Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Day in the life of a dreamer….


Obsessively, compulsed, and disordered. Anxiety-ridden and pill popping. Insomniac one day, hypersomnia the next. High soaring skies, deep valley lows. Today is yesterday’s future and tomorrow will be today’s threat. Impossibility but possibly magnanimous. Throat muscles clench. The strain. They have quick jolts. Hard to breathe. It’s hard to exhale. A flood approaches in the north while an earthquake stirs in the south. Is it time to go yet? The sky is closing in. Everyone seems bigger. The skin crawls. Scratch, scratch, and scratch the maggots away. Did you see how big that one was? Pulsating legs, fast beating heart. Take my hand. It is sweating but cold. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Only two minutes have passed. Look down. Look at the watch. Scratch your arm. Look up. Watch out for that car. Watch out for the cars in the opposite direction. Step back. Step BACK. Wait on the curb. The short hand begins. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tick. Tock. Green. Go. Cross. Look up. Are we there? No. When did the commute take a century? Help. I may collapse. Am I turning a sesquipedalianist?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. What time is it? Not five o’clock? Ugh. Look busy. Turn your head. Look busy. What else can I Google? Google about birthdates, dogs, herbal medicine, etc. Is it too early to Google about Black Friday? Ugh. How am I feeling today? I’m not sure. I think a bit better. I’m still slightly sad but better than I was about three to four days ago. I’ve been feeling extra lonely. Growing up I’ve always had this image of myself of someone in a wealthy lifestyle but all alone. I was to amass a fortune, attend galas, donate lots of money but be alone. My life was one of making and giving away money. I didn’t picture a husband, kids or a dog. I thought corporate world would build me up to be one of its minions. Sadly, the being alone part has come true. I have no husband or kids. I do have a dog though. I guess that’s progress. Almost every day I feel alone. I feel entrapped in my life of solitude and independence. I was taught to be independent and do things on my own. Sadly, I wasn’t taught how to share or do it with others. As a result of this, my achievements, successes, and happy moments have always been alone and behind closed doors. I’ve never truly had anyone to share my intimates with, my life. I’d like to change that picture. I created my life and now I want to alter its course. After all, I am the author and protagonist.

In the future, I still see myself well off BUT now I’m with a life partner who is hot, has a nice humor, is romantic, and I have tons of good friends and loving people around me. I still attend galas and donate money but now I have more love in my life. I am happy. I am content. I have a loving, gorgeous, and romantic husband. We laugh together and spoil each other rotten. We complement each other well and we inspire each other. Our dogs are wonderful as well. They love running around in our big three bedroom, three and a half bathroom apartment in Donno-where. After about five years of marriage, my husband and I are contemplating children. We’ve saved up enough money to retire and are already living lavishly well. I want to give my husband four children. During the holidays, we’re always together. In fact, everyone celebrates the holidays at our place. Both of our families adore each other. At summer time, we’re away at our summer home. The children love playing in the ocean. They know they are loved and are happy. We are one big happy family- Me, my husband, our four children, and our four dogs.

There is an acute sense of resurrection I find from scraps of conversations I chance upon time and again. Conversations let adrift into space, uttered by souls who are ignorant of my existence, but speak as if it was all concocted for me, just for me.

Have you ever sat up and suddenly taken notice how mere words seem to exude the misty iridescence of sated hearts, like luminous inventories of graceful thoughts that pour out from beautiful minds? And as they tumble down, and alter the contours of your emotions and ordain your weather beaten spirit, you are nothing but humbled to be able to swallow the incredulous beauty of it all?

Tonight I am so wonderfully satiated, sitting here, wrapped up in a mustard yellow blanket that faintly emanates of a distilled willingness, to step into cobbled pathways that lead me to your fecund homes, engulfed with a rare serenity very few manage to find. And to return ever so redeemed, and ever so alive.

