sunset over soy bean hill
clouds draw pastel curtains
o'er retiring face
of gold
Monday, August 16, 2010
Incense
Smoke from incense
Fire's ghost haunting my room
Curling and beckoning
I wash my face in it and
breathe, spirit
Like a veil unraveling
grey threads;
the mourning, threadbare
and fragrant
Fire's ghost haunting my room
Curling and beckoning
I wash my face in it and
breathe, spirit
Like a veil unraveling
grey threads;
the mourning, threadbare
and fragrant
Self-Same Soul
sensation will only last one life
before
cessation
but in that life, if one-pointed
the Self-Same Soul
will be one to enjoy
the senses
before
cessation
but in that life, if one-pointed
the Self-Same Soul
will be one to enjoy
the senses
Nautica
Water will not break a hard ship
though it may sail through
wicked seas
and water will not sink a friend ship
though through a font of creeds
it sails
Rhyme
Sometimes priests cut stones from Bibles
Laying stumbling blocks for rivals
Why does triumph cut so deep
Such a tarnished gem to keep
After every harebrained scandal
Someone kneels, unties a sandal
Someday unity will spread
Given, by then I'll be dead.
Laying stumbling blocks for rivals
Why does triumph cut so deep
Such a tarnished gem to keep
After every harebrained scandal
Someone kneels, unties a sandal
Someday unity will spread
Given, by then I'll be dead.
Love
Love
why do i care of love
of simple mechanics
pounding base
my bony heart
whittled out of aspirations
between my human temperatures
perforated
provides
it nothing
love
my aspirations
tears instead
me from my bones
in heart, in mind
be to who i'm meant
why do i care of love
of simple mechanics
pounding base
my bony heart
whittled out of aspirations
between my human temperatures
perforated
provides
it nothing
love
my aspirations
tears instead
me from my bones
in heart, in mind
be to who i'm meant
Passing him in the hallway
When I pass him
First his eyes meet mine
His eyebrows
Raise.
Then he inhales
Like he's going to speak
His shoulders
Tense.
But he just smiles
Kind of gaping-like
Hands in his
Pockets.
First his eyes meet mine
His eyebrows
Raise.
Then he inhales
Like he's going to speak
His shoulders
Tense.
But he just smiles
Kind of gaping-like
Hands in his
Pockets.
Sanctuary
Who shall abide in your sanctuary?
Who will enter your holy tent?
Those who walk blamelessly on the path
Whose gait has illuminated goodness,
Those whose enlightenment comes from you,
Those who know your many names
and love them with devotion?
Those who walk without a guide,
Who find no path to follow,
Those whose gifts have been severed,
Who have nowhere to turn,
Those who are chained within the masses
And are isolated from truth?
Those who scoff at road signs,
Who stake their own new paths,
Those who clog their ears with nothing,
Whose blindness is conjured thus,
Those who know of dirt and mirage
Who rejoice in helpless loathing?
The truth is such:
We all come with the faith of empty hands.
And so we are filled
Not by discretion or decree,
But by embrace into the tent,
The holy home where all may find sanctuary.
Who will enter your holy tent?
Those who walk blamelessly on the path
Whose gait has illuminated goodness,
Those whose enlightenment comes from you,
Those who know your many names
and love them with devotion?
Those who walk without a guide,
Who find no path to follow,
Those whose gifts have been severed,
Who have nowhere to turn,
Those who are chained within the masses
And are isolated from truth?
Those who scoff at road signs,
Who stake their own new paths,
Those who clog their ears with nothing,
Whose blindness is conjured thus,
Those who know of dirt and mirage
Who rejoice in helpless loathing?
The truth is such:
We all come with the faith of empty hands.
And so we are filled
Not by discretion or decree,
But by embrace into the tent,
The holy home where all may find sanctuary.
Time Past Years Past Time Again
Time past years past time again
I wonder where I'll be
And think of sights smells touches new
That will surround me then
Perhaps an apartment, stone so grey
Overlooking a city of toys
And me in white coat
Sticking needles
Into broken playthings
Thrown away
Perhaps a scarf wrapped over my head
Sand beneath my feet
With rights to gain and slaves to free
A child's life
Laid in my arms
Perhaps long tables lined with chairs
My voice, truth into microphones
Alone on a plane
Spending my life
Bumping against policies for change
But most of all
I wonder if
Time past years past time again
I will lay in your arms to cry
Like nothing has changed at all.
I wonder where I'll be
And think of sights smells touches new
That will surround me then
Perhaps an apartment, stone so grey
Overlooking a city of toys
And me in white coat
Sticking needles
Into broken playthings
Thrown away
Perhaps a scarf wrapped over my head
Sand beneath my feet
With rights to gain and slaves to free
A child's life
Laid in my arms
Perhaps long tables lined with chairs
My voice, truth into microphones
Alone on a plane
Spending my life
Bumping against policies for change
But most of all
I wonder if
Time past years past time again
I will lay in your arms to cry
Like nothing has changed at all.
