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?
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Just Live
This past year I have done more thinking than I ever have. I've thought and thought till I thought more than Pooh Bear thought. I've thought till my head hurts, and I've come to a few startling realizations.
The one that I want to share today is one that is probably the most pressing on my heart now. It seems to have affected every single relationship that I have. And my failure to realize it has hurt more than a few relationships.
Right at this moment, the sun outside is just the perfect amount of sunshine. It's a bit cloudy, just enough that the heat is not unbearable. Just enough so when I drove today the light flickered on my face and arms while the cool breeze blew the smell towards me of blooming flowers.
On occasions like this before, I wouldn't have noticed. I would be entrenched in the shadows of worry and thoughtless thoughtfulness. I would think and think and think, till I lost the reason why I was thinking and just wallow in a void of black.
It's been like this for a long time. I think about how life was so perfect years ago, I'd think about all the bad things that happened over the years, I'd think what I could've done to prevent them, I'd think about what I could do now, I'd think about what so-and-so meant when they said that, I'd think about dead-end jobs, about school, about people, about problems, and on and on.
But today it hit me. Why am I trying to analyze every little thing when God has His hand on my chin, lifting my face to His creation and is saying to me, "Do not worry. Everything that has happened in your life, I was there, and everything that will happen in your life, I will be there. Now stop being such a sap, and live."
My jaw drops in astonishment. Is it really true that all I have to do is...just live? Live for God, obey His commands (not because I have to, because I want to), get out there and be His man?
The sun starts feeling a little warmer and my thoughts a little more joyful.
When you are driving to work, do you sit there and think about everything you'll have to do, and all the problems you'll be facing? When you are on the doorstep of sin, do you comfort yourself and tell yourself you deserve it and God will forgive you later? When a difficulty steps in between you and your friends, do you think it's automatically their fault and "when will they apologize?" During the day, do you keep a keen eye spotting everything that you can do that "will be fun," something to keep you occupied, something that you'll enjoy, instead of what is God-pleasing and righteous?
There is a company out here called "Just Live," they do zip-lining across the island along with high ropes courses and other challenging things. Now I'm not asking you to jump off a 40-foot waterfall, I'm asking you to do something a bit harder. Look at God, cast off your worries, and just live. Simple.
The one that I want to share today is one that is probably the most pressing on my heart now. It seems to have affected every single relationship that I have. And my failure to realize it has hurt more than a few relationships.
Right at this moment, the sun outside is just the perfect amount of sunshine. It's a bit cloudy, just enough that the heat is not unbearable. Just enough so when I drove today the light flickered on my face and arms while the cool breeze blew the smell towards me of blooming flowers.
On occasions like this before, I wouldn't have noticed. I would be entrenched in the shadows of worry and thoughtless thoughtfulness. I would think and think and think, till I lost the reason why I was thinking and just wallow in a void of black.
It's been like this for a long time. I think about how life was so perfect years ago, I'd think about all the bad things that happened over the years, I'd think what I could've done to prevent them, I'd think about what I could do now, I'd think about what so-and-so meant when they said that, I'd think about dead-end jobs, about school, about people, about problems, and on and on.
But today it hit me. Why am I trying to analyze every little thing when God has His hand on my chin, lifting my face to His creation and is saying to me, "Do not worry. Everything that has happened in your life, I was there, and everything that will happen in your life, I will be there. Now stop being such a sap, and live."
My jaw drops in astonishment. Is it really true that all I have to do is...just live? Live for God, obey His commands (not because I have to, because I want to), get out there and be His man?
The sun starts feeling a little warmer and my thoughts a little more joyful.
When you are driving to work, do you sit there and think about everything you'll have to do, and all the problems you'll be facing? When you are on the doorstep of sin, do you comfort yourself and tell yourself you deserve it and God will forgive you later? When a difficulty steps in between you and your friends, do you think it's automatically their fault and "when will they apologize?" During the day, do you keep a keen eye spotting everything that you can do that "will be fun," something to keep you occupied, something that you'll enjoy, instead of what is God-pleasing and righteous?
There is a company out here called "Just Live," they do zip-lining across the island along with high ropes courses and other challenging things. Now I'm not asking you to jump off a 40-foot waterfall, I'm asking you to do something a bit harder. Look at God, cast off your worries, and just live. Simple.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Tombs
I once believed graves beautiful,
Magnificent scrawls repeating life after death.
Bleached white and glowing brilliantly,
Glossy stone records the Passed's name distinct.
Undergrowth feebly caress its vertical walls,
While flowers bloomingly tell of the unknown's forgiveness.
The forked crack speaks of ceasing hardships
And its wholeness repeats enduring restoration.
But, alas! the sun's set.
Its brilliance smothered in gloom.
The Name, one beyond judgement,
Haunts the Onlooker from its chiseled chasm.
The crack no longer sputters coherent,
Only terrorizes with its perverseness.
Roses sometime will grow to be magnificent,
But the coming chill will wither her utterly.
No longer can I see this process of salvation,
My eyes become blind by their disillusioned tears.
I cry out for my lonely body,
Its chest weighed down by six feet of dust.
Magnificent scrawls repeating life after death.
Bleached white and glowing brilliantly,
Glossy stone records the Passed's name distinct.
Undergrowth feebly caress its vertical walls,
While flowers bloomingly tell of the unknown's forgiveness.
The forked crack speaks of ceasing hardships
And its wholeness repeats enduring restoration.
But, alas! the sun's set.
Its brilliance smothered in gloom.
The Name, one beyond judgement,
Haunts the Onlooker from its chiseled chasm.
The crack no longer sputters coherent,
Only terrorizes with its perverseness.
Roses sometime will grow to be magnificent,
But the coming chill will wither her utterly.
No longer can I see this process of salvation,
My eyes become blind by their disillusioned tears.
I cry out for my lonely body,
Its chest weighed down by six feet of dust.
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