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Archive for January, 2013

Living Poetry

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Let yourself become
living poetry.

Rumi

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Rain

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Jason De Caires Taylor. Underwater sculpture.
Reblogged from Cosmic Machine. Click to view more.


Staccato II

 

‘We should be so anchored in that stillness of the ocean,

so much so that waves do not bother us.’

 

‘Avoid the bridge, he says.

We need all the poets.’

One last brilliant morning, and watch,

I become seagull.

 

Has poetry ever brought back a lover

except in dreams

Has it ever changed one heart

Have words ever mended

That is a job for Time.

 

My poems are songs for no-one, you see.

I sing them on a street corner

For the wind, for the rare passerby

There is no hat on the pavement,

You can keep your change.

 

Respectability will not keep you warm at night.

All these books, my house is made of them,

their wondrous stories

they are but paper and weight in the dark.

 

The sun kisses me and I fall asleep

in a room bathed in golden light

the sunsets are getting longer these days

– look at this cloudless sky, the heat of summer in January,

how can one not be happy?

That is not what I came for.

 

There are constellations on my skin

You will never see

Here is Ursa Major,

Orion’s belt.

 

Yours was the final, absolute silence

Of deep space –

I was tethered

 

Night stars are beautiful to look at

But, oh, they cannot warm you

Diamonds are heartless

and perfect.

 

In the dark,

He speaks  a tongue I do not understand.

During the day he absolves me.

He says

When Life gives, take.

She is a miserly landlady, sometimes

And this is not a kind Winter.

 

When the thick walls of the city are besieged,

they absorb the injury of cannons,

fiery arrows, climbing soldiers.

To a point.

A fortress, like a ship, like a dam,

is still made by human hands.

Lo, the smallest breach and the tiniest rivulet

Bring down civilizations.

 

 

San Diego, January 2013

 

 

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The Hummingbird

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since feeling is first
by e.e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers.  Don’t cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis


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Calm, Like a Sunday Evening

Sweet, quiet night
of canyons and faraway lights,
of car wakes-
the coldness of stars
(clarity and cruelty sound the same)
– their radio frequencies.

It is a night for waiting.
Dilated hours: what use is there for a will or resistance?
Float, there’s no rudder.

We do not have love,
or lips on our lips
the tension of
muscles and will..
the tenderness of skin

We sleep in lonely beds.

But, O, we have poetry
and waterlogged pages,
we dance on the tip
of fountain pens.
We skate on paired ink.

San Diego, January 2013

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‘Spend time sketching everyday. The outcome is not important. The time you spend sketching is time you spend solving yourself.’

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Poetry After the Fact

This is something that has been marinating for weeks in my mind.

Poetry and art exorcise life’s sorrows…they bring closure when/where there is none to be had.
Surrender is accepting that you will not know all the answers…it is making peace with not understanding- something that is incredibly arduous for someone who seeks clarity and communication in all things.

And yet, words deliver, they free and heal us. For poets, a sealed, completed poem makes sense of the arcane.
Poetry allows us to move unencumbered by the baggage of emotions (as these are now, at the same time, crystallized and released) , unrequited feelings, unanswered pleas.
Poetry is the answer, it is the peace we seek. The poet finds words, and like breadcrumbs, they guide through the forest. Poems are maps through the dark regions of the heart.




Poetry Came Instead
{Closures}

Tonight the sky is cold and clear
– trace filigree of stars.
The moon,  mother-of-pearl,
the constellations are aligned.
It is a night for leavening.

I was precipitating towards him
I could not resist him,
more than one resists gravity
(he had me at ‘epitome of inevitability’).

We first made love
on sheets of paper
I wrapped myself in his words

I sent him distress calls –
we were two ships in the night.
He told me I didn’t have to
explain myself when I unraveled,
he quoted my poems
-the only one who ever
kissed the tips of my fingers,
or my forehead every time i saw him.
How does one forget ?
A gaze that caresses,
the perfect first kiss.
How does one erase?
The only cure for love is more love.

I told him better later than never
he said never late
is better.
I called for him so many nights –
the days of forgetting were so long.
When I am upset I wash walls.

I said
we’ve been dancing around the fire for so long
he answered
it’s time to get burnt.
I was ready to,
Poetry came instead.

Nothing extinguishes the flame
of fickle lovers
as a yes.