Bangles
The sound of bangles is the sound of change
As women work; the music of their hands
When glass clinks to glass and laughs arrange
To drown crescendos of life's slaving bands.
The sari-ed heads which bondage once had sorrowed
Bend with gold conviction all their own
Not embroidered with the blood men borrowed
And returned infected with the lust of thrones
The sweat, our ease; the shops, our homes; the kings
Lay bare before our eyes in these changed sounds
From clinking coins in brothels trading rings
To musical words, bangles worlds around.
"Wear six at a time, each bag contains nine.
Glass bangles will break, then three will you take."
I shake my wrists. I hear their laughs.
As women work; the music of their hands
When glass clinks to glass and laughs arrange
To drown crescendos of life's slaving bands.
The sari-ed heads which bondage once had sorrowed
Bend with gold conviction all their own
Not embroidered with the blood men borrowed
And returned infected with the lust of thrones
The sweat, our ease; the shops, our homes; the kings
Lay bare before our eyes in these changed sounds
From clinking coins in brothels trading rings
To musical words, bangles worlds around.
"Wear six at a time, each bag contains nine.
Glass bangles will break, then three will you take."
I shake my wrists. I hear their laughs.
Cloaking Caleb
sometimes I am leaning against the rail
supported
while the wind in my face
weaves my hair in a net around my
head
and the moisture in the air,
veils lifting up from the ocean,
exposes the water and leaves me
cloaked
as I watch the bare truth
and he is standing just far enough
away
so that his presence doesn't
warm me
but he is cloaked and leaning
in similar vulnerable truth
his pleas reach toward my
shelter
sometimes I am open with the
sea
when it is deep enough not to be touched
by light
but his waters are too pulled
by currents of wind and sun and moon
and I close my doors in fear
of unprotected intimacy
exposed
another girl walks over to
him
she slips her hand into his arm
engulfed
and I am left with my cloak
that hid, in fear,
my heart
supported
while the wind in my face
weaves my hair in a net around my
head
and the moisture in the air,
veils lifting up from the ocean,
exposes the water and leaves me
cloaked
as I watch the bare truth
and he is standing just far enough
away
so that his presence doesn't
warm me
but he is cloaked and leaning
in similar vulnerable truth
his pleas reach toward my
shelter
sometimes I am open with the
sea
when it is deep enough not to be touched
by light
but his waters are too pulled
by currents of wind and sun and moon
and I close my doors in fear
of unprotected intimacy
exposed
another girl walks over to
him
she slips her hand into his arm
engulfed
and I am left with my cloak
that hid, in fear,
my heart
Mumbai
Laying on my stomach
Elbows tucked under
Prop me perpendicular
Wires tracing from my ears
Little veins
Pulsing with blood melody
Words, clots, leukocytes
In rhythm
Frenzied fingers
Mapping out arrows
On the mousepad
Computer whirs and buzzes
Clicks
A plasma screen dolphin
Springs up a page
New York Times, 4:49 p.m.
Just in
Black and white and read
All over
Gunmen in Mumbai hotels
Peppering the guests
Hole here, hole there
Connect the dots, children,
A hole in mommy, a hole in grandpa
Tears, acid rain
Along my fat white cheeks
Falling into the cracks on the silver keyboard
Plaque's built up in the blood wires
I don't hear a thing
Connect the dots, children
Elbows tucked under
Prop me perpendicular
Wires tracing from my ears
Little veins
Pulsing with blood melody
Words, clots, leukocytes
In rhythm
Frenzied fingers
Mapping out arrows
On the mousepad
Computer whirs and buzzes
Clicks
A plasma screen dolphin
Springs up a page
New York Times, 4:49 p.m.
Just in
Black and white and read
All over
Gunmen in Mumbai hotels
Peppering the guests
Hole here, hole there
Connect the dots, children,
A hole in mommy, a hole in grandpa
Tears, acid rain
Along my fat white cheeks
Falling into the cracks on the silver keyboard
Plaque's built up in the blood wires
I don't hear a thing
Connect the dots, children
Walking Along With a Mind Cluttered
walking along with a mind cluttered with full hangers and stuffed boxes of old junk and useful keepsakes peeling scrapbooks and chipping faces of dolls one has to employ a flashlight to find anything or else give up and shut the doors walking along as a self a whole a closet full of life
Untitled
Sometimes unexpected things happen.
Your eyelashes flutter
against your cheeks,
And I never planned for it
To take my breath
away
In my clouded expanse of fear
When you sat
down
Beside me
I never planned to take your hand
And fold my heart.
We talk simply during simple moments,
But when I am left with a void
and wild silence,
I never thought I would long to hear your simple voice.
Sometimes unexpected thin
gs happen.
