1990 -   
A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep.
Salman Rushdie
A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep.
Salman Rushdie
Kyoko Conne
Kyoko Conne
Jul 13, 2012

The dusty girl quietly desires the rain
Where is the old window?
Exhaustion, action, and love.
O, desolation!
All jackhammers desire small, dead flowers.
Why does the window gab?
Lights talk like dark powers.

Death is a rainy job.
Noise is a small street.
Dark, faceless cars calmly grab a hot, noisy jackhammer.
All flowers love grimy, faceless workers.
Why does the light shrink?

Kyoko Conne
Kyoko Conne
Oct 2, 2011

Let me take you up the mountain
I'll hold your hand if you get tired
I'll carry your bag and lead the way
We can stop and rest
While time goes by
I just want to go with you
Where the rock meets the sky
And feel powerful with you by my side
I want to stand together at the roof of the world
and let the alpine wind blow threw us
Let me take you up the mountain
So that I can show you the part of me
That is
Let me share this with you
This sacred moment
This glorious love.

Not so sure where I was going with this one :P
Any advice and critiques are most welcome.
Kyoko Conne
Kyoko Conne
Sep 14, 2010

Here we are our hands reaching to the heavens
Here we stand reaching down to the earth
Here we are amongst our human family
Here we lay with our creature brothers
Our creature sisters
Here are our hands clasped with another's
Taking and giving the support of friendship

  So mote it be

Kyoko Conne
Kyoko Conne
Sep 8, 2010

He had the most beautiful voice. Not a singing kind of thing, the kind that would set angels gossiping, he couldn't hold a note but a doing kind of thing.

His voice had lead people to realize that they are important despite what others tell them.

His voice had sung the praises of millions who thought they had nothing to show.

His voice held reverence for the earth.

His voice talked of the mothers the the way some men talk of gods.

His voice accepted people for who they were and not who they were said to be.

His voice contained love.

His voice contained wisdom.

His voice demanded justice.

His voice spoke of peace

His voice carried a message of tolerance.

His voice chanted the names of people who died for someone they loved.

His voice contained rebellion.

His voice contained inspiration.

His voice was ripped from him and stuffed in a box marked treason.

And although his voice was now chained and mute the world did not fall into silence.

Others had taken up the call.

Other voices had broken from their monotone and busted out with their unique way of speaking.

Because his voice had contained pride.

Kyoko Conne
Kyoko Conne
Sep 4, 2010

Regardless of who we are
Regardless of what we do
It remains undeniable
That we were loved
It's that love that kept us human
It's that love that kept us sane
I'm a person
And damn it
I love you

Kyoko Conne
Kyoko Conne
Sep 3, 2010

I'm lying on my back, nestled into a hollow that the ground made.
The long grasses lean into the hole and tickle my face as if tucking me in for a good nights rest.
The grasses create a musty aroma from the past night's rain that lulls me into a state of drowsiness.
A small breeze builds up into something larger and whistles through the grass carrying new scents to my spoiled nose.
There is a muddy smell carried up from the creek beds and the sweet smell of wild flowers.
The field is wide and when standing up I feel very small and lost.
When I am lying in my hollow, it appears as if the world closes in around me leaving me protected and swaddled like a baby.
The sky however seems large from any view.
When I am lying on my back the sky consumes my vision I can feel my eyes widen on their own just to attempt to take in the enormity of it.
I've always lived in the city, a place where you are lucky to see stars, so space tends to frighten me.
The best word I can come up with when describing the sky is space, except, when there are clouds.
The clouds here are so white, not at like the dirty gray blanket that hangs over my city. These clouds are small, friendly and perfectly formed.
They are not large enough to be frightening themselves but float in and break up the continuous expanse of space.
Then they make pictures for me.
I could look forever.
It's amazing that there are places like this.

Kyoko Conne
Kyoko Conne
Mar 6, 2010

When we are young
We can see whatever we want to.
We can be whoever we want to.
We can do whatever we want to.
As infants we are taught to walk so that we might run.
We are taught to speak so that we might yell.
When we are children we run and we yell a lot.

When we are children we have an entire world of our own choosing.
It is then that we create ourselves.
Only as children are our minds open enough to allow our true selves to come in.
It is only in childhood that we can honestly laugh at ourselves.

When we are young we do not accept limitations.
If we want to fly we do.
If we want to rule a kingdom we will.
It’s simple and clean.

It’s surprising that something that had such a large impact on who we are would be so easily forgotten.

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