If your body were made of the cement outside my house I’d write you love poems in chalk and lay my body down on the sidewalk to be able to talk to you. I’d place my ear to your hot surface on a summer day to hear you whisper to me. Treading lightly- I’d be careful not to scuff your surface by dragging feet. If kids spit gum out sticking to you and turning you gray, I’d spend ours outside with a chisel scraping you sparkly clean. But you wouldn’t be like sidewalks downtown that glitter as if the act of sparkling takes away the grime and crack cocaine residue.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
SIDEWALK
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
My Beautiful Scar
Tracing the dance of the needle in my skin I wonder why we choose to scar ourselves.
I wonder why we fall in love, and put ourselves through avoidable hells
With emotions cast upon us like evil spells, and the needle dwells in my back
Try not to react, yet shudders break my concentration like thunder
Shudders break my concentration like you walking into the room.
Shudders break my concentration like-
OM
And my beautiful scar resides with my heart
Reminding me that no matter the situation
No matter the heartbreak and devastation-
I am Gracious Harmony
I am one with the Universe
And all I have to do to converse with her
Is
OM
Hunched over the cold metal chair I-
OM
And though I cant see him my mind sees the lines being engraved forever in my pores like ancient drawing in caves.
And though I cant see it, the flower which lives between my shoulder blades in constant bloom is one of passion-
And I know my passions are always in bloom trying to keep the balance between my mind and my heart- remembering to leave room
My teeth chatter and my focus is obstructed
A violent vibration through the core of me
Pulse palpitation while you pledge your love for me
Try not to react but shudders break my concentration like thunder
Try not to react but shudders break my concentration like-
And I remember to breath deeply into my heart chakra and-
OOOOOMMMMMM
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Ah to love
"Those wounded in love, unlike those wounded in armed conflict, are neither victims nor torturers. They chose something that is part of life, and so they have to accept both the agony and the ecstasy of their choice.
And those who have never been wounded in love will never be able to say: “I have lived”. Because they haven’t. (Paulo Coelho)"
Marinate on that.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Down On Me
I am raising suns & orange moons
Searching for traces of God in ruins, twisted up and woven between blades of grass.
And I day dream of the past moving like molasses
Ring around the rosy around & around & around my last man.
Evaporation of so many plans. Crumble into millions, millions broken into trillions crowding, irritating every crevice of me like sand.
I miss you like I love sex on the beach.
I miss you like I love to each a peach.
You moved me with the power of a Dr. King speech.
I’m raising suns & orange moons
I’m raising sand and hell and I mine as well raise myself too.
After so much spent on raising you.
But we’re movin on up like elevators in this world baby
I descend down to get grounded to my earth, and swells of you break fourth within me and rain down on me.
Love rain down on me.
I am setting suns & blue moons
Hues of human love blend from red to rust & blue to a melancholy shade of dust.
Yet we will transcend, our heart and mind bend to reach to some higher understanding of
Purple.
I get high above the city.
I sit high above the city.
Casting light, my love is plenty.
I think about the man I’ll love
And how he’ll bring me flowers, just because they’re pretty.
I sing high above the city.
Twinkling lights fade in & out as my eyes go blurry.
I smile to our mother moon
Because I know my love is coming soon.
I know
My Love
Is coming soon.
Love
rain
down
on
me.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
The Collector
Monday, June 21, 2010
Lady Sings The Truth
Them that's got shall get
Them that's not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don't ever make the grade
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Money, you've got lots of friends
Crowding round the door
When you're gone, spending ends
They don't come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But don't take too much
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
Mama may have, Papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own
He just worry 'bout nothin'
Cause he's got his own
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQgzEQhtTm4
Friday, June 11, 2010
Breaking up is like a death
It's okay for your heart to break.
it regenerates itself-
like a lizards tail or a star fish. If you cut off one of a sea star's legs, it will grow back. If you cut all 5 off, each piece will generate a whole new star fish and the nubby center does too! So there was a coastal town trying to control their over population of star fish; they captured a bunch, cut them in half and threw them back... The population doubled.
what is my point?
I don't know.
maybe something about an abundance of love in the universe...
I'm exhausted and trying to come to terms with the self induced only socially acceptable psychosis we call Romantic Love.
We have made of romantic love a beautiful picture in a frame encrusted in rubies and diamonds. Never forget that those rubies are your blood and those diamonds are your tears.
(A course in miracles)
Ephemera -- William Butler Yeats |
„Your eyes that once were never weary of mine | |
Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids, | |
Because our love is waning.“ | |
And then she: | |
„Although our love is waning, let us stand | |
By the lone border of the lake once more, | |
Together in that hour of gentleness | |
When the poor tired child, Passion, falls asleep: | |
How far away the stars seem, and how far | |
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!“ | |
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves, | |
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied: | |
„Passion has often worn our wandering hearts.“ | |
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves | |
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once | |
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path; | |
Autumn was over him: and now they stood | |
On the lone border of the lake once more: | |
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves | |
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes, | |
In bosom and hair. | |
„Ah, do not mourn,“ he said, | |
„That we are tired, for other loves await us; | |
Hate on and love through unrepining hours. | |
Before us lies eternity; our souls | |
Are love, and a continual farewell.“ |