Solitude's companion is solitude,
It sits like an oracle
Midst windswept peaks and
Deserts of forgotten ice.
“Seek the face of warmth!”
The faces of stars shine like new hope,
Guiding Hamelin children to
The Land of Peace.
But stars shine in day as well.
Indeed, they hide like
Polonius
behind a tapestry of blue.
Behind a bolt of pink.
Eyes are like stars.
Behind Listless eyecovers.
Hiding and concealed.
I can see dreamy inspiration.
Rolling lazily,
They convict me of
My own insignificance.
Banishing me to the aesthetic life.
Stars: hide my sunrise's sunset
From monster's eyes.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Realist
Nautical graves and practical poets,
Woman's condition and cultural woe.
Heaving sensations accompany the telly.
What's worse than these? The end of the show.
Our lives, like globes, stiffly revolving;
White serpents crawl throughout and choke.
Resignation I give to High Society's office.
My passion - your kindling - stoke.
Woe for the compassionate daughter,
Ode to thee, misanthropic son.
Whether come hell or highwater,
Both will burn in ineffable sun.
Woman's condition and cultural woe.
Heaving sensations accompany the telly.
What's worse than these? The end of the show.
Our lives, like globes, stiffly revolving;
White serpents crawl throughout and choke.
Resignation I give to High Society's office.
My passion - your kindling - stoke.
Woe for the compassionate daughter,
Ode to thee, misanthropic son.
Whether come hell or highwater,
Both will burn in ineffable sun.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Newly Found
What is this mysterious stranger?
My enemy decided by this instant gag reflex? Is it my friend because of the heart palpitation?
Why is my body my decryptor, its insecurities determining my decisions like a war general?
Questions, questions, questions. New England with its misty air and sea breeze, would, at the same time, cloud my mind and clear it. This is the solution. Run. Forever.
Why would you be with me? I hate closeness, I hate love. I hate it, hate it, hate it. Get away Satanic worship, your pagan sexual desire creeping near my legs with feathery daggers. Get your welcome hand from my hair, its nine-inch nails are driving into my scalp.
Drink this, eat this, swallow this: capsules, and pills, and dreary dialogue. Happiness precluded by fame and acceptance.
“You are one of the few and forgotten. Stay in the shadows of my people and dwindle to the speck of your righteous god.”
Foreign blasphemers! Leave me be in these ashes and blowing dust! My fears are my hope, while any escape means death.
But light like whisps of incense creep from the sky. My hope at last in physical form. He is bright and beautiful, inspiring the world to be with, and like, Him. The creation sings with the voice of a mighty lion, yes, like the roars of a pride of lions.
And my King, the Lion of Zion, here to lead me. In you my victory lies.
In Him is my love. In Him is my reflection.
But now, dark images projected on blank stone the color of licorice.
My enemy decided by this instant gag reflex? Is it my friend because of the heart palpitation?
Why is my body my decryptor, its insecurities determining my decisions like a war general?
Questions, questions, questions. New England with its misty air and sea breeze, would, at the same time, cloud my mind and clear it. This is the solution. Run. Forever.
Why would you be with me? I hate closeness, I hate love. I hate it, hate it, hate it. Get away Satanic worship, your pagan sexual desire creeping near my legs with feathery daggers. Get your welcome hand from my hair, its nine-inch nails are driving into my scalp.
Drink this, eat this, swallow this: capsules, and pills, and dreary dialogue. Happiness precluded by fame and acceptance.
“You are one of the few and forgotten. Stay in the shadows of my people and dwindle to the speck of your righteous god.”
Foreign blasphemers! Leave me be in these ashes and blowing dust! My fears are my hope, while any escape means death.
But light like whisps of incense creep from the sky. My hope at last in physical form. He is bright and beautiful, inspiring the world to be with, and like, Him. The creation sings with the voice of a mighty lion, yes, like the roars of a pride of lions.
And my King, the Lion of Zion, here to lead me. In you my victory lies.
In Him is my love. In Him is my reflection.
But now, dark images projected on blank stone the color of licorice.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Plath's Shoe
"Write with Description!"
but I only can stare
at your scuffed shoes.
They are leather,
worn and black -
like a negro spiritual.
Your toes must be cramped!
hidden within, their neighbors:
arrogance and nonchalance.
"Write from your heart!"
What heart do you mean?
That pumping jar inside my chest?
Whose beating resounds in my ears,
one little crack threatening
to fill me with life and death?
This is banal,
do not speak of it to me.
"Write from your experience!"
I live, I die. This is all.
Experiences distinguish, yes,
extinguish my passion
like a daylit candle seeking recognition.
Experience destroys
the dreams, the hopes,
of yesterday.
