I’m writing to you from the heart of L.A.
Because my healing process
Just isn’t going the way
I imagined.
I’m having trouble, you see,
With shedding this body, of me,
Because I can still see the imprints of your kisses
And feel the soft dance of your fingertips
Across my skin.
I try to do anything random
To make me happy;
Driving through neighborhoods in Rosemead,
Having my chakras aligned at a random sound bath therapy,
Driving to Long Beach just to write by the sea,
Picking lemons and oranges from the citrus trees
Within my favorite park,
Because when I pour their juices over my broken heart,
The sting brings a feeling, or a memory,
That only you could ignite in me after dark.
Everything I do, I do with the thought of you
And that’s strange for me to admit because
Even after all the California earthquakes you shifted
My grounds to,
And all the pink noise I try to drown thoughts of you out to;
Like driving late at night down Sunset and Vine
While my brother talks to me
About his favorite rapper’s documentary
But I’m only half listening
Because I’m too distracted
About what I’ve just learned about Van Gogh,
He only ever sold one painting in his lifetime
So you can imagine how emotional I get each time
I question why, why I do this
Why I try,
When nobody reads these melancholic thoughts of mine.
However throughout all of this,
There’s one thought that won’t run away from me;
It only talks about how much
I love you

M.H. John

The beach would be great

if it did not shine so much --


from the blazing sun.

Looking back at another year,
Being thankful for things far and near.
The horizon has never been this bright,
The sea of love brimming with glorious light.

Looking back at another year,
Grateful for things small and dear.
Possibilities like soft molding sand,
Hope of adventures crossing sea and land.

It’s lovely to live on a boat
So mobile a dwelling and remote,
But beaching in sand
To dock on dry land,
Is nicer than bobbing afloat.

It was windy today
I did not walk alone on the beach
or hear its many creaks and groans
the watery moans of margin land
where sea becomes sand, and tide becomes sky
I sat in the car to keep myself dry
and watch the squawking seabirds fly
battling the wind for scraps
thrown and trapped in a playful breeze
which dropped and then continued to tease
litter turned to crisp packet sails
that danced and skipped in the stinging air
with a grace and freedom I could not share
all the same I’m glad I was there

Soft falls the light,
not sea nor beach nor seabird wandering sky
it is by nature separate and entirely of itself
edged in sand, a yellow shade of rippled countenance
not exactly day nor coming night
although the evening tide has lately been
it is a colour somewhere in-between

Tread the line between sea and sand
hold the wind, take its hand
let it out
anyway you choose
walk a mile in the ocean's shoes