   L.Moore

Black Friday Special: Two For the Price Of One

2010-11-26T22:04:00.001-05:00

let the dead carry their own

he said, and i trust

him.

there is no lie behind his eyes

but i just cannot

put this down.

i'd need a rubric

or someone with

shoulders stronger.

Removal.

just Beats in my brain.

Remember.

Remember,

even He wept.

< --------------------------------------------------------------------------

the crush of youth

is heavy on me,

when i feel so old.

my skin is parchment.

my bones too brittle.

i have to dance slowly

these days

one wrong move

and

SNAP!

gold dust

from the most

ancient of deserts

floating on the wind.

there is dirt in my blood, and

words excised

into my parchment skin

that are older

than language.

i cannot say how my skin reads,

but

i learn myself

from people i meet.

Nom de Plume/Nom de Guerre

2010-11-24T15:11:00.000-05:00

i need one/both.

So far I'm attracted to the last names Botwin, Frezza, Chamlee, Isaac, and Mierau.

First names that shimmer/shine: Lura, Lera, Loura, L.K., L.Kei, and L.

Curious about the dubious possibilities of taking a male name, or a Japanese one...

Liminality

2010-11-24T15:08:00.000-05:00

“I don’t know,” she said, exasperated. “I guess their grandmothers could have done it.” She stalked away, leaving me alone in the deepening gloom with the smell of water. “I for one don’t think I could do it, though,” she said over her shoulder. I suddenly felt a very deep craving to throw something hard at her retreating back. I imagined the weight of the rock in my hand; I knew exactly how I would shift my weight to give me equilibrium for launching the rock from my palm.

Instead, I ran after her and grabbed her hand. “I DON’T WANT YOUR GERMS ON ME!” she shrieked, wrenching free and taking off running. I let her get far ahead of me, so that she was just a moving shape on the horizon, and then I started running too. I didn’t want to be left in the dark. Plus I knew she’d come around. She always did. She said mean things to me, but I never really thought she meant them.

The sun had gone down far enough that the little evening-bats were out, circling and diving overhead. I slowed my running home long enough to throw a few small rocks up in the air, to watch the bats swoop toward them. Momma told me once that if curly-headed girls played outside after dark fell, they were liable to get a bat stuck in their hair. I was never entirely sure if I believed her, but the thought was so terrifying it was enough to keep me from wanting to be out after the sun went down.

By the time I made it home, Cara and Lyra were arguing about whether or not Depeche Mode would prefer their two most adoring fans to wear tutus or no tutus to the next concert. I hung back in the shadow of the doorway listening to them argue like sisters do. I was still sweating from my run home, and wishing that some of their blonde glamour would spill out and settle on me.

“Why’re you lurking in the doorway?” Lyra drawled at me. Her voice still had the Irish brogue that she could lay on thick like jam on toast. Of course, the accent was just icing on the cake of the Bearden Girls’ glory: they were too cute to be believed, blonde, so incredibly intelligent, well-mannered, and then, ohmigosh those accents. Either one of them could make you feel privileged just to be noticed by them, but Cara was my best friend. And I? Well, I didn’t really have anything very special about me, just a head fulla kinky curls that Cara brushed out once to see “how big” my hair could get. So where they were fair, I was dark. Where they were straight I was curly. Where they were so well-rounded, I was just sort of ordinary.

“I asked why you are lurking in my doorway,” Lyra demanded, glaring at my reflection in her mirror. “Oh, I was just, um, waitin’ on Cara,” I stammered. Lyra always made me a little nervous. She was practically grown since she had already got her period. She always seemed kinda mad, so I mostly just tried to stay away from her.

Lyra rolled her eyes. “You two brats get outta my room,” she ordered. Cara pulled a face and I tried to stifle a giggle. “I mean it. You’re getting on my nerves and I’m trying to concentrate.” She bent her head over her desk where she was braiding bits of string together.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Cara asked, plopping down on Lyra messy bed. “Maybe we can help.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. I knew two things with the wiggling of those eyebrows: 1) I should keep my mouth shut, since that was our signal for Cara to do the talking; and 2) she had already forgotten our fight before we ran back to the house. I grinned at her.

“I’m making these awesome friendship bracelets to raise money for my new publishing venture. So no, you may not help unless you want to help by buying some.”

“I don’t have any cash to buy one of your dumb bracelets,” Cara retorted, kicking a pile of clothes off the bed and into the floor. I snickered. “Wait, what ‘publishing venture’?”

“Don’t worry about it, you little jerks, it’s not a kids’ book.” Lyra didn’t notice the toppled pile of clothes, or Cara’s nasty trainers on her bed. She did, however, notice me still leaning against the doorframe. “Are you still here? Get out!” she yelled. We scrammed.

An hour or so later, I snuck back to Lyra’s room. The door was closed but not latched, and I could hear the thump of her stereo from inside. I nudged the door open with the toe of my shoe.

Lyra was lying flat on her back on the bed, flipping through a magazine. “What do you want dork?” she asked. “Ever heard of knocking?”

I gulped. “Hey, uh, Lyra, I think I wanna buy one of those bracelets you were making.”

She glared at me disdainfully over her magazine. I dropped my gaze and stubbed my toe into the carpet. I could feel myself shrinking and getting smaller with her watching me. After a few seconds, I was just a bug, and I wished I hadn’t come.

“Why do you like her so much?” she asked very softly. “She’s like, one of your only friends. And that’s really weird, you know?” She had propped up on one elbow, and looked genuinely interested in how a bug would respond to an obviously rhetorical question. I thought I was going to faint; her accent was a lilting melody that disoriented me.

After a few beats, I summoned all my faculties and shrugged heavily. She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She glanced at my pocket, so I began fishing around for a few quarters to give her. “They cost-“ I pulled a crumpled five dollar bill I had left over from my allowance, “exactly five dollars each,” she finished, holding out her palm. I gave her the money, and then moved to where she pointed at a row of braided bracelets spread across her desk. I quickly chose one and headed to the door.

Maybe the sudden rush of courage I felt was just because I was leaving her stifling presence, or maybe it was because I could feel myself transforming back from a bug to a girl again. Either way, I suddenly felt bold enough to say at the threshold, “You should ask the man in the moon why I like her. That’s what I do when I have a serious question that I can’t really ask anybody else. Then when you go to sleep, sometimes he’ll give you the answer in your dream.” I blushed, embarrassed to have spoken at all.

Her eyebrows knit together, she watched me leave her room.

2010-11-24T15:03:00.001-05:00

–noun Anthropology .

the transitional period or phase of a rite of passage, during whichthe participant lacks social status or rank, remains anonymous,shows obedience and humility, and follows prescribed forms ofconduct, dress, etc.

Origin:

< L līmin- (s. of līmen ) threshold + -al¹ + -ity

truth no. 42

2010-11-22T19:32:00.000-05:00

i am burned-out and procrastinating.

Writas Blok

2010-11-19T09:53:00.004-05:00

poem, junket, seminal, sprinkling, punctual, red, swagger, ever, pop, stops, timid, shimmer

hello, poem.

we meet at

the very same junket,

stuck.

seminal ideas,

once rosy-cheeked and vivacious

now lie crumpled and discarded on the floor.

