On the shores of infinite diamonds, we were
all bronzed skin and limbs,
under a late summer sun.
Ever gently a rose glow
caressing our eyes, saturated our world,
as light retreated beyond mountains.
On the shores beneath infinite stars, we were
all tender skin, twisted limbs,
surroundings obscured in the dark.
I want to be a poet and a painter
A writer and a dancer
I want to capture the world as I see it
And dissect it to be examined
I want to empty my mind
With the light and dark of the world
And spend my days beneath broad leaves
Or even bare branches
The roots of trees hugging me
Without ever touching me
Pulling me in through the dirt
As I remain on top soil
Though I am not a plant
I would be lucky to be so green
And growing towards the sun
Happy New Year everyone! For the first year in a while, I don’t have any concrete resolutions this January first. What I do have is this: a new year with new thoughts, new energy, new longings.
I dreamt of a ghost beyond my window,
Standing at the edge of my yard,
Translucent below the marble moon.
She stood erect beneath the formidable night sky.
With an upward tilt of her head, hair grazing her waist,
She stared the bald moon back with her vehement gaze.
When I opened my own eyes, I was under the sky.
Color in my cheeks and blood in my veins,
Dewy-grass feet firmly in the dirt.
And so I walked inside to dream of a blank sky.
Not unlike the blackboards the morning of Sunday school:
Washed clean, ready and inviting.
For so many weeks, months, I felt haunted. Everywhere I went, every experience, was a reminder of what had happened. That I was not who I used to be and I was not who I wanted to be. That I had made mistakes and simply did not measure up. I was empty.
I don’t know exactly when it happened or how it happened, but I felt life breathed back into me, or maybe I breathed it into myself. Perhaps it was simply that enough time had passed. (And perhaps I had just written enough poems).
It is funny how simple things can represent complete opposites depending on the experiences occupying our headspace. The moon, for example, represented something that I felt saw right through me, something that followed me no matter where I went. It was watching me and I could not escape it. Now I am again able to look at it with a sense of wonder.
It is simply the moon and it is beautiful.
Red lights through ink black blur.
Through windows, wet ice snow.
Slap-smack Slap-smack Slap-smack.
The windshield wipers’ drummer’s march
Calls ancient newborn eyes
To man the office post.
My Swelling Heart 