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Heavy perfume of cedar
Overwhelms the nostrils

Needles crush underfoot
Alone without You, Lord
I seek you in birdsong

swelling the heart.
I no longer believe, but at times I'm almost inspired to.
Tangled in waves
Bathed in solitude and breeze
We battle the water

Wind brushes me
Senses awakened and touched
I breathe newborn

Into the void of sky
I sigh
Don't actually swim out there--dangerous--but the water is still beautiful.
A self unraveled by knowledge
A Faust, memories perched like bird
Squawking and squawking
Lost

Driving down country roads
Remembering, like a repeating tape,
What we have just seen
Lost wanderers. I feel we are all Faust, in a way.
Sep 2 · 131
Fragment(ed)
My life is a black comedy, its airtime rapidly evaporating
the autumn of my childhood’s eden.
Fragment from a longer poem.
Sep 2 · 36
Life of a Flower
Ripped off my branch
By the wind’s breath
I drifted downward
Into overgrown hair: what indignity.

I hummed and pined for this day
To erupt out of my branch
To proclaim like a herald the spring.
Now my petals’ dance
and delicate perfumes end too soon!
Inspired by cherry blossoms on a spring day.
An emigre to the cherry blossoms
You reveled in beauty
Trembling, flushed with wonder,
And unprepared for the
Wounds of worldly things,
Destroyed, like the blossoms,
By breezes.

We found separate paths
And yet
I can yearn to discard my
Blind certainty
And float like the knock-kneed angels,
Chanting the Beloved’s name,
drinking in the world,
again a child.
Hanami is a Japanese word for observing cherry blossoms and, metaphorically, the fleetingness of life.
Sep 1 · 55
On a Bus Home
On a bus home,
My eyes stick on people.
They are lonely, adhesive.
My nose claws onto your scent, passerby.
Finally I sleep, resting on a stranger’s shoulder.
Thought muted, resting in its skull-cradle
My mind is finally independent of the body,
shell discarded in my dreams.
I am grateful for the rest.
Hymn to insomnia...
Jul 23 · 95
Early Morning
Poetry Addict Jul 23
The lightening sky extends itself in violent exaltation towards the future sun.
A one sentence prose poem. Vaguely inspired by how often the sun is featured in The Stranger (by Camus) not that I could ever claim to be a good a writer as Camus!
Jun 22 · 59
Morning Jog
Poetry Addict Jun 22
This weekend morning,
I look forward to a day of nothingness.

Jogging,
Knees bent, legs defiant in flight, slamming the earth
My breath is ragged from the sticky air, a clingy friend.

I leave the houses and their sidewalks,
my feet beat time.
In the music of slamming feet, my body and I escape: joy
empty and unpolluted.
Sometimes small escapes are the best.
Jun 22 · 657
Late Night Driver
Poetry Addict Jun 22
Driving at night, killing time
I dare rend the late night silence.

Deer stand in the road on their saber legs,
A dangerous helplessness animating them.
We are deer ourselves, waiting for a hit
In our own impenetrable darkness.

Later, leaving the car,
I almost step on a dying bird, flight arrested.
Its black eyes are not yet closed, and a last
Remaining breath flickers in its chest.
I'm on a journey, but don't know where to.
Jun 13 · 229
Ambivalence
Poetry Addict Jun 13
Humans seem unlucky: they must love and lose,
Love until they outgrow their love.
Jun 11 · 102
Gone
Poetry Addict Jun 11
Burnt coffee burns the mouth with its bitterness
a morning jolt of pain.

“Gone” is an important word to learn:
It indicates an understanding of disappearances.
I whisper “gone” to myself, for its jolt of pain.  
Hoping I’ll wake up.

Gone: the indication of the smoothed skirt, of calling "curtains".
There are other pains than hearing your name.
The word "gone" is the first word toddlers learn (according to my psychology textbook) that indicates they understand the concept of "something that was there no longer being there". I took that little factoid and ran with it.
May 26 · 143
Onions
Poetry Addict May 26
Glimmer of fried onions
Protest against their treatment
in the frying pan.

A hissing voice to keep me company
in the empty kitchen.
A love letter to one of my favorite foods.
Mar 16 · 121
Housewife
Poetry Addict Mar 16
Between the home and the word
Lies silences that will guard, like blackout curtains,
The condemnation of memory
Her face a straightjacket.