But they are the things that take our breath
away
Fold our hearts
And fill the longings
of silence.
Your eyelashes flutter
against your cheeks,
And I never planned for it
To take my breath
away
In my clouded expanse of fear
When you sat
down
Beside me
I never planned to take your hand
And fold my heart.
We talk simply during simple moments,
But when I am left with a void
and wild silence,
I never thought I would long to hear your simple voice.
Sometimes unexpected thin
gs happen.
But they are the things that take our breath
away
Fold our hearts
And fill the longings
of silence.
Hits to the Head
Pulled taught
the drum head
and his skin against his bones
a single hit
wood against drum a pulse
his veins cold winding up
his arms
and how the cymbals
shiver
i listen, they trickle down my spine
he stands
outside in frigid weather
smoke from his lips, shivering to
his head
oh but louder now, the drums
in heavy blocks of time rage
shooting streaming
as tears of fury
shaking, hurting
his body trembling
pulled taught
the drum head
and his life stretched thin
and short
from hits to the head
the drum head
and his skin against his bones
a single hit
wood against drum a pulse
his veins cold winding up
his arms
and how the cymbals
shiver
i listen, they trickle down my spine
he stands
outside in frigid weather
smoke from his lips, shivering to
his head
oh but louder now, the drums
in heavy blocks of time rage
shooting streaming
as tears of fury
shaking, hurting
his body trembling
pulled taught
the drum head
and his life stretched thin
and short
from hits to the head
Grandmother
The stone arch blocks the sky,
A ceiling to the world.
And the blocks upon blocks are immovable,
With only a small doorway--
One path--
To penetrate the decaying enclosure.
But vines,
With their tense trickling fingers,
Reach up the arch like prayers.
They have only up to go,
Or lie dormant in the soil,
Never to bear fruit.
And amidst the clouds of flowers,
She stands:
A curtsey on her lips,
A kiss in her eyes.
With her arms white and soft,
With pearls on her neck,
She is beautiful.
Beneath the stone arch,
She grows,
Her prayers white and radiating,
Her heart red with petals,
And all behind the black and white,
Of photographs,
A blue sky--
Endless and vast,
Peeping
Through the archway.
A ceiling to the world.
And the blocks upon blocks are immovable,
With only a small doorway--
One path--
To penetrate the decaying enclosure.
But vines,
With their tense trickling fingers,
Reach up the arch like prayers.
They have only up to go,
Or lie dormant in the soil,
Never to bear fruit.
And amidst the clouds of flowers,
She stands:
A curtsey on her lips,
A kiss in her eyes.
With her arms white and soft,
With pearls on her neck,
She is beautiful.
Beneath the stone arch,
She grows,
Her prayers white and radiating,
Her heart red with petals,
And all behind the black and white,
Of photographs,
A blue sky--
Endless and vast,
Peeping
Through the archway.
Autumn Walk into a Building
Out of the car
Sweater limp
I wrap it tight
It's the air
Like broken glass
Sharp and glittering
The cement is
Dirty mud
Frosted over
Tissue paper leaves
The rubber cement
peeling
From the cardboard
Bark
One two
They fall
Sweater limp
I wrap it tight
It's the air
Like broken glass
Sharp and glittering
The cement is
Dirty mud
Frosted over
Tissue paper leaves
The rubber cement
peeling
From the cardboard
Bark
One two
They fall
Henna Song
She sang a song like henna:
Thin and red,
It climbed up from the ground.
Up my legs in vines,
Punctuated by curls of
Wet dyes.
I felt the paint brush,
Cool and submissive to my arm.
And her song decorated me,
With imprints of marriage,
The blood of the blooms,
Which die for ceremony.
Her words were stained
With henna blood from marriage.
And no color left beneath the dye.
For its vines had clutched her throat,
Like a ring on a finger.
Thin and red,
It climbed up from the ground.
Up my legs in vines,
Punctuated by curls of
Wet dyes.
I felt the paint brush,
Cool and submissive to my arm.
And her song decorated me,
With imprints of marriage,
The blood of the blooms,
Which die for ceremony.
Her words were stained
With henna blood from marriage.
And no color left beneath the dye.
For its vines had clutched her throat,
Like a ring on a finger.
Sonnet
When time stretched out its hand and beckoned coy,
I sighed and blushed and fluttered with my youth,
And followed swift the red autumnal joy,
That with its gold deceives the mind as proof.
Yet yonder so the groves began to whither,
And with the rising moon proved naught but pain.
Time binds the hands with rings of traitor silver,
Commitments to pale blush of winter rain.
I lost the sweet repose of tender spring,
Fair Romeo's face I passed as it were stone.
Inconstant moon, I swore by thee as living,
And found thy light alone in Juliet's tomb.
Love's youthful blush to pallid fate thus drains,
Ne'er to know the sighs of summer rains.
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