They are used up and we cannot coax ourselves

to use them again.

there is not even a sprinkling

of new and fresh,

none of the passion we had once

for those words.

the reaper is jealous, and ever punctual to

slaughter the muse.

he lies in wait for her, Inspiration, to rise as the glorious

phoenix from the ashes of frustration

her blood is red

where it has spilled over the

page

all my bravado and swagger

have gone with her,

leaked in inky blotches.

nothing comes to

pop and sizzle like blue lightning

through my mind.

the kinetic electricity

of neurons firing fast

just stops.

there is only the premature ejaculation

of a timid poetess

and then nothing more...

even the shimmer

has begun to fade.

From the Turkish of Edip Cansever

2010-11-15T18:12:00.002-05:00

The Table.

A man filled with the gladness of living put his keys on the table, Put flowers in a copper bowl there. He put his eggs and milk on the table.

He put there the light that came in through the window, sound of a bicycle, sound of a spinning wheel. The softness of bread and weather he put there.

On the table the man put things that happened in his mind. What he wanted to do in life, he put that there. Those he loved, those he didn't love, he put them on the table too.

Three times three makes nine; he put nine on the table. He was next to the window, next to the sky; he reached out and placed on the table endlessness.

So many days he had wanted to drink a beer. He put on the table the pouring of that beer.

He placed there his sleep and his wakefulness; his hunger and his fullness he placed there. Now that's what I call a table! It didn't complain at all about the load. It wobbled once or twice, and then stood firm. The man kept piling things on.

Edip Cansever

la Pluie

2010-11-15T13:55:00.000-05:00

hi there,

grey Monday.

dripping leaves

there's chill

and damp

so i'll sketch

somewhere

nicer.

it's a day

like today

when all i want

can be found

in my nest.

A Letter To the Daughter I Haven't Got

2010-11-14T19:58:00.001-05:00

small, curiosity, tempting, beaten, stepping, tongue, echos, fear, knees, slipped, taps, saves

leap from what is small to protect your curiosity at all costs.

Though killing it is tempting

there may come a day when you are down, beaten low

and your demand to know could be the stepping stone.

don't ever watch your tongue, but be ever ready to own your words.
Sometimes the echoes of your speech will return to cheer you,

and sometimes a prodigal and grotesque word you've said,

will return to you, make you cower in fear and shame.

it will demand paternity with you on your knees,
toppling the pedestal you have placed yourself on.

but when your crown has slipped,

and mortal frailty taps at the window of your expectations,
remember to be curious.
Our burning curiosity saves us from the dust of yielding to bland conformity.

untitled.

2010-11-10T12:51:00.001-05:00

when i do not like

the answers

i reverse

and try to change

the question

but it's always

too late

the thinking

has set them

in stone.

if i try again,

i know

that i know

what i really

want

know

exactly

the same

as before.

i can

rephrase.

i can reach out

grasping for

something else, but

i come away

holding the same.

truth no. 7

2010-11-10T12:43:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it's hard to listen to the answers.

Yellow Woman In the Desert

2010-11-08T21:25:00.002-05:00

see, shift, asking, ambivalent, bodies, lured, agreed, stop, why, yet, look, secret

see out over

the sand

dunes that
shift and settle

wind blowing
answers, never
asking

dust falling
into every ambivalent line

a mirage of
bodies

lured by
the smell of water

it does not
matter,
the desert will agree

to stop is to die.

so why did you
come here?

you sought barren
wilds, yet look -

every grain
of sand is fecund.

the secret lies
in the ability to start all over again.

truth no.5

2010-11-08T21:08:00.001-05:00

clean sheets + Hercule Poirot = The cat's pajammas

truth No.2

2010-11-07T14:07:00.000-05:00

i would look lame
in skinny jeans.

Not Another Lovesong.

2010-11-07T11:43:00.000-05:00

see waking promise keening frostbitten not power trust room stone carry we

see here,
now

the waking
is slower
these days

don't forget
your promise
to keep

don't go
keening for
what's broken

what we had
is only
frostbitten

and with warmth
we'll thaw

the freezer burned
taste will
not be
forgotten

no matter how
high
the power

i trust you
enough
to throw you

i won't turn
my back
on you
in the room

but i'll toss
you like a stone

that i have
carried so long
in my pocket

we eat slowly
the things
we are ashamed of.

A Subtle & Sticky Repair

2010-10-26T09:33:00.000-04:00

what i haven't got

that's what you

want

what isn't mine

to give

that's what

you take

we'll find a way

to pay,

i promise

we'll be alright

in the end

somehow we always

float to the top

with the

creme

you'll see

Thaw

2010-10-25T20:55:00.000-04:00

corpse - straddling - shrubbery - fertile - blazing - range - simmers - thrust - fresh - shoulders - iron - with

you're no

corpse.

i see you

there, straddling

life and wanting

the waking.

peering through the

shrubbery and

leering at

the fertile promise

of living,

your eyes

blazing with the

promise.

there's no limit

to the range or

the keening need

to go on breathing

that simmers

under your

frostbitten

skin.

not in my

power

to thrust you

into it.

i am fresh

out

of trust,

there's no

room on my

shoulders.

between your

heart of iron

and mine of

stone,

who could

carry us?

we'll have to

make do

with we.

harvest.

2010-10-24T20:45:00.001-04:00

like, plow, askance, afraid, babyfaced, something, floats, will, days, drape, combining, logical

i like to hear me cry
it proves the plow is still held in steady hands,
not running the rows askance.

i don't mind being afraid
cause that babyfaced innocence quickens the core
like something sharp with purpose all its own

only the cream floats to the top
but when will i settle?

when my days come home to roost?
when my skin is a fabric draped over my bones,
the lines on my face combining into the most revealing of harvests?

nothing logical is ever said in a decent argument with self.

Abandon

2010-10-17T10:39:00.005-04:00

i will leave you

to sleep with your demons

though it saddens me

to go

the cracks in the glue

that bound us together

seem to spell out

"removal"

every breath you take

is closer to your last

and it's a seduction

i cannot watch

maybe your Legion

will keep you warm

after i've gone

Otis Welcomes Them To the Neighborhood

2010-10-12T09:02:00.000-04:00

jungle grazing lattice neighborhood hunting spasm forget enough displace crater safe words

i am in the jungle and the jungle is in me

but we are all just sheep a-grazing

i see you there, peering through the lattice 

welcome to the neighborhood

don't see what you want, well let's go hunting

feeling a spasm of remorse?

don't let's forget, you wanted this ride

there's enough room here for all of us

so no one ever need be displaced

from the empty bliss of this crater  

truly there is safety in numbers

but we are only words

S.W.B. & Otis

2010-10-12T08:31:00.000-04:00

window happens made hand bright math repetitions bland vacancy boundary against animal

i see thru the window of your old soul
what happens when they get that close?
you weren't made for making connections
your hand wasn't made to hold

isn't it bright, and isn't it lucky
that no one here can do the math
they fail to see your murderous repetitions
and you keep so bland
but there is no vacancy behind your eyes

i will cross the boundary of your stare, though
i've got nothing against being afraid
or coming unglued and wild, like an animal

For Love Of Otis

2010-10-11T15:37:00.000-04:00

love, verbiage, bone, sing, working, magic, gone, ideas, dead, cake, squatting, passage

funny how love
is expressed with such verbiage, inundating all that we know
sunken into the marrow of our bones
we sing it into existence
working it with our hands into some ethereal sculpture
that we imbue with manufactured magic
Logic is ignored so often, it has gone,
leaving us to our neon pink ideas of servitude
self-preserving selfishness is dead
we served it as a cake
to Love, that fat beast squatting over us
our best version of a passage to Somewhere where we see ourselves as More

Epilogue.