Is this bravery tapping past
the smallness of the kitchen
Sighing at the clear sunlight of twilight
Mercilessly liquid, revealing nothing--
That samizdat illness.
Sometimes life is all about appearances...
Mar 16 · 86
First Love
Poetry Addict Mar 16
The mist promises a mirror,
But it can’t hold up, obfuscating
Any remaining light
like a Vegas of streetlights, cars,
Fences, slick umbrellas and shoes
bouncing and sparking in the eye,
gracing you with a dewy tiara
As if catching a poltergeist
(we would later call love)
With streetlight shadows, a baptism
Maybe we liked it like that.
broke, smiles
Breaking our cold-taut skin.
A little dense, but I hope you like it!
Feb 24 · 70
Turnpike
Poetry Addict Feb 24
Sparrow lifts off
Empty air above welcomes her

Cut of wind
Dominates the skin
Exposed to air
The sky extending itself
In violent exaltation

Like a worn out theme.
The air attacks with chemicals
Swept up from the roadway
The road ebbing and sighing
Like a sea.

Bracken and rail
Train and singing cement
Rendezvous of wires and sky
This could be anywhere, cousin said,
With its bare dollhouse trees
Stretching into the distance.

“You don’t mind the roads.” he said, declarative
and a little too English.
“No. I don’t mind.”

a Second horizon of
Unadulterated black
Soaked in light.
Planes decorate the skies
And the snows can only colonize
The wilderness of parking lots.

Whine-click of tracks
Flickers of light yell “now”, dance
Away from my eye

Boom-clatter of trains
Moving walls of grey and grey
Gloom of gear parts

On this unforgiven
Earth,  without holy ground,
lost in city, occupation,
And fear of disease, of
the narrows of our blotted-out stars.
Inspired by my walk along the nearest road whose speed limit is 60 mph, though not a turnpike.
Feb 23 · 44
Dead Summer
Poetry Addict Feb 23
The sea loves too roughly, like your first
embrace--shielding, tackling me from jealous
Atlantic breakers. In truth
I only met you again once: the curl of a cry, saved from
the tangles of the city grate. Only you were silent, in
your violent caution as you caught me,
Animal as the sea
Like my mouth parallel with disgust
At the ice cream pint
Disappearing into an addict’s mouth,
Melting too slowly to notice
by the shoppers’ mob

we could say nothing.
Tonight, as on every night,
Something is louder than myself.
Perhaps the mathematicians have a word for this:
The Tartuffe of the intellect. I think I’ve left
You--a clever ****** of words,
a song might be all I’ve lost.

The ice cream truck sings
Below my balcony
With his truck’s jingle,
And I am delicate, on the last of summer’s saturdays
Inhaling the night air, I am unreasonable,
As if my commercial romeo’s song
Could save me with the promise of its refugee cold,
like the holy scripts
Your fingers’ calligraphy could have gifted me.
I plagiarized from myself a little here with a previous poem...this is a rare love poem of mine.
Feb 17 · 167
The Beach
Poetry Addict Feb 17
A baby cries upon the sand
Aimlessly
In tune with gulls
Floating as still as his mobile.
Missing California...
Feb 17 · 92
The Cat
Poetry Addict Feb 17
The cat whips its tail,
A dancer.
A balletomane paw rises and
curls for its ribbon-toy.
Feb 15 · 96
Snowball
Poetry Addict Feb 15
Violent crack
Of snowball on window
Boys flee from their projectile
Sliding slowly off with
Unexpected grace
It's pretty difficult to throw a snowball at a fifth floor window, I'll give them that.
Feb 15 · 92
Saturday
Poetry Addict Feb 15
I think I’ve left
You--a clever ****** of words,
a song might be all I’ve lost.
Or, maybe a few too many Saturdays...
Feb 14 · 413
Comedy
Poetry Addict Feb 14
Smooth melody of the kettle.
My mother’s territory. I’m not to touch it: too
Hot, it will burn my still-young hands

The kettle screams. I’m not to pour it,
I will spill and spoil and waste.

