Fine porcelain litters the cloth,
yet a quick pull leaves it still.
An exchange of tails both
holding, careful to not spill.
Our plates remain intact,
despite accidents of gravity.
Clearing the surface momentarily
within arrangements of integrity.
Utensils quickly turning
our tensile accent; I uttered
Vowels to what was heard
repeatedly signed our yearning.
Crank the clock to a few years past
Where I was that ballet dancer
Perched like a bird on a music box
I sang and danced, never getting tired
My key was my prized possession
The thing that kept me winded
So I never became still
And the songs of the birds
Never reached through the window
One day it was open and I finally heard
The trill of the birds, what beauty and perfection
They floated through the clear window
From the sky came the greatest composer's
I realized with a jolt that I was a horror
My voice was emotionless
My songs were the very definition of atrocious
I was a disgrace, compared to the birds
An ugly little nothing with a winded up heart
To keep me going
I became unsure of my talent
And the turning of the key
Just became my habit
I danced and sang but could the birds laughing
I was a silly thing
Who couldn't have a dream of talent,
In fact, why I kept turning and dancing,
Was worthless and clueless,
For I would never be as good as a bird.
Turn the clock to the past back forward
Where I sit, a broken ballet dancer
Lying next to my box
Eternally frozen to stare at the key
And listen to all the birds
Who were better than me.
Are the bridges between bodies
Piled atop pillars of patience and pain
Crafted from countless islands in the sea,
As bodies spoke for themselves—
In the grunt of disapproval,
In the violent gesture of rage.
Are also highways into hearts
Into the icy crevices in your chest
Which burn with a boiling intensity
At the beautiful phrases that melt the hearts
That once hardened with rage
At the fluttering phrases of falsity
And the counting down to silence.
Tunnel to the mind
Sneak in undetected, disguised as beggars,
Merchants of ideas, and not thieves
Of self-esteem and self-love.
Tunnel through the walls,
Baring steel and fire
Hidden beneath cloaks
And beautiful illusions
Which inflamed your heart and
Bridged the space between you
While you lay awake
Adrift at sea.
Which create paragraphs
Infinite arrangements of ideas and meaning
In the silence following submission
To sadness or grief
Words begin to mean
In this vast and empty sea.
Pretty flowers fade
Petals drift to stones
Sand in hour glasses falls
Like blooms, live while time abides
I never thought the two of us would be on this plane
Here we are, diving headfirst into a charade done in vain
Loosely tidying up encounters we remark back on with scoffs
Fun times they were, those sudden acts of lust
If this be another, you will have demolished the last of my trust
There’s nothing worse than the feeling of being used
Manipulate me again, I’ll find another muse
And what we have just done will be another addition to our plain of “fun”
Something consistent is all I desire
Even consistently fondling carries some kind of longing acquired over time
To be longed for, to be desired…
I’m oh so tired of being devoid of the wondrous sensation that fills one with absolute joy…
to where one cannot think straight or hold responsible their foolish acts because it’s all in the name of love
That single word holds so much power, so much meaning, yet is tossed around left and right by those who deserve nothing of it and leave those who possess sincerity to suffer
But there is a lesser form of love; an equally complicated form that has touched me often, yet leaves the ground beneath my feet shaken only temporarily
… except for those Irish eyes…
Now, you have been here before, capturing my eye
Bluntly you can see the spark, yet I’m amazed to know you noticed and didn’t completely fade from my sight
I seem to humor you with my timid presence while you humor me with your strange persona
Typically not a perfect pair, but ultimately compatible
You never cease to amaze me
The words that drip from the ink you hold
to the beautiful arrangements of notes your fingers unfold
Your passion for such an art that moves others in various ways intrigues me
I’m a bit envious, really
I wish I could possess the commitment for something I adored
And the way you convey your thoughts on paper sends shivers down my spine
You were always someone I admired, though I never imagined you wanted to chance your time
Things have changed, we too have evolved
Maybe now nature will make the call
And set the sword in stone for the two of us to pull free
You seem careless now, but what does it hurt to try?
I was born twice.
Once out of my mother in the late winter of 1986 at 1:52pm in the afternoon.
And then again
the day Samantha Li died.
That may sound more dramatic than it is or just as dramatic as it was.