2010-10-11T14:07:00.005-04:00

"I remember Autumn," she murmured, twining a dark curl around her finger.

"Where I come from, there is a certain time of the year

when the trees exchange green clothes for jewel coloured ones.

Rich reds, coppers, lush yellows...

You would have to see it to believe."

And in her mind's eye, she was there, gazing over the mountains

wearing their brilliant colours.

A breeze brushed her cheeks like a cobweb.

It was crisp with the promise of winter and

bittersweet in its warmth, like the whispers of new love.

But like love, it just wouldn't last,

and she couldn't figure out how to hold it,

or make it stay.

She turned her back to him,

hot tears collecting under her closed lids.

He propped up on his elbow,

wanting to touch her and bring her back.

But he could not reach her where she was,

or get to wherever she was from.

She was already gone.

Transitio/Transitus

2010-09-29T14:28:00.002-04:00

in the midst of it
in the thick of it

iron is sharpening iron
grinding away at my bones

i'll be something different, utterly
when i'm through

the changes working in me
are as numerous as my cells,
swelling and filling every pore of my skin

excising, excising
what is no longer useful
what has festered and rotted
and now makes me ill

i'll emerge on the other side
senses keened and focus sharper
but all my angles will have melted
softer

Eat Life

2010-09-20T09:56:00.002-04:00

i am always

jealous

of bright, shiny

futures

of sparkling

nows

and sepia

yesterdays

descriptions of things

get me and

elicit

Pavlovian salivation:

Venetian glass, hammered copper

French knots

appetite voracious

so unbecoming

a lady

i know i could not

eat it all

but would not

mind dying

of the effort.

The Book Of Us

2010-09-14T10:09:00.000-04:00

the Book of Us

is written in

a language

unfamiliar.

the blackest ink

pulled from our

veins

and

the pages,

the skin

from our backs

the plot is

twisting

and

turning

and at times

mundane

but

ours.

Steppin Time

2010-09-13T10:28:00.000-04:00

crimes violent wires feet firth rhythm alone throne thing pinkness part saying

crimes of my own perpetration against
the violent crush of loving all that i hold
using fraying bits of copper wire to bind it all to me,
while i dance on feet calloused and narrow
along a desolate stretch of firth.
...
i keep the rhythm
with my hands alone,
beating time to a lonely procession to the throne,
that thing i hurt and where i try to sit.

too big for my britches, the pinkness too bright.

but i may yet part the waters of all the rubbish.
i'm not deluded or cocky, i'm just saying...

the Trial of Otis and Kafka

2010-09-10T09:44:00.001-04:00

presence, imposed, seekers, must, illusion, go, long, ideas, scurry, third, blocking, passage

the presence we have, or have not

the will imposed upon others

seekers that we rebuff from their course

we must give an accounting

the illusion of illusory

the longing to go

the desire to tarry long

these ideas demand an accounting

to scurry onward, insectile on our way

(for we are each Gregor, at least in third)

results in us blocking

our own safe passage

to which we cry out for accounting

Summing It Up

2010-09-07T11:18:00.000-04:00

dont know if i can be

everything i ought

or anything i want

i need a fibula

to keep myself

together

i am

standing in the middle

of that fork in the road

talking to myself

about the weather.

2010-09-02T11:59:00.002-04:00

practice, subterfuge, light, naked, word, pop, hold, gaping, fear, eye, vestibule, world

with only a bit of practice
i too, could develop the art of subterfuge
draping the dim light of deceit around me like a cape,
a covering for the naked truth beneath

if i truly wanted, i could bend a word
strangling it until only a small "pop" escaped with its dying breath
i could hold the last breath of that word in my fist
and rend a gaping hole in the meaning
for what have i to fear from a dead language?

if i stretched out my hand, i could pluck the eye
from the vestibule of society
and offer it up to the world, as a gift

Another Ode To Love

2010-09-01T09:47:00.003-04:00

amorphous, mask, fuel, varicose, breath, crystalline, water, chain, truth, slight, jar, dissolves

amorphous love

i expose you, a mask!

you are fuel to the flames
under those martyrs burning in heaps upon the pyre of your altar.

varicose and tentacled, you sit watching from your throne,

breathing hot pink breath to befuddle and daze.

crystalline understanding is confused at your feet;

stupidity poured over the head like water.

Strong men may be bound by a chain, or by Love.

Fickle, impermanent, sans truth - all true!

But only slight. Only in part, for there is bliss in your madness.

Would that You could be contained in a jar

to be used when youthful beauty dissolves.

Egg Carton Lights

2010-09-01T08:58:00.003-04:00

today, i am making something humble and silly

purely because it brings me joy.

i cheekily propose that you do
something similar.

L'inspiration.


Dans le processus - un.

Dans le processus - deux.

To be cont'd...

How I Would Marry You Again

2010-08-30T12:05:00.001-04:00

poem me wishes look television landlord stars succumb anatomy kicking real pilgrim

i could almost write you as a poem

one i could carry always, in my back pocket.

if all three of my wishes were granted,

you would look to me as a muse

or the television by which you are entertained;

perhaps, a landlord to whom you pay homage,

or maybe the stars that guide your way.

you could succumb to me, and i to you,

and the anatomy of Us, evolving from the shedding of our separate selves

would become more textbook,

studied for years to come by eager students.

there would be no railing against, nor kicking out at

the humility of simple.

after all the hard calcium of imperfection had been burned away,

only the core of what is real in us would remain.

the fused dichroic chunk of Us could be a wandering gypsy pilgrim

in the wild untamed lands between You and I.

Under the Sun

2010-08-26T10:09:00.001-04:00

here we go.
all of us rushing to
the business of busy.
but there is nothing new.

it's all been here before.

even You.
As you are, or
as the the You you endeavor
to be -
nothing new.
another Someone has done it all before

there is no thought
conceived
that was not already
hatched upon another brow

you should think of this,
all of You,
when whichever You you are
begins to bloat with your own
importance

The Twenty-Fifth Year

2010-08-24T15:18:00.000-04:00

The Year I Turned 25, I

taught a bellydance class.

got my first pair of glasses.

went to New Orleans and fell in love with her.

voted against the first black president.

took in a stray, crazy, dog-baby.

became an organic gardener/farmer.

conceived Shekhinah.

began to figure out where I was heading.

reconnected with old friends.

made new best friends.

broke out of my shell.

started a blog.

changed job-homes.

bought a Mac.

realized my husband was an alcoholic.

swore off family.

realized the incredible burden/mixed blessing of biraciality.

began investigating my relationship with God.

redefined beauty.

went to the opera.

bought a grown-up purse.

realized my style.

began to learn.

understood how special Grandfathers are.

fell in love with my husband again.

tasted gelato for the first time.

broke down and tried Gefilte fish (not as disgusting as it looks).

celebrated Passover, observed Sabbath, and attended an Aufruf.

found three sterling hairs at my temple.

reveled in the bliss of a quiet cafe.

looked behind me and didn't see much.

hosted wandering musicians under my roof.

drank a can of PBR all by myself (not recommended).