My heart bled wasted ink,
a dumb moth continuosly scarred.
I will never know the hieroglyphs of his skin, or the sound of his singing-
the light of his eyes was not for me.
A beautiful vessel,
the essence deserted him
and eluded me.

As for the girl,
pepper and spice,
I can finally look back at her eyes
-those wells, the light that pulls everything towards her as an
undeniable whirlpool-and not sink.
The angles of her face
don’t bruise any more .
There is just love.
The careful letting go
of a butterfly.
Maybe next time, Luna
.

These days,
I am surrounded by Beauty.
The spring i pursued
was but a mirage,
my thirst was quenched
by the sweetest sand.

There is drought,
but I am hearing thunder
a strong, kind rumble that displaces air–
has the rainy season finally come
or is it another summer shower?

He kissed me a suspended, light kiss
held my face
like one holds a vase
i was not sure if he was drawing me closer, or letting me go.

You were not a dream,
you were more like
a moment of clarity after
months of drowsiness
.

I know precariousness
And things that don’t last.
I sleep with pen and books.
Do you know what it means to
spend the night writing?

Everything you do
can be a prayer.

I was lying next to you
like a big yes.
Unrealized dreams
are the only ones that last
forever.

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Staccato | Fragments

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1.Time and Vessels:

“She had a way of moving that moved him as much as music, which was what moved him most of all.
Surely the spirit animating that peerless body must be unusual too?
Why would nature make a vessel like that, if not to contain something still more valuable?” ― J.K. Rowling

Love is always the same
-it is only the vessel that changes-
that’s what the poet meant,
it took me a year to understand.
Love moves from one heart to another, selfsame.
You can never lose Love.

2. Skins:

Listen to songs from around the beautiful Earth.
Angel, you can always find the seven notes therein, sleeping.
The same Love is asleep in the Other.
Until it is awake.
You can find the same warmth on skins
milk to dark chocolate,
sand dunes to ashes.
The same kind fire lights all eyes.
The same Sun and Moon no matter
where we are…or how far we are from each other.
All is Good.

3. Love:

I am full of Love for you.
The flower can’t keep from opening.
God is the Love in the lover.
The lotus-heart is hidden beneath layers.

4. Fire:

a. The main function of fires is to warm,
not to burn. My heart is singed, but tempered.
b. The unattended fire dies.

5. Words:

Your words kept me warm
on the long walk home.
Thoughts you had for me,
caresses on a winter day.
Now, try to imagine
a flooding river
forced through
an eyedropper.

6. Let Go:

There is nothing to go back to
there are no mistakes
nothing to miss, fix
or understand.
There is only driving.
I leave my cities of salt behind,
the Nothing,
I see the lonely Friday afternoons,
the hardest,
on the rearview mirror.

Live as though
you are soon moving to a new city.

7. The coldness of stars:

“But who could bear to know which stars were already dead, she thought, blinking up at the night sky; could anybody stand to know that they all were?” ― J.K. Rowling.

The further you look in space,
the further you look in the past.

8. Constellations

The sun is a benign star
made of fire
It burns as I burned for you
It is a star that colors my skin
– my body responds to it the way it responds to the moon.

Gypsy: You are both stars, don’t forget. And the stars exploded billions of years ago, to form everything that is this world. Everything we know, is stardust. So don’t forget, you are stardust.

A handful of stars in your hand.
A candle is meant to become just flame.
Do not render a perfect heart when you go.

9. Silence:

The silence of the Sphinx
protects me-
Ice in my veins, it slayed me.
He taught me
one does not learn
by speaking
and to do so only if what i had to say
was more beautiful than silence.

10. Poetry and Poets

Empty this bucket heart,
My poems are puzzle pieces
put together in the heart of the night.
Milk the night ravings – distill them as grapes with wine.
Stolen words feed our ravenous souls.

11. Life:

There are problems that can’t be solved
they can only be lived
-some say there are no problems.
Do not chain eagles or falcons.
If you don’ t believe in God
believe in Love, or another.
Peace is a religion, too.

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‘You can never really tell what’s good until later anyway, until you look back and think about things and they have time to grow in your mind. But sometimes you make a choice, and in that moment you know in your heart it’s going to change everything.

People will tell you nothing matters, the whole world will end soon anyway, but those people look at life in the wrong way.
I mean, things don’t need to last forever to be perfect.’

 

          (The Magic of Belle Isle)

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