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 Jan 2014 Gaia
J Arturo
 Jan 2014 Gaia
J Arturo
the hills were beginning to grow
the grass greening on the approach
to Blue Earth, and how
in summer
Minnesota shed her old coat
to shy guilty into brief silty lakes
like the
joy of a little kid, sneaking a forbidden dip.

remarking, casually, about
white warm flowers hung low from
planned oaks, and the impossible way the town
pulled local hills close, to coat
in dandelions. and cultivate
all under an ambitious midwestern sun.

          rolling through the stop sign, hand on mine
          you told me if you’re moving at all

          you should keep it in second gear.

and we had so far to go, but in the light that
broke through westbound clouds,
we became less so.
contented to spread toes out in earth we
dug into Minnesota, the middle coast:
a land we could like to get to know.

and you:
looking down at the salt, the sand, the scars of
the grand american plantation:
the last coast.
knowing that by the next coast, we
you and me.
we'd be through.

          saying, ‘how could anybody die?’

          ‘how could anybody tell you anything true?’

undercut by the honest waves of the little lake,
the hum that drummed in my gas tank.
trying, for once, at a little piece of truth:

          when I leave this place I leave
          a part of me behind.

          and that part of me
          will be you.

saying there’s only so much sweetness in the soil,
only so long after the thaw,
and grief is rich and dark and made for sowing:
must be, for maintaining verdant local hills, must be
for to keep corn sweet. must be for to put
on the table. must be for to
keep with us.

          for to keep a little bit to eat.

saying, we bleed but together we make a hole
to bury both our bodies in.
saying there’s a west out west but too late it’s
already hemmed us in.

          saying now I am only a fragile assimilation of this weak
          and fractured purpose that drives me, and you are

          beautiful enough I would lie to let you love me.

even I would scorch this soil if only things wouldn’t grow I would
saying Blue Earth is still in the trucker's atlas is
only an excuse for sunshine. a point,
where freeways go.
“with earth, so green, that here they call it 'Blue'.”

          “I could learn to love a leopard.”

          “how dare you.”
 Aug 2013 Gaia
Michael Tobias
The godless set fire to the redwoods
before marching us to the hills.

Black birds wake on jacarandas
without wings.

Their caws raise Lazarus once again.
A young girl's skin wrinkles into birch,

and suddenly trees surround me.
The eyes in the bark

denounce my flesh and limbs.
The mulch tries to swallow my feet,

but my wings lift me.
I'm dancing among fiery ashes

above the boulevards of igneous rock.
Particles of light halt into white heat,

cleansing me of flesh.
All that is left is spirit,

quiet and unknowing,
lost in whatever's between the stars.
 Jul 2013 Gaia
Reece AJ Chambers
I still have
the note you wrote,
kissed with your raspberry lipstick,
licked with your bedtime ink.

For years, left to dry
in a drawer, inhaling the dark,
I found it, like a stale apple,
blushing yellow.

I understand the words now,
the loops, the curves, a fairground ride,
that's what we were
before the carpet scorched our knees.

Did you keep the one
that I wrote you?
No, maybe, torn at the top
and stuffed somewhere.

I let your message breathe again,
swallow the days,
this red stain rages upon my eyes,
a note with no writer, how it all fades.
Written: July 2013.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time - not based on real events.
 Jun 2013 Gaia
 Jun 2013 Gaia
A sixteen year old boy stands at a bus stop
Fighting back the contortions flooding his face
Swallowing down the clay in his throat
Desperately praying his knees stay strong

The bus pulls away
The boy watches as eighteen months of his life drives away from him
The girl he loved with the passion only known by a teenage boy
Is now gone

And as he stumbles in the opposite direction
Blinded by questions unanswered
The memories begin their assault
Beating him in every way he fears
I wrote this after a breakup a year ago that nearly destroyed me. Some slight tweaks have been made, but mostly I have kept it as it was at the time, as I want to try and preserve the emotion that this was written with, even if the wording seems wrong to me now.
 Jun 2013 Gaia
 Jun 2013 Gaia
I get lost
Inside books
Inside movies
Inside games

I get lost
I do not wish do be found
I only wish
That you come with me
I really like the idea of this poem but for the life of me I can't ever seem to find the write words. So here it is anyway.
 Jun 2013 Gaia
Langston Hughes
I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.
 Jun 2013 Gaia
Keith Trim
 Jun 2013 Gaia
Keith Trim
When she turned her gaze upon me,
I was a mote of dust
caught in a beam of sunlight
I was huge and beautiful
and bright.

I laughed and danced
and shone.

And when she turned away,
a cloud moved across the sun
and I was extinguished.
 Jun 2013 Gaia
Two chairs are out from under each end of the table,
They are facing me in a very angled and personal way,
As if people are lounging and having a conversation with me,
That's because Saturday's and Friday's ghosts of myself are sitting in them,
Maybe having drinks,
Or supporting their titled heads with one hand,
Cracking knuckles with the other,
I've been alone for five days now,
The house is very empty and quiet in a loud and crowded kind of way,
I become a ***** man when I'm alone for that long,
But maybe today,
I'll give the house a nice scrub
 May 2013 Gaia
Pablo Neruda
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with ***.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
 May 2013 Gaia
A Catherine
The clouds had been threatening thunder for days.  They rolled in the sky with their malice building every moment that they continued to hold in the rain.  Stretched below them, an endless sea going as deep as forever could go long.  It was as clear as glass with only the slightest ripple signaling its deceptive appearance.  Below the surface, energy wound through every molecule in a tumultuous and festive rhythm.  If you could touch the water's face, you could feel the pulse of life through your fingertips.

But I could not touch it.

Between the sea and the clouds, moments were still and sat heavy like the oppressive heat that fills a humid, hazy afternoon in late summer.  Thoughts moved… slower.  Sounds wrapped around you, taking long enough for you to realize it was happening before it was through.  

And there, that is where I stretched each limb for opposite corners and existed.  Suspended between a heaven in turmoil and an abyss of color and chaos.  I was timeless, frozen out of the balance – in separation.  Sluggish thoughts fought to free me but they grasped to whispers of activity with broken fingers.  And in one moment, they took hold.

I felt the vibration in my bones before I heard it.

The thunder exploded around me.
The tension broke.

I fell in.
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