And in the last hour of my 25th year, I felt the passing of it keenly.

I sat awake, in a candlelight vigil for that year, that would never come again.

I wondered if I had truly lived it, with all the strength of my being.

As the dark faded to a grey dawn, I vowed to myself to make the next year

even better.

le Matin

2010-08-11T09:18:00.002-04:00

hello, Wednesday.

i just love mornings.

it's the part of the day, almost everyday

when i wake up, watch the sun rise, make a pot of tea,

burn incense

and breathe deeply.

in the mornings, i tell myself

that i will keep all the promises i've made to me.

if you wake up early enough,

it feels like the whole world is a secret

just for you.

i try not to do anything that i hate, first thing in the morning.

like, no homework or household chores first thing on waking.

sometimes i knit.

and i like to be quiet.

the shower is the transition.

maybe it's the water, or the chill on my skin after i step out...

whatever it is, it brings the Day.

so i make my daily list in the shower.

sometimes i dance in the shower, or cry.

sometimes i sing opera.

anyway, i do something to break my quiet.

haven't made it to the shower yet.

but there is a paper to be written, glooming and moaning around my house.

he has spread himself around like a shadow...

i hate him, for ruining my morning.

tuesday Blah.

2010-08-10T10:34:00.000-04:00

still sitting here.

pretty sure i should get up, get showered, pour another cuppa tea and have breakfast.

but there's this leaden weight on me, just holding me down and i can't seem to shake it.

my procrastination is getting worse, i think.

and for all my heroic efforts to push through and reach out, i really just prefer

myself.

my productivity wanes the higher the sun climbs.

gross.

i am (currently, anyway) a gross, lazy blob - taking up space and wasting oxygen;

i'm running out of good excuses, and am too lazy to offer the mediocre ones.

just, gross.

and yet,

i'm restless.

Parfaitement Imparfaite

2010-08-09T16:01:00.001-04:00

what if i told you

without lying

that i -

yes,

had seen the perfection

in imperfection

the beauty

in ugly

the grande in simple.

what if i promised

without lying

that i -

yes,

could prove it to you

but quite frankly, you

would need to

come holding

nothing.

your expectations-

those tiny morsels

you have been

force-fed,

purged.

come empty

a vessel to be filled.

otherwise, you will look

with your eyes

only

and the gift is given

not only to

be seen,

but to be touched like velvet
inhaled deeply, like a glass of wine,

heard like a prayer

and worn
on the sleeve,
a pulsating heart
for all to see

have you forgotten?

Abba and Ima

2010-08-07T20:00:00.002-04:00

my father was lost

but now is found

even so,

the hand i was holding

still turned out to be my own

and this child-self clings to my mother-me

i protect her,
with a shockingly primitive savagery
determined that no one will harm her

i am the lioness protecting the cub

and they are me.

the Chill Of Memory

2010-08-02T15:22:00.006-04:00

glass, skin, harrowing, fingers, burden, shattered, swells, dragging, told, crunch, growth, pillar

rain pelts us from above, splinters of glass

falling from grey skies

burrowing into our skins,

harrowing up our souls,

using icy fingers to blind our eyes

the Snow Queen's burden

we wrap about our hunched shoulders and shattered bones

swells of loneliness are the frigid sea spray.

a tidal wave of chilled memories

crashes into the rocky beaches of the unconscious, dragging recognition out into the current.

when the sailors' tales are all told

and the quiet settles over us, the crunch of memory

will cling to our vessel as the barnacled growth beneath,

we look back, a pillar of salt each.

Strange Moon

2010-08-02T15:08:00.000-04:00

yes i'll admit

i knew it all along:

we were under a strange moon

we devoured ourselves
we peeled the skin from our bones

we poured out oceans of tears

we tore at one another

the golden-orange Strange Moon

looked down, horrified

his mouth gaping in shock at us

we were all ugly

the storm moved over the mountains

pressed us into something smaller,

less wild

she washed us clean

she mixed her tears with ours

so the Moon could not see

we'll be fine.

he's moved farther back

but he's afraid to get too close

for every time he draws near

he sees the cracks in our flesh

where we stretch at the seams

the wild just underneath

the panic rises

creeps into his face

he looks down on us, stricken.

O, the Strange Moon.

OUTERLimits

2010-07-28T22:26:00.000-04:00

one month sans Facebook.
it's a tad lonely, i must admit,
on the fringe,
out of the warmth of the loop.

i'm still here, though.

tinY Dancer

2010-07-28T22:04:00.002-04:00

even as a child

my spirit was too big for my body

so, half the time

the only way i could express

the biggest feelings

was to dance,
a wild, nonsensical dance, or
spin with my arms out,

brown face turned to the clouds

wishing my eyes blue.

i was a modern dancer

long before i knew there was a name

for what i was doing.

Where Cara Lives

2010-07-26T11:18:00.002-04:00

i've lost you

in this crumbling old mansion

lost you to
the sparkle of grandeur
that was never ours

we set off exploring
with nothing to bind us together
you were lost from me
and i from you

and now you wander,
(barefoot, your tiny crown slipping)

where rainwater is pooled

over cracking marble floors

and vines come reaching through the walls

there is nothing else breathing here

but something else is dying here

seething

breathing

dying here

it is choking the life from us

the seething

breathing

beating

life in us

we should leave

and go away

let it crumble

and consume itself

but i have lost you here

in the maze of this house

this dead and alive house

seething

breathing

dead house

i would call out to you

but i am afraid
of what might answer
i am afraid of bringing to me
something malevolent
and false in its beauty

the shrill of my voice

would shatter in my ears
like the splintering of old glass

and what else would hear me?

for i know it's listening

this seething and

breathing and

living

dying

house

i hate to go
i hate to leave you here
but this is the house you built
your derelict house
seething
and breathing
house

one of us must
make it out alive
i'll always remember
where you once lived.

The Morning News

2010-07-21T09:49:00.002-04:00

Party divisions are for the brainless, spineless and weak.
To label yourself as one or the other tells me most of want I want to know about you.

Americans are continually surprised to learn that racism isn't just a disease affecting white folks.

Mel needs a shot of Thorazine in the butt,
and we shouldn't be privy to the occasional casualties of love and war, because
the de-evolution of someone's relationship is a private, intimate affair.

I should plant a rose garden.