I wasn't a fancy baby. I pooped like all of them. Was a little underweight. Up through high school.
I didn't know her well- Sam. Just a sweet-faced angel with a cloud of black hair and questioning blue eyes who went to my
University. She always looked like a china doll unexpectedly caught in a sale at a vintage clothing shop. She played the violin.
When you lose a skill you've had all your life, things start to morph and mutate. You feel superhuman and alien at the same time.
Waking up with my right arm bones in pieces was the start of my evolution- I became wolverine- flying through the night to
have metal clicked into my arm.
I was lucky to be alive.
4 years later, a surgeon told me people often lose their arms from such an injury. The irony of receiving such news was to
want to punch him in the face with my dominant hand.
That guy dodged a time-delayed bullet.
I grew up with a planned dream woven from music notes and CD cases.
I wore second hand clothes, I drank milk drained from a food-stamp fountain. The kids laughed at me in school. They
circled constantly, questioning my glasses, my shoes, my speech.
But the music inside me was something they never had. It was my boat. Violin was going to get me to the far off shore.
But you'll find- as we grow our dreams change shape. They don't fit into the holes for the pegs our parents carved.
I shunned the 6 hours of solitary scales and Bach.
I sought the Cacophony of improvisation and orchestral arrangements.
You'll never make it here- he said. You want to help people.
So I left Siberia and took up my own vision. As we do.
Now my dreams are putty again. Melted play dough on a radiator shelf.
I have leapt through hoops ringed with fire, smoldering plastic and lies.
Filed the paperwork for a better life.
In 27 I see the lines.
They weren't there that night.
And now they're everywhere. On my arm, over the Adamantium.
At the crinkle in the arch of my nose and eyebrow.
A grey hair at my crown.
How will it come?
When they go? When we finally draw the bottom line.
When she's born?
And when the metal leaves me
and all my bones are earth. That will be the 3rd rebirth.
Though looked stunned
in his expression,
the dead man
with all arrangements
Only cause of worry
even then, was the
reason of death cited
in the papers: Pollution!
"Frivolous, isn't it?
Not even a solid reason,
for returning to the pavillion.
Inglorious, what else,
though this as a cause
is getting more and more popular
in these days of global warming"
a thought free of body floats around,
unheard by anyone.
I saw god slouched over the horizon
like some old man with his elbows on the bar
His cigar smoke rolled towards me
and I wrote 'hello' in the dust on the window
I was in a taxi with a peacock
trying to be the only thing on its mind
There's floral arrangements in these feathers
and I want to swim in all their psychedelia
The only dull thing on earth in that moment
was the conversation the driver and I were having
And now the peacock has passed out
I can only sit and wonder
how this taxi holds such beauty
We call the night by different names
though it is the same drooping moon
slathered into the sky. Careless and untamed.
on my knees, depraved, and shouting
how could you not understand this?
lifting whiskey glass from tray,
and pouring concessions,
and prior arrangements over each stone,
now that will only serve to batter me
as I swallow myself.
get through to you, I could only shout.
I could only feel so exhausted
by the innumerable times in which
we have traversed the landscapes of a circle.
The ring of a glass, maybe,
or the times in which your parlance
was robbed of it's intention by tongue,
Unfold myself into the night, like paper swans,
like love notes in a calm, sunken eyed stooper
over fire light in the back yard,
and the wafting ascension
of everything you owned in it.
Maybe I over reacted,
maybe an abrasive asshole like
your friends say.
like I believe.
Maybe you made this.
You have been making this.
Waiting there in the railway station, a tall handsome young boy glanced over. She held a dark secret that must not be discovered. Was she in danger.? . Rosa's past must be kept hidden. loudly steered in the train puffing and panting with all its might. Rosa feet moved quickly and she hurried onto the moving train little did she know the young boy stood close behind her he hid in the next compartment, hoping that she see him. Rosa's eyes wilted into a deep sleep time had forgotten her past. the engine came to sudden haul, Rosa sprang quickly to her feet and she grabbed her belongings and ran down the long corridor to her surprise she noticed the same young man who waited close by her at the railway station. She nervously looked away. Rosa dreaded one thing her past. moments later she was ushered into a taxi and she headed home to her aunts cottage.
