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 Posted: Thu Mar 01, 2007 3:09 pm
76. Broken Pieces.
I’m picking up
the pieces
of a fabricated life.
______________________________________
Author's Comments:
---
Sometimes, in our most lonely days, we need to create things in order to survive. This does not mean that Lily does not exist, she does, but not on this plane. Her galaxy is far too big to have had a place on this earth.
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Posted: Thu Mar 01, 2007 3:10 pm
77. Test.
So count me the honey
or send
a trail of men.
I’ve begun a test
to prove her existence.
You
will not escape
again.
_____________________________________
Author's Comments:
--
I'm just not who I'm supposed to be.
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Posted: Thu Mar 01, 2007 3:11 pm
78. Drink
Strange how
those old habits
always creep up
when you’re backed into a corner.
_____________________________________
Author's Comments:
---
"This key is to your kingdom
This key is to your heart
Neither one is a doorway
But both of them a part"
- Matthew Good, "Avalanche"
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Posted: Thu Mar 01, 2007 3:12 pm
79. Starvation.
1.
Somebody
should have taught you
hearts are not
like acrobats
who bend and twist
but never break.
2.
There are limits
to unconditional
love.
One cannot
give completely
to another
because
one cannot
be complete
without receiving.
3.
And your voice
has travelled surfaces
that were not prepared.
4.
The clock tick tocks
while birds flock
to a warmer climate.
5.
In an instant
windows will smash
doorways will close
and you’ll be left without
a harmless escape route.
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Posted: Mon Mar 05, 2007 3:45 am
80. Words.
1.
The movements
of your mouth
could melt a heart;
and we’d both be left
drowning in a pool
drenched in blood.
2.
The movements
of your mouth
would present a death;
your sorry is vacant
because you’ve rehearsed
those lines before.
3.
The movements
of your mouth
could line us up;
as one by one
we march towards
the freedom of an end.
4.
The movements
of your mouth
would stop a ship;
you cannot return home
if you never knew
the place to begin with.
__________________________________________
Author's Comments
There are options everytime we open our mouths.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:23 pm
81. Pen and Paper.
Lily,
If I could, I would take you back to days of sunshine.
Open roads, open air, and open hearts.
You are not the thread that tattered, you are the one that held together through the storm. Passion defined you; though misdirection carried it. You are not the mirror, you are the doorway. People walked through, walked over, and walked on, but you did not change your resting place. The cliff wasn’t as strong as you thought; your fingers never slipped, but you fell anyway.
You struggle with words; afraid of their own meaning. Interpretation is based on reflection. Where you see a gate, others may see a prison.
Stranger Music is the bible of tourists. (Temporary or lifetime.) And I will not forget the night you told me Cohen was not just a writer because “hearts are the paper he leaves an imprint on. Once he’s in, you cannot rub him out.”
Shadows kept creeping up long after the flashlight no longer shined. Lighthouses signalled danger, but you carried on. And I remember how you treated each road sign as God incarnated. Each one a gift from heaven; proving we were actually going somewhere. On an empty highway, a heart pounds.
And the Trail of Tears still cries out on hot summer nights, while you learned that history is nothing but generational stains.
You are the stain that tarnished a heart.
__________________________________________
Author's Comments
She is the part you fail to acknowledge.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:26 pm
82. Can you hear me?.
Eshana,
I woke up to a sky on fire.
And for a moment I forgot about Peace and grabbed my helmet.
You are not the pure love you desire. You are conflict. Continuing to fight and struggle even when all the men have fallen. You are not the lingering day, but the mystifying night. Guests are always temporary. The journey was not as you thought; reality is the environment one creates. I was not to be treated as your creation.
You struggle with meaning as you try to invent it every day. But meaning is always lost once there is an effort to produce it.
I remember how you told me Atwood was an imposter because she never learned how to stop. (Stop writing, stop thinking, stop properly.) You laughed and said you admired Zenia but didn’t want her messy ending.
Tracing the story, you went back to the roots. You saw the eggshells but continued to move forward. Each generation has further separated you from them. You will always be a tourist, never their family; the threads have spilt.
And the Earth cries out one last time while you dip your feet into a rushing river.
I feel like water on a hot summer day:
Evaporating due to desperation.
__________________________________________
Author's Comments
She is the part you grasp onto too tightly.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:28 pm
83. Heal.
1. North
The tribes have spoken your name, Gaia.
And if your roots
should find their way
into my womb,
I will once again
dig my hands
into your core.
I do not deny your lasting impression.
Our Book of Shadows
will hold your tale
long after the masses have forgotten.
The thumping of hearts
has shifted the land.
I feel them marching
back to the beginning.
The chorus of feet
all driven by a desire to let go.
2.East
Mountains have heard the echos
of breaking silence.
Telling tales to starving air,
she left her heart out to dry.
