Thursday, January 05, 2006

I’ve awakened by a shining

I’ve awakened by a shining,

Casual and mystic rhyming!

Carving brilliant scars of hope,

In poems sung with endless scope!

Awake my fire, eyes baptized,

Today,

Illuminate the skies!
Leaving rifts of waking grace,

Inside our time of wasted days!

Awakened to a silken rapture,

Born of will, born to recapture!

Storming corners left unseen,

To wake us up from all our sleep!

Wake this day!

Wake this moment!

In this motion, we were was chosen!

Waves of stardust carried on,

From inside our buried songs!

Feel this lifetime!

Feel this chance!

Feel the pulsing of this dance!

This cosmic plan!

This lucid dreams!

Revealed, today, before what seems!

Feel the pulse of splashing hearts!

And see me now -

Ignite this spark!

Awake with me,

Hear this song!

Open up -

And sing along!

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Gift

Gift for the one who has everythingA man once asked me,What do you give the woman who has everything?I had no answer then.
He gave her a cellular phone.I am not sure it was appreciated. Now I can say,Flowers, poems, massages, scented candles, and quality timeWill always do.
But what do you give the loving teacher who has renounced everything?
At first, in my imagination, I kept throwing him in terrible situations,So that I could rescue him and thus prove my affection.Some gratitude.
Then, I thought maybe some ancient worthy manuscript of his favorite author,What value does that have?And would that not just take up space and give him a possession to worry over.Besides, they are currently out of my reach.
Then I thought I would dedicate some book to him, hope it was good And then give him a copy,But that would only give him more work to do.He is already overworked.
A good gift would be something impermanent, Something which required no maintenance or attentionThe answer is the same after million of years, incense.
I then accepted that I would always be in his debt,That I could never return the favor.
All I can do is accept his gift without any affectation or false modesty,Remove the protecting shield I use to keep all the others at bay,And stand naked in front of his loving gaze.
Absorb all his teaching,Make it mine, express it creatively in my life.
I am still shy and not ready,Time is passing.Snap out of it.
Thank you, incense, bow.

Husbands

Husband roach
Sudden summer infestation.Tiny little roaches everywhere.Tears in my eyes.
Forgot all about their status as divine creatures.Smashing and exterminating, I went.
Evening crisis. Found a live one in my bed!
Morning crisis.Found a dead one in my bed!
Horror!
At once I thought, how ungratefulNo live man up to the job.And you, tiny little insect took to the enormous task,And lost your life overwhelmed by the size of your belle.
You died trying, courageous hero.Facing an impossible love affair,Unrequited love,You moved boldly in a doomed attempt.
So loved me, that you gave your life.Thank you.
Condolences to the widow.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Results

Thanks to Kyle....HI KYLE!....I have some results from my madlib thing. I was sorely disappointed to find out that nobody answered my oh-so-fun post, so here are the results of the one and only cool person out there. The bold words are the filled in responses.

Grant has been going to the hooker in order to have medical procedures done to his spleen. He even had a swiss army knife in his sphincter and he had to throw in a peanut.
Grant works at Dr. Val?s k9 Crisis Veterinary Center and he makes scissors. He wears army green rubber gloves and drinks too much blue raspberry icee. The dizzy customers really get on his nerves and he wants to falling them all.
Grant is in pet rock school learning to hit film. He wants to work with soft people and make JFK for a living.
Grant has lots of medical problems. These include: gums that have been broken twice, a big toe clogged with scar tissue, a love handle that has sharp burning pain every so often, multiple feathers and police on his hairs at any given time, and a lymph node that is still not healed after a golfing accident.
Grant is dating Lorenna. This upcoming September, they will have been together for 13 years. Lorenna always tells Grant to cut his dumpster, but Grant never listens. At this very moment, Grant's death valley is still horribly sweaty.
Grant is very dead right now and should probably not be sawing on his large pencil. Since that is the case, he is going to run to spoon as soon as this broken Grant is completed.
p.s. I am highly disturbed to find out that my death valley is still horribly sweaty.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

I get serious at night, I think.

Looking back over drafts, & a new longer poem: What is my goal, to go through "the agon," taking the reader with me (which can be, admittedly, confusing), or to step back from it & begin from the place of clearer vision?I'm partial to my agon, of course. I want the experience. & these delineations fall apart in the individual poems. It's just a thought, one I'm sure has run the wheel many times before.But the types of *discourse* are an indication of something. I like having different voices at play. Here removed, there hip-hop, then camp, then a syllogism, then a bit Tennysonian, then the Steinian clip.Is the experience the holding-together factor? I'm so new to this whole thing that I'm just beginning to think about these things & try to make practical with them.The key may be more reading. Keep sending me recs, even if you've done so previously. Books about feminism need not apply. But feminist writers are welcome. Please.with love & wheels, L.