In Twenty-Seven Years

2010-07-19T10:44:00.001-04:00

thankful

that i might stretch out my hand

to any one of the many friends

i call my own

grateful for the love

the smiles and

wishes for gentle sunlight

on my path

bless-ed

to know the crush of human affection

the press of familiar contact

in an alien land

satisfied

in the work i have chosen

the mission that chose me

that validates and sustains me

content

where i am

wherever i should find

myself

fortunate

to know the gifts

of dancer and audience

to speak and be

heard

to love and be loved

Letting Go the Butterfly

2010-07-05T19:21:00.004-04:00

let it go

the sun is still shining outside

your life is spinning on and on without you
in jeweled colours, brilliant to behold

you've closed your eyes against them for too long

grow up

move on
it's time.

open your mind

open your fist
open your eyes

let the violins move you to tears

fall in love

let it go

see what your life would be, less connected

find peace,

in removing yourself from all the extracurricular

you will continue to breathe

stop thinking in status updates

pull the plug
take a breath, and pull the plug

on the insatiable desire to be connected

the connections you have

will mean more, that way
digital friendships leave your bones cold

it's going to be alright.

in the end, we'll all still be here.

you'll still be here.
breathe in.
open your fist.
breathe out.

let it go

bother

2010-07-01T11:19:00.000-04:00

it's watching a bug crawl up the wall
wearing the hell out of my couch
knowing i would be happier
curled around my husband

but i just can't move.

the procrastination
Sabbath neverending
i haven't earned it.

did we make something new today?
we didn't do much else
slept off and on
flipping channels
felt worthless

the sun makes it too hot
to go out in the day

i feel the skin melting from my bones
into a useless puddle

The "Au Revoir Facebook" Experiment

2010-06-28T09:28:00.000-04:00

I'm at that place.
The one between too connected and out of touch.

And so, an experiment...life without "social networking."

In one week, I'm heading back to the Dark Ages of stationary and pens, telephone calls, and email.
I've enjoyed how easy FB made it to spy on those people that ordinarily, I would know next to nothing about. It's been neat, meeting new folks, and getting to know acquaintances a little better.

But I've noticed, that no matter how many times we may "comment" on the same thing, or "like" the same thing, when we meet face to face, we're unsure of how to proceed. We don't know where we stand with one another, because online intimacy makes for awkward social situations.
FB and the sites like it, MySpace, Twitter, even blogs - all explore (while some exploit) the innate human need to be known.

I believe that I would rather know a few people intimately, than many people only barely.

So I'm betting that I can fill my life with things more meaningful, when I give up trying to sum up a moment, feeling, or event into a one-line status.
I've come to a place where I see our connections dwindling, as we become increasingly more connected.
Privacy has become passe.

I hypothesize that when I delete my account, the people that want to get to know me better will call, or email.
I further theorize that I too, will seek out those people that resonate with me. I will have to reach out to touch someone, instead of logging on...

Relationships will be more meaningful for the special effort of contact on both parts. Shared photos will be more appreciated, because I will not be inundated with them, nor will I inundate others with them. Pithy comments will be funnier, because when I think of one, I'll pick up the phone to share it with you.
I miss the warmth of human voices, directed to me and not the universe of the people you know.

The sending and receiving letters is a dying art form. There's something about knowing that someone sat down, thought of you, and put pen to paper in honor of a conversation with you.

I happily bet that this experiment is going to be a resounding success.

Feel free to email, spy on my blog (I know, I know...that one's next), call, or better yet,

write me a letter.

Laura K. Moore

Even So, She Hates me

2010-06-14T15:20:00.006-04:00

once, guy, sick, parade, television, landlord, moonbeam, success, anatomy, kicking, real, pilgrim

you thought once, mother

that i'd end up with some French guy.

you'd be sick in the States, and i'd be overseas, happily ignorant.

you thought i'd throw a parade to be free from you - and i did, in my own way.

he and i, we'd have no television, just books
and no landlord, just a cottage we'd fix up

we'd collect moonbeams, planting them in our garden.

we would celebrate our success without you, the sky would be the limit

we'd discuss anatomy and other taboo topics,

after he'd felt the bebe kicking

but not to be. not to be. for this is what's real:

your daughter is neither pilgrim nor prodigal, but every bit as disappointing.

i Am Weary, Let me Rest

2010-06-14T14:40:00.001-04:00

rest, awhile, simple, accomplishment, forever, idiot, nemesis, shadenfreude, stupidly, sense, past, together

to have sweet rest!

to lounge awhile,

reveling in the simplest breath,

the lack of accomplishment

instead, we grind away forever

Human tool! Dolt, and idiot!

Your understanding is your nemesis!

You cling to your shadenfreude- like Lenny,
stupidly clinging to his dead mouse

Where is your sense?

Your past will continue to replay, as a grainy and silent film

for you labor alone, when

another could share your burden, and then you rest, together.

Socialisme Glorieux!

2010-06-14T14:13:00.007-04:00

schadenfreude caligula arcipelago gulag heads together ruefully looks otis charm lost snuffing

To the dark and vainglorious days of democracy!

schadenfreude most requisite
for Caligula's prosperity
in the taking of land and sea, arcipelago and plain
the Gulag, too, lovingly represses, its long arms reaching
Come on lads, heads down, mediocrity awaits!
join together, noses to grindstones
neither ruefully nor with sadness
for a pillar of sweat and salt, will be the man with backward looks.
our comrade Otis leads the way,
and charm is neither sold or spared
in the snuffing of individuality

Envie d'Ailes

2010-06-14T13:34:00.001-04:00

i stood on a CLIFF

yesterday

and wished with all of my heart

for WINGS

Remembered, Hawaii

2010-06-09T12:10:00.000-04:00

i remembered this morning,
cracking open beers
for heavy Samoan body guards
and arranging poi on a platter
while they razzed me like a little sister
for looking so Hawaiian
and being so Southern.

Deja Vu, Again

2010-06-01T14:32:00.003-04:00

write this down,
she told me.

i will,
i whispered.

but i did not.
i thought i would remember-
thought i could carry the words
in my heart
back into my waking

but i forgot them.
as soon as they were out of her mouth,
i forgot them.

so i left them suspended there
in my dream,
those very important words
hanging
like paper cranes

if i could sleep that dream again
i would pay closer attention
i would capture those words
like fireflies in a jar

Still Looking

2010-06-01T09:12:00.000-04:00

strange

to feel a longing

for a place one has never been

to yearn for

the chilly spray of the sea

on my face

ears keen

for the angry crashing of waves

breaking over dark shingle below

to pull tighter my knit sweater

around hunched shoulders

i have the need

to stand on the rolling heath

of a rocky crag

wild, foreign wind

tossing my hair

where are you?

The Early Birdie

2010-06-01T06:29:00.000-04:00

dawn breaks, grey and still

the sky fades from inky black

to violet to lavender:

a divine gradient

no brush could capture

crystalline drops of water

hang suspended from green leaves

mist rolls over the mountain

the sun rises languidly

like the steam from my teacup

Happiness Challenge, Days Three and Four

2010-05-29T16:26:00.001-04:00

So my happiness for Day Three I cannot discuss yet. There is a Statute of Limitations....

Kidding! But I really can't talk about it yet - it is based on a terribly rad surprise for our newly wed B.F.F.s that have yet to come home from their honeymoon. When they are back (on Sunday) I shall divulge all!!!

My happiness today was the time spent in my favorite bookshop, with my favorite booksellers, Dan and Trudie. I sat on the floor and pored over the Classics. I love being there, with the quiet rustle of pages. It's almost like being in Church, and for me, it is a quiet, sacred experience. I love seeing the "regulars" but we never talk, we just give each other the half smiles you reserve for people that you half-know. Sometimes the shop Kitty will come to say hello, but most of the time she hides in the Childrens' section. I found some really fantastic things, including: an 1828 copy of Little Women (that is appropriately loved and and worn, and bears the preceding owner's signatures in spidery calligraphy), a very neat-o Japanese printing of a book of German Haiku (the book is bound in chartreuse Japanese silk cloth, and made with hand-made paper - it is gorgeous, and "up there" with my favorite finds), an autographed Memoirs of A Geisha, (which had two stubs from the special premier show at the Tivoli!) and a small copy of the essential Rumi.

