February 2012
40 posts
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Ecology
Slowly we began to write the weather, pages and pages of rain, and snow fell down in torrents; puddles of words that we splashed about in playfully— —followed by drought empty space, the page like an open sky where we could breathe again, rest our limbs on the spines of books, with only the most delicate lilting phrases like open meadows to let our minds run free.
And outside, the...
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Nostalgia
In between every shadow,
You lay like the sun, at rest
You seep into every memory,
every photograph finds you
Reflected within it,
even when you were never there.
And all the dreams I have
Are open invitations,
My mind, a stage without actors
Set To draw you in
Do you remember the gesture?
Do you remember the words?
Perhaps you never said them,
But if you speak now,
It will be full...
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Unexplored
Do you cover your head, when you enter when you walk between the walls of this long hall comprised of waiting faces? Expectant, full of awe breath held, there at the doorway for the voice I heard speaking in the night. Was I awake or asleep? Now, I am waiting for what may pass the threshold and uncover itself with the dawn Now I am waiting for what may pass the threshold and into my waiting...
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In Defense of Love Poetry
There is only one story that does not grow old it is ours— Like a weight so heavy we are compelled to speak it to enact it’s ageless choreography to wear it’s masks of longing and desire to intone it’s eternal words that, like keys rend our chests apart spilling our secrets for the world to see quickening our blood thickening our tongues in panic and delight. Like this the story goes—...
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Fawn
Last night I dreamt of a fawn
In a cool mountain hollow,
And I was the wolf;
I smelled the warm dew
On her soft pelt,
Sensed the tremor of her haunches
As she clamored up a rocky
terrace, seeking safety atop
An Airless mountain peak.
My own breath was hot
And labored with anticipation,
My nostrils full of her
Musky scent
As I stalked her
Through the lifeless branches
Of a dry...
First Lines: Fernando Pessoa - The Book of...
lyssahumana:
I was born in a time when the majority of young people had lost faith in God, for the same reason their elders had had it - without knowing why.
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They Make Mirrors
They make mirrors Of themselves And hold them each To the other examining The curl of the lip The symmetry of the eyes, slightly off They compare the imperfections in the genes They hand each To the other small gifts Of inadequacies, with bows And ribbons They paint the faces of mirrors They grease the lenses of every camera Leaving only gauze and shadowplay They Tell their flaws to be tricks of...
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“Gazing at the faces of the horses and the people, at this boundless stream of...”
– Ghengis Khan
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IN SEARCH OF THE YOUNG WIZARD- HARRY CROSBY
I have invited our little seamstress to take her thread and needle and sew our two mouths together. I have asked the village blacksmith to forge golden chains to tie our ankles together. I have gathered all the gay ribbons in the world to wind around and around and around and around and around and around again around our two waists. I have arranged with the coiffeur for your hair to be made to...
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OPENNESS by Wislawa Szymborska
translated by Joanna Trzeciak
OPENNESS Here we are, naked lovers, beautiful to each other—and that’s enough. The leaves of our eyelids our only covers, we’re lying amidst deep night. But they know about us, they know, the four corners, and the chairs nearby us. Discerning shadows also know, and even the table keeps quiet. Our teacups know full well why the tea is getting cold. And...
January 2012
50 posts
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Cartographer
His dreams were an ancient map that he could fold and bring two distant points to touch And when they touched these distant points all that connected them would illuminate; highways that cut through mountains and cities that lay in basins they would all rejoice without knowing why All this by folding the map in his dream, like a child book story, this is how he accounted for the happiness in...
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