I am overwhelmed and bereft to say much, hence shall leave you with this: a fragment of my blessed heart, hoping it will reach your happiness stained windows and mirth lined walls, breeze in your kitchen and sprinkle you with silvery sunshine.

Sturdy imprints on my mind, in autumn touched sepia's hue.
I am waltzing tonight into a quaint land that’s known only by few.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

~~ Complimentary Supplement ~~


On a normal day, I watch the dawn break on my window asking me to pull together my reveries of not-so-fabulous ruminations and just go to sleep instead.
On a normal day, I wake up by this bugging alarm to see my dreams are over or to be jolted awake from nightmares, and ready to run in a race which I don't care of, still thinking about the delusions of my unconscious mind.
On a normal day, I wake up past 11, have brunch, watch a movie, surf, read, nap, brew ginger tea, tune in for a rerun of Lie to me or Friends or Master Chef Australia, cook and have the whole house, to me.
On a normal day, I write letters, in a white notebook, that vaguely smells of petunias, elucidating to it petite promises I make to me when there is no one to hear.
On a normal day I think of my parents, breathe the sweet familiar scent of them, listen to her laughter, watch her angel like visage, listen to his concerned voice ~ and taste tranquility drench me by.
On a normal day, I like curling up on the sofa with a story book, as I sip a mug of hot coffee viewing the drizzle from the sky.
Somebody said,"You live in moments that come in between pauses."

Life is messy. That's how we're made. So, you can waste your lives drawing lines. Or you can live your life crossing them. But there are some lines... that are way too dangerous to cross... You always need a complimentary supplement.
So on the other days, I just shrug and saunter past.
What do you do on your "other" days?

~~Anticipation~~


If ever should these waiting lips,
Touch softly on your face;
They'll leave a trail of passion,
Time never will erase.
For they have waited for so long,
And hungered for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much....


If ever should these empty arms,
Be filled with loving you;
You'll never want another,
Each time will be brand new.
For I have waited for so long,
And longed to feel your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much....

If ever should these hands of mine,
Across your body linger;
You'll know the heat of my desire,
With the touch of every finger.
For they have waited for so long,
And hungered for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much....

If ever should my body,
Lay touching yours alone;
As we explore each other,
Like two souls coming home.
For I have waited for so long,
And longed so for your touch;
Ached with anticipation,
From wanting you so much...

Friday, October 29, 2010

~~ Of The One ~~



The ribbon of despair
curled around the outstretched head
which threw in various poses
the shadows of regret
and the wild outside
was a smiling grin of lust
coiled on the face
of the one.

A rhythm of tufted shoots
fell from the ceiling panes
embedded in the plasterwork
and told the hungry listener
the personal interflow
of the shot-back idea
the glistening truth
of the one.

Eyes roasted tenderness
in the great fly bitten
solitude which followed us behind
never caring or crying
in savage anticipation
of ingested wealth
the raised eyelid
of the one.

Time to pause
wait hardly stirring
dream of antique space
the fin circles bound
chronologically in tune
the singing of the grass
and the soundless thrum
of the one.

Fly like a high bird
flick thought aside sparkle
the reaches of lightness
flattering stale bleak
hills with lancing
beams a constant glow
the silver silence
of the one.

Shriek sly battlefields
break a landscape freely
suck the earth loud moth
flutter in the spread
seek the wind the proud
cringe of the skies
the dusty shooting cough
of the one.

~~ Midas Touch ~~



Mind nothing I say
Think a while
the irreversible time blown sequence
on the stage of the worst moments,
the dripping verisimilitude of honey lies
sweet on her tongue
soothing dramatic touches that reverberate
into her body as she sweeps
several shivering dewdrops
onto my chest.

Too late, reality's ultimate revision clause
operates under the guise of
a dark stranger.
Stone statues might wave their arms in despair
but you plunder on
fragmentary analytical break downs
from finality caressing day
in a long zigzag
thundered through
ahead of me.