Then last night, I admitted a really awesome couple for the birth of their first baby. They were fantastic, and chatting with them reminded me why I love what I do.

Those were some of my happinesses over the last 24 hours.

Hello, Tod

2010-05-26T22:41:00.000-04:00

honey and
limon
and
sour mash
bourbon

mug and
spoon
and
stir well

warm
heat
fire in
my
belly

stand up
slowly

sleep
naked
like un
bébé

Happiness Challenge, Day One

2010-05-26T22:23:00.006-04:00

Volunteering at Crabtree Farms made be sublimely happy today. Slogging home with soaking trousers, uber-muddy wellies, soaked hubby, bug bites, aching muscles, scratches, covered in strawberry goo, grinning at each other like dummies, because we were so tired...the feeling of doing Real Work with hands in the Earth. It was very restorative. (I kept thinking of Pearl S. Buck.)
Then making yummy organic pasta with asparagus and mushrooms in our semi-tidy house while the rain fell... Yup. Pretty much in my blissful element.

the sun, hide and seek in the clouds;
the buzz and hum of bees and gnats,
each and all clamoring to tell me their stories;
frogs singing in jazzy, raspy voices the Pond Blues;
blades of polite Buckwheat bowing to each other,
and whispering together;
hunting for strawberries like Easter eggs;
peas on vine, pale and plump,
dangling like earrings.

dirt, hay, basil and rain mingle as a perfume: Eau d'Eden

ate Somethin.

2010-05-18T15:08:00.003-04:00

ate somethin
so cute today

it felt bad
to eat it

felt better
in my tummy
though

which made it
part of me

that's the way
the world
works

so now
we're all
okay

cause nobody's
guilty
these days

untitled.

2010-05-18T11:56:00.001-04:00

voluminous and bright
beautiful beginning
the opening of eyes
and mind

the seeking of new knowledge
the amazement
that it was there all the time

growth and change
and the exultation in them

a blaze alight
a passion ignited
radiant

to the brink of overwhelming
this understanding is a vacuum
a void in which to lose
myself

A Rape Of Gifts

2010-05-10T10:52:00.006-04:00

how could you

pluck the poetry

from my head

like a bit of candy from a bowl?

sing the music

out of my mouth

before my voice

had found the words?

i called you "sister"
and my arms opened to you
you reached out to me,
but only to take.

you are insubstantial

i know you.

the faintest breeze

would scatter

all of your flash and glamour
to make a shimmering wind.

i know where you come from,
for i passed through that place long ago.

i feel robbed

and wounded anyway -

bereft,

at the loss of verse

the visions i shared with you

you took for your own

you desecrated them

limited the potential

stifled the kinetic

i beat out the rhythm

and you stole the rhyme

but got the metering all wrong

your dance is discordant
and false
an ungainly Frankenstein built
of other peoples' poetry

What I Could Never Say

2010-05-09T23:41:00.008-04:00

last night Noah

i dreamt of you

me and you,

walking through a museum

at closing time

then we were riding in a car

me up front, you

in the

backseat

i was laughing

something you must've said

i looked behind me

you were laughing, too

the sun was in my eyes

it shone on your hair

we were happy

we were all fine

but through the window behind you

i could see

something coming for us
heavy, and black

gathering on the horizon

danger

i reached out to you,

tried to save you.

only, it was too late.

too little. far too late.

i looked away.

i braced for impact.

a fantastic collision

and you, covered in blood

me, powerless

i knew deep down,

that i was responsible

i held you, then
though we were both broken

my guilt

saturated every fibre of my being
weighed me down

it took what was left of the life

you looked up at me
your eyes were so blue
and you never saw it coming

but i did.
we all did.

i understood then
that she was the danger

the collision was her.

it was always her

and i never had a chance

of saving you.

Born Among Mirrors

2010-05-06T17:04:00.007-04:00

i was born among mirrors,

eyes closed

screaming into the face of the world

screaming at myself, first

and as i grew
i learned

that to truly see myself,

(not through the dark glass

not in the reverse)

i must keep my eyes closed tightly

feeling my way through the world with fingertips

everything that i touched was cold
the world was without form, and void

i had no concept of dimension

until one day

the brilliance of the sun

lit up my closed lids

and i turned my face toward the light

the sudden warmth,

the glow

made me grieve for all that i had missed

with my shut eyes

i swung out my fist in anger,

that the light was so long denied me
that i had denied myself

the mirrors around me shattered

into a thousand shrieking shards

but it was finally safe to open my eyes

and i see myself more clearly
these days

in those imperfect, fragments of mirror

than i ever could have
in the whole ones

La Mer

2010-05-04T11:04:00.004-04:00

for years i have asked these questions

of the Universe

quietly

only half-heartedly

in case i should be taken

too seriously

maybe there was even some dread
in my voice as i asked

i have whispered these questions

to my pillow

at night

by the light of the moon

when my husband is sleeping

i have carried them

with me,
the burden heavy on my back
i have bowed low
under the weight

i am guilty

of cradling the thorn

and the sting

using it to keep me aloof

i have both cherished

the righteous indignation
my questions inspired

and feared it

in case it was not me

there were even times when

receiving only quiet instead of response,

my rage threatened

to sweep me away

lost forever to the tide

no trace remaining

not even my footprints on the sand

but

i never fought to know

i never made myself uncomfortable

to seek out the answers

and so they found me

crept up close to me

where i sat

i was caught unawares

my ears and heart open

so vulnerable

they slammed into me

those answers

an ocean wave

a fist thrown

an ambush

the tears sprang quickly to my eyes

for i knew them

immediately

disguised though they were

i knew them

my own

prodigal daughters

bearing knowledge in their hands

the wave receded

salty water ran down my face

dripped from my hair

and ran under my chin

i had cried an ocean

for these answers

and they came to me

on the wave of my own despair

sometimes

when you seek the truth

it finds you

Funny Freedoms

2010-04-28T14:34:00.011-04:00

skin

inspiring confusion

eliciting the need for tidy labeling,

categorization

but what if i told you

that i defy

your neat and

orderly

filing system

suppose that i

choose not to choose
and suppose that i find your insistence
upon my own choice
a theft of my freedom to do so

where will this leave us?

awkwardly
in that vast grey space
between black and white
where only one of us feels uncomfortable

your discomfort

no longer holds power

over me

but it causes me

to hide my smirk

behind my hand

for i am developing

a fondness, you see

for categories

other than

colour

i am learning

the voyeuristic pleasures

of watching

the fantastic collision

between ideals and realities

the good news is, however

that Reality is merely Perception

and is subject to Choice

vive la liberté de choix!

for Shaina. I do not know the way, but I will hold your hand through the Grey space, darling.

