A little pre-LCCMF musical musing...
Seldom can I find the words to express my true intentions, and I often let phrases slip from my lips like little bullets to shoot the conversation dead. I'll watch the subject matter fall to the ground and in one last attempt to resuscitate it, I will apologize for my inability to be a social butterfly. In doing so, I lodge another bullet deep into the heart of the matter. I make a promise to myself to be silent, observant, and to keep any ideas contained. This is a vow I keep for all of three minutes, until the topic changes again and I find myself bursting to add my voice. My lips once again become the smoking gun, and I the shell-shocked girl whose finger slipped on the trigger.
If it were up to me, I would speak in phrases solely musical. Throbbing chords and drawn out bass notes and flighty arpeggios that pull bystanders in and drag them under, all expressing my intentions perfectly. Excitement would be expressed by a trilling flute rather than high pitched chatter and my melancholy complaints would be written in the air by low, slow cello strokes as opposed to choked whining phrases. No fumbled bullets here, just truth, and everyone would always understand because the international sign for happiness is a C Major chord.
Sadly, I was given vocal cords instead of a symphony, predetermined notes that always seem to fail me when I need them most. Instead of a graceful melody, the only noise I can make is dissonance, a sound remarkably similar to the shot of a gun.
It didn't rain today.
We all thought it would.
The whole village stood in the square,
between all the houses,
for the sky to break.
The clouds were black there,
swooping like vultures
but giving us nothing except empty hope.
fell from the sky.
We all watched it sail down
slowly Read more »
Perhaps it was the clams
who stole the
from the loner green oyster
who couldn’t hold a note underwater
if its place in the sand depended on it.
Perhaps it was the solemn starfish
who choked on
seaweed Read more »
You're in trouble, kid. Busted. Grounded. Toast.
Maybe we pushed you forward but it's you who crossed the line. It's you who've been shut up in your room all week doing God-knows-what, coming out God-knows-when but never when we were around, coming out to eat and use the bathroom but always slinking back into what you shouldn't have to think of as a refuge. A refuge from what? Your family? Read more »
The only thing that kept
me from bolting from that
church was him
his hand in mine
and his face
and his smile and his shoulder
his shoulder that I rested my head on.
The only thing that kept me
from excusing myself and
politely sprinting from that room
was him sitting with me while
everyone else stood and
sang, and sat, and stood, and
never moving away from me Read more »
My sunburn skin is peeling
alone and I thought you'd be here
to pick me fresh
in the mid-afternoon but
the bed is unmade again
and our wine glasses, flutes and stems
that soaked in and made patterns on the carpet
like when you nursed me back to health
in a Saudi compound in 1991
kissed my bile clean as dirty love
(or was that just on the television?
but aren't we every late night black/white film?)
I'm no innocent Read more »
They say when you die all your lost loved ones come to greet you. But do they mean the people you love, or the people who love you?
Because here I am, lying on this floor, scribling out this one last message to you, and I hope it's not a mistake.
Don't be afraid by my words; actually, I hope you're comforted. Read more »
You know how there is an infinite amount of numbers
that stretch on forever, and then,
in between one and two there is another infinite amount of numbers again?
Well, driving down that water-logged street I could feel all of them
--along with every pot hole between you and me. Read more »
I found it
in stray shoeboxes
left on the floor until someone
stepped on them,
breaking the cardboard shells.
and smiley faces
with extra dots that turn into
awkward alien smiley faces
written down on paper
next to the words.
These are the things
I kept in those boxes,
along with the names
of the days
that were either good or bad.
Names of the people
who are either good or bad. Read more »
You were probably too
fastmoving for windows
positioned in a corner
locking you out
locking you in.
so green as that
day when your infantile
hands reached up &
over the bars of your crib
(you always had a taste for freedom).
You wanted to be
fastmoving like the light
like the sun
like the stars.
(i think) it was in the wind the rain
on black days that
you wrote the sad poetry
(yellow paper running ink a blue-eyed boy)
and (i think) i loved too much &
too little (things and people and hearing my name) to
the faces i need are not
the places i need
nor are they in the places i need
to be in
i'll (maybe) sit in melancholic universe-threads
while you tell me which
new york school to
choose and be (and live)
as if i'm breaking little parts
to get the bigger ones as if
we all deal in and
i just put the broken things (always) in
my dresser or
You like me,
I like him,
He likes her,
She likes you.
She likes you,
But you like another,
He likes me,
And I like the other.
I think we're friends,
You think we're more,
He thinks they're friends,
But she wants to be more.
Annoying, and crazy,
The whole situation's a little bit hazey.
my younger childhood years sit
gently on the rack,
waiting for more plesasure
to be had.
now being more grown up
is fun and all,
but sometimes it just gets boring,
so I put my childhood on.
my childhood is pink and purple
with swirls and designs,
with a twist of bananna,
now ain't that just
With some beads here
doodles and scetches,
EVERYWHERE! Read more »
I have been climbing this staircase for the past ten years
The winds still howls through the cracks brick in that same lonely way.
You think you'd get used to it. Well-
You do and you don't
Still that same song that wakes you up at night
Almost- almost a comfort sometimes.
They say a lot can change in a year. Funny, how they never say
I have learned even less
about these new types of love and loss.
And I have hated, and gained Read more »
Early Sunday morning, hushed
by the air-conditioned chill of her grandfather’s flower shop,
she, no longer a child, but still so young
she has never been kissed,
watches rare blue roses fan open their fingers
like ultraviolet ghosts.
Amid their more conventional cousins
(Christ’s Blood red, Virgin white)
they are surreal, and
it would be easy to believe
what her grandmother told her:
Dishonest knives and tainted tinted water
made them like this.
The shop is still, its ceiling heavy and muffling. Read more »
Who Who,Who who.
They begin there ballet.
Silent they are as they prowl Read more »
Uncross your eyes and the stars will align.
There are no starcrossed lovers;
only crosseyed stargazers.
I Talk Softly
for fear the wind will hear me
and carry my voice
whispering it to the trees
The birds listen in
flying my words to the mountains
setting them free
They float softly down
nestling in the snow
staying there forever
So I talk softly
In the chipped paint & overgrown violets
of half-abandoned houses;
I'm dancing at the fringes,
trailing my fingers along
and neglected vines. Read more »
It was a
Warm summer day. Not those days that
Are unbearably hot, but
Simply a lovely temperature. I had
Gotten a frozen smoothie,
I was sitting against a tree trunk,
Not having a care in the world. I heard a
Gong ring in
The distance, and
Of course it made
Me think of you.
Already I missed you, and I
Knew you would be back in two weeks, but
Even one day without you was Read more »
Stories are just that,
the bones of poetry and secrets
into which we build our lives.
Do you remember
the stories from your childhood
do you -
ever let those musty books
take purchase in your mind?
Do you ever let those figures
the bones of creation,
the archetypes of nascence,
to be filled in by the
flesh and faces
of real time? Read more »