Fairies have cut the ties
that bind her to the chronicle.
His fist
no longer clenched
around her soul.
3.South
Fever has sunk into our bones.
A brittle ache
from a world on fire.
Peel the onion back
a little farther,
eyes may burn
but the truth
will be preserved.
Unable to find permanence
she became an arsonist.
Running faster
from each disaster
as if she felt the burn
of home.
4. West
And there will be a time
when the pressure is too great,
that we will all dive under;
sink in
to our dreams.
__________________________________________
Author's Comments
A couple weeks ago, I went to see the Kodo Drummers and during that night, something in me was stirred. Since then I have been doing all I can to get closer to the Earth and the elements.
I feel they are the only true healers.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:33 pm
84. Out Cold.
You couldn't sleep
but you left the room on fire
if only you'd learnt geography
you'd see how empty hearts can be
on days
........when
........frost covers windows
........covers your traveling breath
until the ice melts
and spring is delivered
by clouds no longer
........blocking the sun
........blocking your hands from
reaching out to flesh
I took in his green eyes
........like windows,
........like doors,
........eyes that left you
........wanting more
until car doors slammed
and you were left
........without an escape route
........without a brake pedal without
telling him how some days
Sundays are heavier than
Mondays, they
........crawl in
........creep out, and
leave you on bathroom tiles
........with doors shut
........and rib cages open
while he reaches in
........and tells you
........you're not speaking
........and you're not listening
........you're not
listening
........to lovebeats,
........heartbeats,
........hearts eating hearts
as you slide your way
into the doorway
so he can get a better view
........of windows
........covered in frost
........covered in traveling breath
while you ache
on Sunday
waiting for Monday
to clear the fog.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:35 pm
85. Spiral.
Like a cat chasing
fingers that scramble, you are
spun out and breathless.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:37 pm
86. Seeing Red.
You were
a little girl trusting
a little boy thrusting.
__________________________________________
Author's Comments
It's short, but this is all that needs to be said.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:38 pm
87. Food.
They bring meals
one by one,
shift after shift,
but offer me nothing.
Counting window messages,
I mark off days
til apathy
is no longer a state.
And she will smile
one last time,
before they extract
her out from me.
__________________________________________
Author's Comments
"Good morning
Don't cop out
You crawled from the cancer to land on your feet
Are you crazy to want this
Even for a while?
We're making this s**t up
The reasons for being are easy to pay
You can't remember the others
They just kind of went away
So you're driving, it's rush hour
The cars on the freeway are moving like slugs
When you drift off to wake up
Do you always hit the brakes?
We're done lying for a living
The strange days have come and you're gone
Either dead or dying
Either dead or trying to go
It's evening, you're tired
You sleep walk, a robot out to the street
Are you crazy to want this, even for a while?
You're driving, it's rush hour
The cars on the freeway are moving backwards
Into a wall of fire
Backwards
Into a wall of fire
We're done lying for a living
The strange days have come and you're gone
You're gone
Either dead or dying
Either dead or trying to go
Good morning
Don't cop out"
- Matthew Good Band, "Strange Days"
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:39 pm
88. Pain.
The Rastas removed the restraints
from Zion and restored love
into the shriveled corners
of an earth left pounding
for something higher.
I have counted seeds,
and waited on
weather patterns
for a sign of a return.
The fires have not died down
and the burning fields
have left us without a space
to escape.
My brothers have not been kind.
My sisters, worse; hardened
by the stealing of fellow tribes.
And She,
the last hand held,
vanished into the vapour,
forgetting we were
all that was left
of America on Fire.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 8:42 pm
89. Through the Fire.
Hey Venus,
I've saved a place for you on the grapevine.
Charlie Brown
has taught me all I know
about you.
Ashes have risen from the surface
of my skin
leaving traces on the Beloved.
She cannot pick up your satellite.
This is not a 1,2, step,
but more of a 5,6,7,8.
I cannot forget
the girls you ate.
Lost in your swirl
I have stroked
the cat's back,
forming mirrors of waves
on a built up plaque.
This is not
your space to fill;
we are not
clawing at your territory.
And so Medusa will attest
to the aborted
woman
who lost herself
in the confessional,
that the beauty
of this Gift
is found only in the details.
All the while,
we are left circling
barren land.
__________________________________________
Author's Comments
“I wish she had been on Pele, cause I think it would have been kinda cool for a volcano to say, This is cooling faster than I can.”
- Tori Amos.
--
She wouldn't let me open the project,
and didn't want me to write her tonight.
But I did it anyway,
there's always a way to get around her barrier.
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Posted: Fri Jun 15, 2007 9:21 pm
90. Triangle.
And your Tibetan
singing bowls turned us into
quite simply; echoes.
__________________________________________
Author's Comments
A triangle has three sides
This poem has three lines
--
omg omg omg 90! Which means I only have 9 more themes until I am complete!
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