El Tango Con un Megalomaníaco

2010-04-26T11:54:00.004-04:00

the dreams i dream
are bigger than the head
that thinks them

they burst out, fully clothed
and eloquent
ready to dance and
splitting wide
the cranium
like an over-ripe melon

they are infected with the mania
of the egg
from which they've hatched

they spread it
a contagion

the fever
is ever so delightful
and articulate
it reacts with
the narcissist in us all

the Narcissist and the Megalomanic
they tango

stop your ears
it's catching

too late.
i see you
tapping your foot
in time to the melody

Cave-Dweller

2010-04-26T11:44:00.000-04:00

forgive me
the words are often morose
for the thoughts
are often dark

the heart is often grey

and from heart
mouth speaks
thus runs the world away

it is from
too much time alone
societal isolation
the prison sentence of skin
and breeding

alien

2010-04-25T23:20:00.001-04:00

my skin is the color of
light toast or
tea with milk
or, coffee and creme

it is
the warm and gold
of honey

or the burnished wood
of my cello

it affords me freedoms
and confines me

it restrains and defines me

it causes people to
throw up walls, and don masks

i see myself reflected
in the eyes of those i meet

brown girl

Reaching Out To Touch. Something.

2010-04-25T21:40:00.005-04:00

pretty sure

i'd rather

write a letter

than send you a TXT

i use the heft and weight

of the pen

to carve out

the words i want to say

and there is nothing
quite like

the smell of old books

or finding things

between the pages

beats the hell

out of Kindle

any day

don't "message me" on

Facebook

it makes the bile

rise in my throat

call me

i miss the warm timbre

of human voices

talking to me

a Digital Camera
cannot
capture and suspend
the images
that i seek to fix
in my memory

not the way
film
does so
effortlessly

i miss permanence

and i fear
we are losing

the art of conversation
has left us

we are
swept away
on the tide
of our own
selfish
convenience
and
the collective lust
for instant
gratification

Luxury No.13

2010-04-24T12:15:00.002-04:00

OakMoon Farms & Creamery

Honeyed Chevre

on an

Ines Rosales

Sweet Olive Oil Tortas

with a drizzle of local honey

decadent and rich

conjured visions of Le Petit Trianon

and frolicking through fields of clover

a picnic with Marie Antoinette

best eaten on a rainy day

for it tastes like sunshine

Stay Sleeping/Not Dreaming

2010-04-21T11:20:00.001-04:00

twitchy

itchy

writhing

ache

ecstatic

intentions

of shimmy

and shake

turning

burning

threatening

to break

forcing

and

fighting

not to

wake

Sunday Afternoon

2010-04-13T19:38:00.001-04:00

remember my youth to me
tell me it's ok
to leave the laundry
and lie down in the grass

dirt on the knees
and under the nails
are the hippest sort
of fashion statement

when we laugh
it's easy and warm
it bubbles up and out of us
and is infectious
like a yawn

don't let me forget
the pleasure of root beer
from a frosty bottle

or the sleepy purple smell of wisteria

it has occurred to me
that i've grown up
way too fast

i've rushed
when i should've lingered

is that the lesson, children?

that sometimes, wasting time
isn't?

Au Musée

2010-04-06T20:53:00.000-04:00

i dislike the crowds

and the noise

i wish people were more reverent

though i suppose art is life, so

it is only fitting that life be here, happening

in its presence

but i don't like coming, finding things changed

rather like someone has snuck

into your home

only to rearrange your things

while you were out

it is disconcerting

i want to go right up to the familiars,

see my reflection in them

breathe my hot breath on them

changing only the slightest of molecules,

but leaving my impression

i want to run my fingers over them

absorbing the hardened strokes of

oils, egg temperas, gouache, and glass

i want to feel what you felt

while it was forming

inside of you

close-up, i can look right into the eyes

the ones that watched you

while you gave birth

(again, i feel bereft, that i am no one's muse,

and that my hands lack the skill

to paint what flowers in my head)

i can see the hair that you have cut

or the bristles that have fallen

from your tortured brush

embedding themselves

binding the two of you forever

tiny razor reminders of anguish

and the strength of truth

i could reach out, feel the swell of the lip

and the curve of the nostril

i know exactly how it would feel under my hand

but i long to do it anyway

i see the velvet

and my memory conjures

the gentle push of it against my fingers

funny, how this works

the memory of sensation

And the dress cast in glass

would be cold

and smooth

lacking

the warm curves

of a real woman

inconceivable that dust

should be allowed to gather

in the folds of that dress

the one that embodies the immortality

of femininity

i am a sensualist,

i do not deny that

when the slab of marble was offered

i caressed it,

running loving hands

over cool, rounded edges

cataloging the feeling of it

to refer back to

at some time in the future

when i am not allowed to touch

Printemps

2010-03-24T12:43:00.000-04:00

do you hear?

the sound of old alters crumbling

is like the cracking of ice

in a spring thaw

the whispered prayers

from yesterday

have already faded from mine ears

they are now only

the breeze, and mute

the icons of history have fallen

from their lofty reaches

and lie scattered in pieces over the ground

we grind them to dust under our feet

we dance over them

we braid early flowers into our hair
and smile for the worship of things genuinely pure

Idoles Brisées/ The Truth Between Is the Same

2010-03-23T13:11:00.028-04:00

i find your lack ~~of remorse~~

~~frankly, appalling~~

your narcissism ~~holds up the mirror~~

~~for me to see myself~~

~~more clearly~~

your crocodile tears

~~glisten sweetly~~

~~like the gleam in your eye~~

~~i would run from you~~

~~but i know you'd give chase~~

brutal, wrenching ~~chase~~

you are the black cat ~~i fought with~~

~~the~~ stifling ~~heat from the fire~~

~~the weariness in my bones~~

~~the wariness in~~ my heart

~~you are the keen and needy~~ distance

~~i put~~ between ~~myself~~

~~and everyone else~~

~~you are the need to hurt~~

~~and break~~

~~you are the pl~~us~~h extra~~

~~and the sharp lack~~

~~you are un~~necessary ~~to me now~~
~~(maybe you always were)~~

~~i can cut you out~~

~~and burn you down~~

~~but~~ you will not ~~be erased~~

~~no, never erased~~

~~and so you will too~~

become ~~the void~~

~~better the void~~

~~than~~ the presence

for the ghost~~s you banish into a void~~

~~can never return~~ ~~from it to haunt you~~

Baptême par le feu

2010-03-23T10:59:00.011-04:00

the home i was born in

has burned to the ground

a smoldering rubble,

the very foundation

is unfamiliar

the last tendrils of smoke

curl upward even now

past my face

a sweet incense

unto Heaven

years from now

the vines will creep toward

what is left

to cover it over

Nature's burial

to my children

it will look ancient and beautiful

the remains of a chimney

blackened

the battle with twisting ivy

so poignantly lost

no stone

left upon stone

all erased

excepting the memory

which lies in glittering shards

among the rubble

blending with the broken china

and yes, if they ask, then yes.
it was arson

it was either the memory or me

it was them or me

her, or me.

for once,

but maybe never again

i chose Me.

and so i am the daughter

of my own mind

the phoenix

rising

I Would Rather Be Out of Doors

2010-03-23T09:44:00.003-04:00

watch the day break

determine now to fill it up

make it spill over

into the night,

the Moon's turn

i dont want there to be

any waste

i just want to go

from branch to branch

with purpose

meaning

i want to feel

every crystalline drop

cool and bracing

leaving

no chirp unnoticed

no leap unappreaciated

no breeze unenjoyed

i remember spinning
arms out
swirling the world around me
falling to the ground
it was prayer
though i didnt know it

lying down in the grass

warmth of earth at back

chill of spring on neck

baptism

letting it wash over

the dirt an annointing

under the nails

faire la connaissance

2010-03-23T09:30:00.004-04:00

extend the offer

to get to know you better.

i might take you up

Strangers

2010-03-23T09:16:00.001-04:00

you cant know me well

for i am more than you see

you look with closed eyes

Ma famille: Deus pascit Corvos.