Rosa arrived promptly the clock in the drawing room chimed half past nine. Rosa walked gracefully into her Aunts drawing room but she was a little apprehensive of her aunts expectations she sat down on the fireside chair and raised her head at the rearrangement
of her mothers belongings the wind howled from the back porch and she wondered if she had made the right decision coming back to her old roots. Maybe it was time to flee....
Her journey had some what tired her out. Soon she breathed a sigh of relief as she snugged down underneath the downy covers and fell soundly asleep. The next morning Rosa awoke to hear the birds chirping a romantic song. Rosa yawned,and stretched her legs. Suddenly there was a loud tap on the door.
"Do come in she replied"
"Madam can I draw back these curtains. nervously the maid said."
"Why thank you can put my breakfast tray over there on the table."
"Is their anything else that you require Madam."
"Nothing else at the moment smiled Rosa."
The sun gleamed through her aunts drawing room and soon yesterdays worries were all forgotten Rosa's thoughts had been rather judgmental perhaps she would now settle down to her new way of life. If only she could foresee her future. Rosa tearfully looked out of the window after having a instant flashback of her teenage years the one that she wasn't proud of she felt nothing but shame Her Father only wanted to protect her. But now it was too
Late the consequences of that night affected her present, the past must never be allowed to catch up with her. She couldn't be a mother now it had destroyed her soul.
Rosa felt somewhat Cheated and if she fate should somehow be kind to her again. Given half the chance Rosa would snap it up.
But after her ordeal and the injuries she sustained, Rosa will never be able to give birth again. And this broke her heart into many pieces. She had given birth to twins the girl had died and the baby boy survived but she was far to young and so her Father had made arrangements for the child to be adopted with suitable parents who could provide a secure and stable up bringing. Rosa felt so alone and empty being robbed of her twins one lost to child birth and the other taken away how could she ever forget her sordid past. Rosa just wanted to forget, But somehow it was coming back to haunt her.
Several dark long days had passed and Rosa busied herself in the kitchen preparing the meat pie for dinner. Molly the kitchen maid lay ill in her bed upstairs and her Aunt was to frail to help with the cooking. Rosa breathed a sigh of relief when she had finished baking the meat pie for dinner. She pulled out the tea caddy from the cupboard and made herself a delightful twining s tea, Rosa made some hot toast with honey and sat down at the kitchen table feeling lonely. she longed for the cool summer nights. But it was still a cold chill in the air. Her aunt sat in the front drawing room a Rosa took her up some tea and gently knocked on the door.
"Do come in My child.' could you please draw the curtain over a bit my head feels like it is about to burst open."
"Oh dear.' Auntie I am sorry I'll go and fetch your pills."
"thank you Rosa."
That was the fist time her Aunt called her Rosa. maybe Her aunt Had a change of heart. The years had gone by so quickly
Rosa's aunt spent a lot of time in her bed. Molly spent nearly all day fetching and carrying until the sun hid behind the pale moon light. Molly looked rather pale so Rosa told her she could be released from her duties. She polity smiled and made her way upstairs to her room in the attic. The rain lashed onto the window
sill Rosa thoughts were on her son whom she had never seen, since the day he was born. She still longed for him to come looking. That kept her spirits alive. Moments later there was a loud knock on the door. Rosa opened the door, There stood a young man the one that she had seen at the railway station. Rosa glanced awkwardly at the young mans face and then asked him a question.
"Have I met you before." she said."
Yes I do believe we have."
After standing gazing at the young man she invited him in. Rosa felt a bit panicky, Who was he, and what on earth did he want.
She asked the young man if he was hungry. He said no that he had just finished his dinner at the hotel.
"But I could murder a cup of tea. he replied.
" Please excuse me I won't be long."
Normally Molly maid made the tea, But she was away for the weekend on leave and wouldn't be back until Monday morning.
Quickly she placed the teapot onto the tray along with some chocolate biscuits. Nervously she walked into the living room.
The conversation felt rather tense and while Rosa slipped her tea and plunged her biscuit into her tea.
Adam looked at Rosa and sighed deeply.
" And he blurted out are you my mother,?
" Surely you-------can't be.!
"Mother look at me I am Your son."
She looked at him tearfully and her son embraced her tightly like a mother and son should. He just said hush I know the past and i want to put this all behind us.
Rosa looked at him and she couldn't believe that fate had bought him back for good...... the end .......