The tea sits. I’m not to drink it,
It’s got a vendetta against my tongue,
already bitten, mind boiling.
My mother was pretty overprotective when I was growing up, and she hasn't entirely outgrown it.
Feb 13 · 122
Cops
Poetry Addict Feb 13
Buttoned-and-pressed eyes
Crystallized rationality glistens
(or so it seems!)
in their quest for whoisit.
Policemen occasionally search our underground train system when we're downtown and stop all the trains. My hometown is known for the huge quantities of police.
Feb 11 · 93
Untitled
Poetry Addict Feb 11
Memory of wishes
Army of greyed dandelions
Unfurled into wind
Childhood ritual.
Feb 11 · 156
Donut
Poetry Addict Feb 11
Crude density of cake
Crystallized syrup of frosting
Cream, crunch melting.
Nothing brings me as much joy as a hot donut.
Feb 11 · 98
Coca-Cola
Poetry Addict Feb 11
Sip of summer
Garish sparkling syrup
Play of bubbles
Meditation on my lunch.
Feb 11 · 164
Rainy Day
Poetry Addict Feb 11
Rain-streaked window
A grey cathedral
shines through forming ice
Mix of snow and rain today.
Feb 11 · 59
Lilith
Poetry Addict Feb 11
a last strip of undisputed snow
   I kept for you to defile, for beauty is muddy between us
Like snow itself: stuck between states
And too impatient to stay in this latitude
Its fleeting holiday.

My bird, my flickering lover, laughs at me
She is about to flee, eating her smile

Our sources claim Lilith lies down
Unwritten and unproven
With the owl and the man alike: but I propose she is a sort of cardinal
Smashing and sorting out the face in the window.
Lilith is also known as "the bird-footed woman" or "the dawn/morning demon" and is known as a vampire and succubus, jealous of human women's ability to form relationships. For me, a perfect relationship for failure and frustration.
Feb 5 · 259
Micropoem
Afternoon sun
glowing soft amber in my tea-glass
Black tea catches light
Feb 5 · 179
Faulty Matches
We lost each other in quiet places
As if conversation was deafened
By the natural “placeness” of things.

We saw but did not see each other.
Later we used the same words to appraise, select, prize
We did our food and our last partners in bed.

The deafening echo of the bar made me realize I didn’t really
Want your voice; our words sputtered out too quickly.
Sometimes nothing will light your way.
Feb 5 · 83
Grief
Death is a skilled kidnapper but it leaves no ransom.
A rewritten poem I dug up.
Feb 2 · 382
Bookstore
Enveloped by damp
Inhaling books

Murmur of shoppers sorting
With their fingerprints

Eye’s rhythm on book spines.
Feb 2 · 58
Goodwill
Flow of fabrics
Screech of hanger on rod

Roughness of wool
Flicking through one sweater
To the next
Butterfly fingers
Feb 2 · 45
Rules of the Rat
Cry of bird
Interrupts the wildness
Of still days.

Bright orange peel
Interrupts the grayness of sidewalk.
Flicker of rat tail

Hunger of animals
Blind to propriety.
Feb 2 · 341
Hail
The sun goes out some days:
And with it the fallacy of light,
Which gleamed the ice and snow for us
And made it beautiful
Slow liquids, sentient as streams
We make our way
backs bent like old men
In battle against the invisible

I eye the ground warily, as if gravity had turned enemy
a demon that possesses the feet
Sleepwalker
Nature isn't always friendly. Walking home in hail.
Feb 2 · 44
Tilt-a-Whirl
I felt the wheel’s dip first, a stronger
Force than human quarrel.
First my dive and then yours.
The miracle of gravity sang in its minor key,
The spikes whirred and clanged.
You smiled, then startled.
The stakes weren’t high then.

Do you remember as children
we claimed jet trails as second Sputniks
And Curiosities?
And we shook
Our fists at the fire that should rain from
The tired sky in jest.

After your disappearance I mourned all of my knowledge
My assumptions of you surviving
All of your internal gravities,
Every second lost in some
Question of fate
The tilt-a-whirl twisting and clanging within you.
For a runaway (fortunately we found her).
Jan 29 · 130
Fireflies
Poetry Addict Jan 29
In sight of the fireflies and their reminder
Of the dark I’ve no scores to settle after
Glimpsing their conceptions of darkness.
The coolness of their bodies flickers,
Then calms like buoys battered by waves.
The light brightens, but like a switch,
faces no fear of veiled night.