2010-03-22T15:17:00.007-04:00

Corbeau.

Old French for "Little Crow," 

- - meaning "raven-haired" or dark-haired

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'


e.a.poe.

2010-03-21T15:26:00.002-04:00

i am not

enough today

but maybe

i'll make better mistakes

t
o
   m
     o
       r
         r
         o
             w

Rêve

2010-03-21T11:08:00.005-04:00

dreamt i had the Obamas over for dinner last night.

Michelle was priggish and cold.

Barack took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves

and sat down on my couch.

He leaned in when I talked to him.

i told him that people were confused.

i said that people thought He was "the answer,"

but this was wrong.

He was only supposed to set "the answer" in motion;

he was the conduit through which "the answer" would come.
This is why the people are angry,
and feel they have been betrayed.

He agreed whole-heartedly, clapping his hands.

Kevin said I was being rude.

Michelle smoothed her skirt and looked embarrassed.

Barack made himself a turkey sandwich
and explained how this was true.

His daughters hunted Easter eggs in the backyard.

It occurred to me,
watching him make his sandwich in my kitchen,
that i couldn't remember his middle name.

i began to fret over it, in case one of the other guests should ask me.

i turned to face the guests mingling through my house.
i meant to find Kevin, to ask him if he knew Barack's middle name.

But my eyes locked with Theda Bara's.

"Hussein" she mouthed at me, from across the crowded room.

Funny,

that i should remember thinking in my dream

that i didn't know,

then supplying myself with the answer after all.

Edges of Lonely ~ Day Two

2010-03-21T10:51:00.000-04:00

Work again.

Too much work.

Ate shitty fast food.

Felt miserable.

Fell asleep on couch.

Meh.

It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't "seizing the opportunity

of solitude," and all that rot...

Tomorrow will be better.

The Edges of Lonely - Day One

2010-03-19T22:05:00.002-04:00

Five days to myself
to think and breathe and stretch and purr

I have glibly encouraged singleton friends and my sister to enjoy being alone. I have been jealous over the luxury of solitude for a little while now. So I am determined to relish this time apart from him. I am determined to take my own glib advice and embrace this time to myself.

Day one was not tough, really. I was at work for 13 hours of the day, so I forgot that I was alone. But the sun was late to bed this evening when I got off work (spring around the corner!), so I had a few minutes of sunshine to revel in.
I rolled my window down and stuck my elbow on the door frame.
I went to the market and bought some seed packets of chard and sweet peas.

Roaming around the store, I was trying to decide between frozen burrito or ice cream for dinner when it hit me... This is wrong. I'm a grown-ass adult woman. I want good food. Food lovingly prepared just for me. Okay, so I'm going to have a date with myself.

I bought things to make a spicy penne pasta with bison (just to try something new!). And I didn't scrimp on the ingredients.

Once home, I put the water on to boil, then walked the dogs around the neighborhood.
When I got back in, my first thought was to put on the television, so I would have some noise/company.
But instead, I put on some jazz music, which is much more date-like.

I sauteed and simmered, and chopped, and crushed, and baked a loaf of garlic bread.
Then I broke out the antique china and opened a bottle of Cab Sauv.
On a whim I lit a candle and stuck that on the table, too.
I turned down most of the lights, and Really enjoyed my food, my wine and my own company.

The pasta was delicious, the wine was perfect and the company...well...it wasn't half bad either.

The worst part of my date...?
Going to bed alone.
(At least there are the doggies!)

Le Silence est D'or

2010-03-18T10:30:00.002-04:00

last night i dreamt

of Theda Bara

but she wouldn't speak to me

so i made us both a coffee

(hers with two cremes)

and told her all of my secrets

she said nothing.
only watched me over the rim of her cup

EnterView

2010-03-15T10:15:00.000-04:00

if you could whisper in my ear
so that i were bound by a secret,
what would you say?

what words would fly readily to your lips?

if i had the power
to grant you just one wish,
what object would your arms instinctively reach for?

if vision were yours, and you could see anything
and everything

what is the first sight your eyes would seek?

if you could go back into sleep
to finish that dream
would you?

if everyone were frozen
for one second in time,
what caper would you cut?

if there were no boundaries
how far would you go?

Bibliophilia

2010-03-14T14:34:00.005-04:00

(sitting watching wind blow

sipping mint tea

thinking...)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it is no easy thing

to write entity into Being

no one told me about the responsibility

of birthing vicarious

fictive characters

I mean,

do you really want that character hanging around,

laughing through your dreams

standing next to you in the shower

watching you make love

whispering in your ear

snuggling down beside you
as you watch t.v.

humming along with you to the song on the radio?

well do you?

even the ones you kill off

don't really ever go away

they linger in the part of your brain

that conceived them in the first place

the part that labored

all of those long, sweating hours

to deliver them safely to the outstretched arms of the blank page

all of my characters are me

I do not know how

just that they are

yes, i am the hero
and the lover and the saint and the villain

and the nemesis and the witch and the maid

and the crone and the Father

and the fallen leaves that she watches

as they swirl over the ground at her feet

One Mixed Girl

After All

Love Song

cacophony, zombie, sidestep, formed, migraine, French, too, nominal, dialect, swallowed, habitual, bonfire

Lunar

Added To My Verbal Bag Of Tricks

Haikus For Otis

Letter To An Unknown Gift-Giver

Black Friday Special: Two For the Price Of One

Nom de Plume/Nom de Guerre

Liminality

lim·i·nal·i·ty

truth no. 42

Writas Blok

poem, junket, seminal, sprinkling, punctual, red, swagger, ever, pop, stops, timid, shimmer

From the Turkish of Edip Cansever

la Pluie

A Letter To the Daughter I Haven't Got

small, curiosity, tempting, beaten, stepping, tongue, echos, fear, knees, slipped, taps, saves

untitled.

truth no. 7

Yellow Woman In the Desert

see, shift, asking, ambivalent, bodies, lured, agreed, stop, why, yet, look, secret

truth no.5

truth No.2

Not Another Lovesong.

A Subtle & Sticky Repair

Thaw

corpse - straddling - shrubbery - fertile - blazing - range - simmers - thrust - fresh - shoulders - iron - with

you're no

corpse.

i see you

there, straddling

life and wanting

the waking.

peering through the

shrubbery and

leering at

the fertile promise

of living,

your eyes

blazing with the

promise.

there's no limit

to the range or

the keening need

to go on breathing

that simmers

under your

frostbitten

skin.

not in my

power

to thrust you

into it.

i am fresh

out

of trust,

there's no

room on my

shoulders.

between your

heart of iron

and mine of

stone,

who could

carry us?

we'll have to

make do

with we.

harvest.

Abandon

Otis Welcomes Them To the Neighborhood

S.W.B. & Otis

For Love Of Otis

Epilogue.

Transitio/Transitus

Eat Life

The Book Of Us

Steppin Time