Life swayed drunken by
those stone monuments,
Scary Island countenances
looming solid and massive
Judged me,
Their time ravaged faces
forced obeisance.
and the eternity patterns,
feel their disapproval
feel their contempt,
see the solemnity of their features grow
for their own playful youth
kneels in that grave forgotten stare.

In peace the music moves my body
Sighing softly in my veins,
Steel hard chords are cashing in
on the fibrous flesh texture,
the single note
is a muscular contraction,
the melodic chains
Like Midas touch
guiding me gently into
the orchestra of abyssal pit.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

~~ Craft me anew ~~


Nimble footfalls, yawning eyes.
Curious lips, tender fingerprints.
Feral twilights, luscious murmurs.
In them in abandon you sift abysmally deep.
And sketch in doodles incoherent, unusual.
Scarlet and branded,
You leave me, and I can see.
This is new, I am new.
I am not that girl
I used to happen to be.
Pacify me.
Push me again.
And show me how,
You rapt my soul
And make me new
Every day for you…

Do we have to?
Draw symmetries with these aliens?
That are keeping us tables afar.
Buoying infinite stories,
Blissfully ignorant-
Of how derisory I am
To humor right now.
So tell me cruel one.
While you paint your wicked smile
Tell me, why should I not hate them?

Seize me home,
And make love to me.
Flitch me away and kiss me.
Under this moonlit night,
Have me and let me have you.
Come away.
Let’s run away.
So I can walk over to the middle,
And glance below to see reminiscence twirling by.

In ephemeral kisses,
Delicate embraces,
And passionate sunbursts that smiled at our faces
When under its veil into the anonymous,
A tomorrow that doesn't scare,
And nakedness that doesn't stare.
Simply takes me in,
and leads me to...
Wherever you are...
Craft me anew....

~~ Epitaph ~~


Kiss me a last kiss.
And help me abandon,
The unseen dreams and unknown hopes,
Unwritten lyrics and unsung songs.

In abandon let me slip,
Above and beyond
Up and away,
From the unchained melodies
I've wombed so long.

Lift me then and bury me there.
And brand in a soliloquized whisper...

"...Here lies she, the untamed heart,
Laughed foolhardy, cried in vain.
Lived in winter, loved in rain..."

RED


I am red.
While making diagrams.
Of sublime kisses.
And wiping shards.

That fell from my eyes.
And clung noiselessly.
To the rim of my dress.

While pondering if to ask you
To hurt me again,
And remind me how
Abysmal in your love,
I have bled.
I am red.

~~ The Sunny Side up....~~


Betrayals, let downs, breakups, unrequited emotions, misunderstandings, avoided confrontations. Just so many expressions to signify one thing, and one thing only- PAIN. And all those people who came up with all these terms, sure as hell had a lot of time on their hands.

For the longest time I lived with the feeling of having a messy life where I did not have a single solitary thing in a place where it should be. Nothing working out the way I pictured it to, decadent people letting me down, people stepping back to look after their interests first instead of standing by me, for me.... A sordid chaos was what it was and there was I in the epicenter of it all putting up a face that I am graceful about it all, that it was okay and that I understood. And that charade went on till I knew I would have to give up my sanity if I went on with the circus any longer. And so I chose to give up.

Thinking and hoping and waiting and trying to give the impression that you are going to be there on their side of the bank whenever they felt like walking up to you. And all that was drilling a hole in my heart, hat kept getting bigger and bigger. I chose to push myself in a loop where my life, inspite of all its bright spots just kept looking empty. I still chose to keep that wrong facade up, hoping sunshine to come by my street someday and purge a life. But still nothing happened. Nothing ever happened.

And one fine summery morning, my conscience came calling by and told me to quit. Turn away from it all and focus on other things that I had never given much credit that they could infuse meaning into an abysmal hypocritical existence. She told me to change plans, create goals, generate ambitions, dream big and utterly and totally reject any prospects that spoke to me of an ordinary life. And I think that was one of the finest mornings I have woken up to, in a long long time.