Darkness is simply a concept
They force themselves to overcome.
Summer always gives me good vibes.
Jan 26 · 128
Takeout
Poetry Addict Jan 26
Stench of soysauce
Emanates from what was once takeout
Perfuming the room with yesterday's hunger
A little silly, but not every day has dramatic inspirations.
Jan 25 · 239
Word Games
Poetry Addict Jan 25
I learned to pray in a corrupted language.

Now all I desire is silence
For the cruel fugue of phrases I used to glue myself to you.
We ripped our secrets into tiny pieces
So we could pretend
We didn’t remember them.
Jan 24 · 86
Rennaissance Portrait
Poetry Addict Jan 24
how the upturned mouth
Confuses itself with the sorrow in her eyes

Totally open through her refusal to undress her eyes
And tightly coiled hair.
Based on a painting from 1600s Italy; women had to be modest and downplay their emotions. But to me, not was always as it seemed. Around the era of the Mona Lisa.
Jan 24 · 95
Rubbernecking
Poetry Addict Jan 24
We watched you bleed from the side of the road.
I don’t remember if I felt anything.
I felt a hole where compassion should be.

There was a traffic jam as you paced with your bleeding nose.
You were an animal in the zoo. We all watched you.

There was something like despair in your eyes I felt kindred
To me, human as it was
to be watched bleeding, for others to do nothing.

There was no intent of humiliation: the car windows transformed the road
Into a stage,
Their glass for a TV screen.
Based on Monday's experience of trying to leave the parking lot when I encountered a guy sitting on the pavement blocking the exit bleeding terribly.
Poetry Addict Jan 23
You
Sing the stars out of the sky
Tame them, make them stay
On earth.
This is a response to the latest featured poem.
Jan 23 · 82
Faith
Poetry Addict Jan 23
Declare love
A superstition
****** to believing
Itself.
To my high school sweetheart.
Jan 23 · 65
Fallen Tomato
Poetry Addict Jan 23
Fallen icarus:
Tomato floods color
Silent cry of red
Under fridge.
Meditation on those slippery cherry tomatoes.
Jan 22 · 326
Butterfly
Poetry Addict Jan 22
I am accused of innocence.
I am guilty in a sacred court
For my cross-examination
Is to tempt a concept: the monarch questing breathless in its insect intelligence
Floating into vacuum of train and tunnel
I thought I saw her there too
Crossing city streets
Immaculate with a book in front of her face,
A book instead of eyes
Avoiding cement and its desire to be trampled
I saw myself
Innocence can be dangerous
Jan 22 · 59
time in the hospital
Poetry Addict Jan 22
I’m staring up in the hospital where the white walls and blank food
Peacefully negate time, forgetting myself, throwing myself
At the ceiling, waiting for a life opening my eyes after the water

That night--could
Strangers exist, or, were we, in death, solitary
In some humanity-sea, some strange current of fear
And love, an exile.

As I stare cross-side from the bed
towards the door (doctor,
Do you hear me, would you call?)
A blankness overtakes
Us sick, not the polite white or the eloquent black,
But the great greys
That paint my world, in its Nocturnes.

I had become a child, weeping onto a breast I couldn’t see
in the narrow press of the dining table
some destruction posed in the cornflakes

doctor, Charon and reverse-Charon
what are my rights,
How long is my sentence, what crude injury has my mind
And body conspired against me?
This is based on a two week stay in a hospital I had after a life-threatening injury.
Jan 22 · 60
Iceskater
Poetry Addict Jan 22
Training iceskater wobbles
Not quite helplessly but with effort
As if daring his body to fall upon the
Glimmering ice,

The ice gleaming blue.

A new-minted child lurches forward,
Tredging ice,
Weariness bleeding from him,
In childhood,
For his lunch break

only.
Maybe you live like an iceskater too.
Jan 22 · 142
Lazy Sunday
Poetry Addict Jan 22
Sweet emptiness of the stretched out day
Snowpeace finally.

Thousand intimations before this day:
Wildtime, gathering seconds like flowers
Can I learn from silence, let it seep in like
Sleep?
Jan 22 · 68
Haiku (almost)
Poetry Addict Jan 22
Pollockesque birdshit
Dangles from bus shelters and clouds:
Beauty unnoticed.
Jan 22 · 85
Snow, Pavement
Poetry Addict Jan 22
Black coat, black umbrella
Feet-telegram over snow: one step black,
Another step black.
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