"Write from your soul!"
Yes. My soul.
This I can show.
But this soul is no soul
if it is flattened under you
black shoe.
but I only can stare
at your scuffed shoes.
They are leather,
worn and black -
like a negro spiritual.
Your toes must be cramped!
hidden within, their neighbors:
arrogance and nonchalance.
"Write from your heart!"
What heart do you mean?
That pumping jar inside my chest?
Whose beating resounds in my ears,
one little crack threatening
to fill me with life and death?
This is banal,
do not speak of it to me.
"Write from your experience!"
I live, I die. This is all.
Experiences distinguish, yes,
extinguish my passion
like a daylit candle seeking recognition.
Experience destroys
the dreams, the hopes,
of yesterday.
"Write from your soul!"
Yes. My soul.
This I can show.
But this soul is no soul
if it is flattened under you
black shoe.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Definitive
A hollow wall. Its fixtures extend no light,
Its walkway turned into cracked and shattered glass.
The ivy walls are browning while mysterious creatures writhe
In its confines. A glance, and a door appears into a
Celestial hiding place. Inside resides a family
Unlike any other. Tulip and daisies once thrived here,
Now thorns have choked the faces I love.
Grass cannot grow where watering does not exist,
Neither can my memories in a place of corruptness.
This was my home.
No more.
Where has my childhood gone?
It no longer lives in these halls,
These monuments which echoed
My thoughts and screams; this woodwork
That bore my inscriptions; these windows
Through which I spied distant horizons.
This bed that comforted my tears.
A serene lake, it smelled of watery weeds,
In it swam a nobility of swans,
We stood there like firm guardians.
We watched in camaraderie and mutual friendship;
We were the forest wanderers.
Dirt engraved into my hands and stinging my eyes,
Results of overconfidence. Scrapes and cuts
Covered my body, but all I could understand was
The pain. This same pain was the only comfort
To surround me after these years disappeared.
My grandmother, in happiness and hidden discontent,
Labored in the pressing heat to make me more comfortable.
Her deft hands shook controllably as she weeded her yard.
The smell of her kitchen, the gleam of spring green.
This is past.
My grandfather, smoky and resigned,
Scratched my face with his wool sweater.
His face wore wrinkles and deep crevasses;
I understood his war.
He sat and watched silently, yet his grip on me
Was vast unexplainability.
He was past.
Those which are true, those that are right,
Pass into unconscious suffering. Those that are good,
Those that are true, betray and scorn and torture.
Those who are evil, lead me into innocent vileness.
I walk in the shadow, and I fear evil.
Ashes of the mighty walls blow vivid sanctity;
Hope resides in this dust.
The walls are tumbling, as Jericho and its parapets.
I stand firm in the central square as my life explodes
In psychedelic colors and burns into black.
Where am I?
Its walkway turned into cracked and shattered glass.
The ivy walls are browning while mysterious creatures writhe
In its confines. A glance, and a door appears into a
Celestial hiding place. Inside resides a family
Unlike any other. Tulip and daisies once thrived here,
Now thorns have choked the faces I love.
Grass cannot grow where watering does not exist,
Neither can my memories in a place of corruptness.
This was my home.
No more.
Where has my childhood gone?
It no longer lives in these halls,
These monuments which echoed
My thoughts and screams; this woodwork
That bore my inscriptions; these windows
Through which I spied distant horizons.
This bed that comforted my tears.
A serene lake, it smelled of watery weeds,
In it swam a nobility of swans,
We stood there like firm guardians.
We watched in camaraderie and mutual friendship;
We were the forest wanderers.
Dirt engraved into my hands and stinging my eyes,
Results of overconfidence. Scrapes and cuts
Covered my body, but all I could understand was
The pain. This same pain was the only comfort
To surround me after these years disappeared.
My grandmother, in happiness and hidden discontent,
Labored in the pressing heat to make me more comfortable.
Her deft hands shook controllably as she weeded her yard.
The smell of her kitchen, the gleam of spring green.
This is past.
My grandfather, smoky and resigned,
Scratched my face with his wool sweater.
His face wore wrinkles and deep crevasses;
I understood his war.
He sat and watched silently, yet his grip on me
Was vast unexplainability.
He was past.
Those which are true, those that are right,
Pass into unconscious suffering. Those that are good,
Those that are true, betray and scorn and torture.
Those who are evil, lead me into innocent vileness.
I walk in the shadow, and I fear evil.
Ashes of the mighty walls blow vivid sanctity;
Hope resides in this dust.
The walls are tumbling, as Jericho and its parapets.
I stand firm in the central square as my life explodes
In psychedelic colors and burns into black.
Where am I?
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