Happier and saner, looking ahead, with a mind free of haunting and a heart free of skeletons I have put to rest, here I am. I have changed my street, repainted my walls and put them up, on their right side for once, up for the sun to come shinning by and he comes everyday...!!

Every day he trickles in into my dainty pretty kitchen through my east facing window, where every Sunday we say hello as i set the pot for some bigger flavored green tea in my olive colored vintage mug I am fanatically possessive about. Every day, he floats by my living room that gripes in dire need of some furniture, as I sit down on the floor, back from work, and read the day's newspaper. Every day he breezes by my boho bedroom that dons fuchsia and pink lilies on the wall standing behind a candy pink hand painted wicker book shelf; and while I am doing my hair we smile through my mirror; acknowledging what a beautiful day it is.

And I want to keep seeing him, right this way, everyday for the rest of my life, no matter what the weather is outside and what street I am in. I am going to pull a plug on that part of my gray matter that works only to bring me home a bagful of pain and enjoy the every phase my life trespasses into, whenever it does. Peeling layers of skin from an injury never helps, I think rather settling down with a scar for life is a better option. Yes...I am going to take that.....

Sometimes it’s arduous to try and find a speck of shimmery ray even when there is light looming all over. And at other times the faintest beams seem to dance and fill your heart with hope. So today, I want to wish for that iridescent hope to not desert our fragile hearts, and seek its way through to us no matter how abysmal our alleys become, find us, hold us, fill us and light up more than just our rooms...

~~ Falling Leaves ~~


I was thinking of old friends today
And how many of them have slipped away.
Moved, got married, or stopped calling so much,
Found new friends, got busy, and just lost touch.
It reminded me of falling leaves.
Every autumn the leaves fall from the trees.
Some stay longer than others, but eventually -
Each leaf must fall, I'm told,
Leaving the tree alone to face the cold.
Why is it that in the time of utmost need,
The leaves would seek to leave the tree?
And when we need our friends around us
We look and they cannot be found?
Of course these friendships come and go
And in the spring new leaves will grow.
But I prefer autumn friends of old
With crackling laughter and colors bold.
And then I thought of you.
That one stubborn leaf that won't let go.
That clings despite the winds that blow.
Fighting ice, and snow, and winter's stings
Hanging on right through till spring.
So I guess that's what you are to me -
The very last leaf to leave the tree.
I know it seems silly, but it's true.
When I see that last leaf... I think of you.
....Don't drift away.... will you…???

Friday, May 7, 2010

~~ For once ~~


Its nice to sit beneath the stars
Just for once...
With buried healing scars.

Its nice to look toward the sky
Just for once...
And not to cry.

Quiet,
With promise of a new moon.
To enliven thoughts, lighten steps.
Words strung together
With spaces of nothingness.
Pointing with empty hand.
What’s between the stars and earth?
A hazy land too unsubstantial to be seen?
Yet felt.
Hushhhhh….enough now

It’s good to feel the sun can warm
Just for once...
A heart that’s torn

And it’s good to know,
A smile, surreptitiously, can rise
Now and then...
Behind these hazel eyes…
For once...

~~May Serenade~~



Suddenly,
The frosty days are put to rest
As winter turns to spring
WI cast my eyes up to the sky
To what this month will bring.

A day when dark clouds gently brew
With not one leaf a stirring
When thunder peals as lightning cracks
A raging storm, enduring.

As shifting winds blow here and there
Without a rhyme or reason
When March fades to April and then May
A turbulent sort of season.

I've waited long for nature's song
For freshness in the air
For rainy days and purple haze
For breezes sweet and fair.

A time of kites and windy days
A time when dreams are made
A time when nature alchemy connives to outwit age
Its piercingly sweet elegance cuts my breath in half.

As with other unfathomables
The fragrance of lilies is a mystery of the ordinary,
Perhaps, a sacramental leading to deeper mystery
A celebration of the unending serenity…

The earth shies away like a demure damsel
Drops of rain nest on me
Calms, soothes and caresses me
With sensuous innocence all over
An assemblage for the manna from heaven
A glorious May day serenade
...

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

~~ Insomnia...~~



The delicious darkness of night time, sleep time
Here it is
My entire body reeks of irritation and impatience
Sleep has passed me by and went away screaming
Its nightly taunts into my face
Brushing against my restless skin.

I tense, I sweat, I am powerless
I rollover
Nothingness
I hear everything

I feel orphan feathers skimming my forehead,
Having escaped from my pillow
I fantasize over my luxury of time
Go downstairs
Gulp water and drag myself to the bed again.
Eyes burn
I smeared my palm with a night cream
and the smell makes me want to vomit
I could scrub the bathroom floor,
rearrange the bookshelves
Or write letters to people I otherwise
don't give a damn about
All in my semi-euphoric,
manic midnight moments of no rest
I drift in thought, a sprained ankle,
rushed to emergency room, painkillers...

Yes, that's it, side effects drowsiness,
Sleeeeeeep, don't operate heavy machinery.
No, not too extreme
Lie still
Wait…
Morning rises… I start the life again…

~~The sand still remembers...may be...~~~



Kites seek the wind here
Sea oats practice
Their patient sway
To rhythms
Of seasons and year
Dunes rise from the sand
Carved in a sculptor's caress
Who would dare to dream
Of creation on a scale
Of unbounded distance
A seagull holds in the breeze
Wings stretched wide
Like a lover's arms
Both share their
Unspoken word to the wind
"Come to me"
While the morning sun
Still raises its eyes to the clouds
Shells dot the sand shelf
In places the ocean
Swept them last night
Flowing promises of return
Maybe the sand still remembers
The footsteps
Hands in hands
Building impermanence
Leaving marks
Of hearts drawn
With names underneath
Carvings of hopes
And small dreams
That are washed away daily
Both us
And this place bowing
At different paces
To what finds us
And binds us both...
Time
May be the sand still remembers....

Monday, April 12, 2010

~~Enslaved~~



With bounding silence atop the clouds I fly
And reach toward the heavens aloft,
Like the goddess of freedom,
I wander above the earth and am awed with
Beautiful splendor at the dreams and
Hopes that are being painted beneath me.

I watch and marvel at these deeds and
So I climb higher, hopping to snatch
A broader glance.

But suddenly…
I must stop! I’m free no more.
I’ve come to the last inch of
My string and I can’t climb
Anymore.

I am restricted to only a small sky,
Unable to work toward achieving my
Aims and goals.

I then look back,
And I sense faith
And I sense love bonding
I soar up over the trees.
With butterflies and bees.
Fly past billowy clouds,
With my tail of red and white,
And climb so high the things below
would disappear from sight.

And then like a gift from God,
I know that if I fly above the clouds
would I ever, ever return?
And ponder, if I could fly so high,
A kite, a sky, and a good firm breeze,
And acres of ground away from trees,
And one hundred yards of clean, strong string
O boy, O boy! It must be the Spring!
See…Just how much I would learn...

Thursday, March 4, 2010

~~ WHAT IF...~~~


Every night when I lay thinking candidly,
Some “What ifs” crawl and creep inside my mind.
And prance and party all night long…

What if I could paint the sky
What if I could never really die
What if I could dared to always try
What if I could speak with the mountains
What if I could play with the stars

What if I could help illness disappear
What if I could turn pain into pleasure
What if I could be brave beyond measure
What if I could communicate without talking
What if I could succeed without failing

What if I could end violence with a prayer
What if I could make poverty vanish with a smile
What if I could say nothing but the truth
What if I could hear nothing but harmony
What if I could touch nothing but purity

What if I could think the unimaginable
What if I could feel the unexplainable
What if I could envision the unstoppable
What if I could create the incredible

What if I could have the unreachable
What if I could do the unthinkable
What if I could make the impossible
What if I could be the unbelievable

What if I could give more than receive
What if I could forgive more than regret
What if I could enjoy more than suffer
What if I could love more than fear

What if I could find all the answers
What if I could be totally fearless
What if I could know all the truths
What if I could act like the Gods

What if this happens…?
And What if this does not …?
Sigh…What if poems were wishes that could actually come true…?

Saturday, February 20, 2010

~~ Silence ~~



Silence speaks
Silence screams
Silence talks louder than any word

Silence echoes in my ears
To my eyes it brings tears
Silence drives me around the bend
What’s the problem I fail to understand?
Silence is a weapon of my choice
To cut through my heart
Like a sword

Silence
I can hear my heart shatter to pieces
Silence
I can hear my skin slice apart
Silence
I can hear my blood drop to the floor
Silence
I can hear my knife being thrown across the room
Silence
I can hear my bottle break in my hand
Silence
I can hear my pulse stop in me
Silence
I can hear my soundless weeping
Silence
I can hear my mind whispering suicide options
Silence
I can hear you crying
Silence
I can hear your “I love you
Silence
I can hear you say “Don’t do it
Silence...
But I can’t hear you save me
Sshhhhh
I pull the knife out of my heart
And finally, put an end to this sound of silence...

~~~ Modesty ~~~

Indeed sometimes a simply put love note means more than any adorned form of expression. Somehow it seems even more real, more honest and I believe it definitely should be appreciated.

In nocturnal modesty I am as bold as any flower
Standing boldly into the nights sky
Basking in the moon's eternal glow
Selfishly taking in the steel air
My cool breathe presents itself to me
Like a magic trick that amazes its audience
In these last moments before I fall into slumber
This is my chance to adore the epic moon
She is the sister I never had
She is the confidant that I seek constantly
Impeccable mood she brings only tidings of inspiration
Calling to me to seek out my muse
That whisper that begs me to write
Composer of infinite dreams
She is my guide through the “Dreaming

My pen is strong and it takes flight often
Modesty is the chance for one
To soar in skies of clouds and stars
To believe that I can
That there is no time for doubt
I must know the truth of my fear in order to overcome it
It’s really important, if I truly want to be free


When I pour my heart and soul
Do you laugh, or think of me weak or less?
Do you think silly the simplicity of my words?
Should I use complex ones to impress?
See, I refuse to use such lofty forms
For I want the world to clearly understand
And grasp the meaning
Humanity, its entirety to comprehend
To see a love’s beauty and kind spirit
A complexity only in its depth, a pure ascend
But if with haughtiness you counter feelings
Shall my old heart restore?


All those kisses it once poured
Out and under autumn's door?
No second spring, shall I see
No crazy love, only aching and bleeding heart.
Gone are my youthful hours
Flown away, like the end of a dream:
Images, only images now kept,
In old vaults, and far-off islands.
False hearts and cracked vows.
It’s all hell has allowed:
“Inconstancy,” my heart cries:
“Retire old heart, before you die”;
For sweetness of youth has gone away...


Three questions form and in my mind I wonder…
Is this truly a man whom I could love forever?
Am I in error offering my love, is this a blunder?
For even in the simplest mind, unadorned words
Amazing beauty, strength of spirit can be found
The soul’s warming cloak, a heart’s caress
That in a meek “I love you” does abound
Still…Amid barren arms
Of my naked companions
I jealously guard
Along those curvaceous lines
Of long outstretched arms
Painting shimmering patterns
In shadows of modesty…

Monday, January 18, 2010

Intentionally Ironical



What else can you do in the empty, silent, unspectacular and utilitarian city, but run amok, disrupt the silence, bash, aim, blast, shout and strut? In the vacuum of such a city, how to find a role, how to write, how to live? There are many ways to peel an onion: sharp knife and tears; under water like your mother taught you; surreptitiously, creeping in, layer by layer; or with sunglasses on.
There they are, those devastatingly onion-like little poems, with furled skins and layers, offering up biting street-scapes and cafés, half-remembered far-away places, distant friends, rock & roll, and lost, ordinary cities; that deceptive, seemingly autobiographical voice cruising between wit, boredom, disillusion, nostalgia, paranoia, irony. Always irony. Always the slippery poetics of knowledge warping, even as you obsessively scan the texts for narrative for seeking of untranscended life itself. Well, one last thing you can do is turn the irony back on yourself, the poet.

Yeah….now about the city. Nothing sacred here — all legend (text and belief) casually self-erasing. Or is it?
One effect of the irony is to mock the languidness of poet and expected audience, the “cultivated and singular minority”, that adopts the gesture of power, the eradication of all legend, but at the same time hails its own laxity and jejune cannibalism of the very thing it claims to mock. So the empty streets of the poem are filled with pissing and spitting bodies; narrative excitement is unlocateable, and mocked as the tedium of the blessed, and comically whipped up in the violent acts of nameless poets… I am just an example.

A yearned-for somewhere
adverb-physically
as lost as now
gazing across
the chunky valley
to a hill
of quivering lights —

There is no
destination —
just a place
no site
not Olympic
village site
only running wheels
casino site
nor section
of expressway
just east
of where
coincidence
has determined
your residence
in a city
you returned to
to remember
why you left ...

Inventing
nostalgia
for elsewhere ...
you’ll live there
in the future ...
And here am I,
nibbling
my jejune nourishment
with the laxity
of a cultivated
and singular minority

Languidly
erasing
all legend
flick flick flick.

Drinking in remembrance
of friends,
of ideas,
of projects,
of eight millimetre films,
of sketchbooks, screenprints, letters all
eliding somehow in the depths of the pile?

The extemporary verve of designs for a life
which never evolve into actual manufacture.
And now, in a kind of inner-suburban
isolation, brilliant — bright — paintings
are attentively wrapped & stacked
at the back of a wardrobe.

Mild domesticity
where reasonable evenings become numinous nights
of reading difficult books patiently flat
on your back and raging,
privately, laughing, noting the clues,
improving your vocabulary,
But never your method.

Thus setting out,
a scarlet flower
behind my ear,
into the wide
world into
banner-adorned cities
faking
permanent festivity
Here I am….

Thursday, January 14, 2010

From Montessori to Adolescence


When I was young
Mom was my hero and Dad protected me no matter what
Years of me belonged to them
Times I will never recall,
Nursing by nightlight, singing at midnight,
Watching me laugh and crawl.

There were only three ways to be: happy, sad, or angry
Sitting with Dad to watch the rain
Splash down upon the window pane,
Catching expressions that cross my face
Even now in these mindful days.

There was no such thing as popularity
Wearing a skirt did not get you obnoxious stares
You could play and share your lunch with anyone
Crushes were scraped knees and got fixed with a band-aid and a kiss
The worst thing a boy could do to you was snatch your chocolate

It was OK to make mistakes, fall and get up again.
A broken heart was only a doodle
Differences made no difference
The biggest thing going on was losing teeth

Then all it seemed like I wanted to do is grow up
Parents were my captors
I started to change and became not as innocent
All of the sudden nobody knows what to think or who to be
Childhood drifts away, flitting just out of reach
Until it’s so far behind me that I forget what I was like

Everyone wants to grow up or become a kid again; never both
Out of nowhere there are cliques and groups, like sorting mail.
Some try to be different and stand out,
While others strive to blend and mix in.
Yet…what’s left is usually miserable.
And inadvertently we end up asking….why did we grow up?