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i looked for you in the forests
i searched for you in the sea

the sage then told me to look within
i did, and lo! i found You beside me!

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
    07.01.2013
    Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
This one was another dream-poem :)
 Jan 2013 Ryan Clark
nic
i was born under
a pennsylvania moon                
in the middle of jericho.

where all the walls
had decided
they were done
being womb                              
and crumbled to the blow
of winter winds.

i was whisked out of
from my cocoon
too soon                                  
and spent weeks
piped to feed and breath
for me.

the moment
they let me out                          
i moved back forth.

i have been hopscotching
from city to city
since 06
and thus have forgotten
how to play dominoes.
or cards or do puzzles
or anything done sitting still
because the rhythm                                
of my life
doesn't allow me
to squat for too much
longer than the linger
of my scent cross these sheets
so i've learned
to sink in deep while i can

place my print in
these pillow tops
before the moon drops              
and its moving day again.

i find it hard
to be me sometimes.
too busy trying                          
be a resident.

sometimes i pretend
im a committed writer
but come on,
****** spend more time
trying to pair their                      
tops and shoes
then i do
scraping these wounds
over screens
letting ink bleed.

i'm just not
consistent enough                  
to hold a title.

i'm only a student
til the summer
so don't try and teach
me in july.
there are summer sins                
that i wont even
begin to learn from
til autumn starts to
reek of jansports
and gym clothes.

i'm only the baby
on holidays.
only hear from all
3 sisters when courtesy            
twists our wrists
and force fingers
to remember phone numbers
filed under family.

so i cant believe
when ****** still
text me good mornings.
there's been so many
since we've last talked            
and the last time
we walked the same grounds
i switched my route
and pretended
i didn't see you.

ashamed i let you
think there was
room in my inconsistency.
should've warned you
not to bring your pillow          
cause there's little
chance ill still
like you in the morning.

those sunrises can be            
so haunting.

when the sun
is so low
its shape is tombstone          
how could i not
bring up those bones
in my closet?

i cant answer your call
today because                      
we were never meant
to last past 24 hours.

that's like two fireflies
trying to keep                        
their glow past dawn.
don't you find it pointless?

i have learned
to harvest as much as i can
before the season ends        
and the infatuation                          
turns to wrinkles
and withers.

alysia once said
poets love love
because love is life
and we're
afraid of death
so we create                      
between where we
are and were
and where we were going
but i am here.

standing in a shower
trying to scrape
these postage stamps
off my corners                  
cause cargo holds
haven't been
all that good to me.

i've been packaged
and stamped and
boxed and shipped me    
more times than i'll admit
because honesty
doesn't drip off your lips
as easily as blood
when you hit maturity
and are taught
to bite your tongue.

the only roots i have
were sowed                  
in my convictions      
so i'm destined to roam
everywhere except
in my faith.

my sister knows
of my wishes
to never have to wilt        
beneath mahogany.
i want to be cremated
when i die.
i want to be fire fly.
bathed in the bright
of a thousand fireflies
in a daytime thunderstorm
to make up for lost time.

but don't
scatter my remains.
sit me in a vase
on the end
of your mantle            
with a candle
and ill pray
for you're stability
for all the days
i spent in transit.

after living all those years
in solidarity                    
with the wind
i'd at least like to
spend my sleep
in one spot.
 Jan 2013 Ryan Clark
nic
on the corner of conroy
and kirkman
a man who didn't look
a day past dirt
poured me a grin
as i poured out
my change for him.

an army green sack
draped over his back
drank the coins
while the old man's
gums roared
the kind of wisdom
that only comes
with age
and maybe an once
of crack *******.

he leaned into the
driver's side window
and said dear
DON'T BURN THE CHICKEN!

*shrugs
These are the life lessons you learn in Orlando. I am hoping he wasn't serious tho.
 Jan 2013 Ryan Clark
nic
Who you know
with wrists like mine?
that can flick
and fetch the waters
from their sleep.

I sling my hair
and dare the waves
to crash their crests
against the rocks.

I wash my foes
of their flaws.

Those men
who cast their eyes
along my curves
have no business fishing
for my lines
when they've got wives
at home
so I hold their stares
as I stir their demise.

Their ships
my lips
both parting
to the rhythm
of high tide.  

I tried to warn them.
I tried to keep them at bay.

Away
I sang.
But they got so tied
on my tongue
and its tune
they missed the poison
perched on my lyrics.

I lift the sea
'cause I seek their attention.
I am tempted to hang a sign:

Dear sailor boys
untie your fix
on my hips
before you find
your bow broken.
- Sincerely Siren.
 Jan 2013 Ryan Clark
nic
I promise
this poem won't be
as tragic as the others.
I won't sneak
the spine
out of your smile.
I won't midnight sky
pour shadows
over your sun rays.
let me wake
that sun of yours.

I promise not to place
no sad stories
in that space
beneath your chest
that I hijack so often.

I promise not to
coffin dig up
my past dreams
post marked
maybe.
But baby,
this box cutter pen
cradles hearts
so well.

Carves the dark
so well.

But I promise
not take it out
on account
that you say
sharp things
make you nervous
and I need you
to know
that i'm working
on not hurting.

And you say slim
why don't you
take a day off
from this poetry thing?

So here I am
standing staff stance
at the banks
of a page's shore
not trying
to part tears
only pouts.

Only speaking
to sprout smiles
since I know
how uncomfortable
you get
when I spit
them sad poems.

or them mad poems.

So today
I'll put away
my soap opera tales
and tattoo some red
over my blues
for you.

and for a once
i'll forget my worries
and you remind me
how well my smile
reflects in your eyes.
brief as waterfalling will be death;
brief as flowerfalling and the leaf;
brief as the taking and giving breath;
thus natural;thus brief; my love is grief.
can you
believe it?!

I almost
felt a
flickering
of fire
in my soul.

For a
minute
I wondered
if it all
had meaning,
and just
like that the
fire was
gone.

But still
...
I almost
lived today,
...
can you belive it?
 Jan 2013 Ryan Clark
nic
95 North
 Jan 2013 Ryan Clark
nic
Of course
when your southern tipped - tongue
drips out the words
"I want to move up north"
everyone whose roots
reach deep below the belt
of the Mason Dixon
will ****** your face
in their gaze
and warn you bout
that Northern Disregard.

But don't listen to their tales
of discarded homeless
people plastered cross pavement.
Tell them bout those
who find home amongst
the clutter of 125th
with warm eyes
that search the cold
looking for laugh lines
and loose change.

Tell them
how they maintain
an open hand
good for grasping
and an open mouth
good for un-gourging
their gapped - toothed grins
of wisdom.

You tell them
that these people
with the wrinkles
of a wise man
may not have much
but they share
what they got.

You tell them
that no matter
where we're from
we've all got a little
Southern Hospitality
stained in our smiles.

Tell them
that you'll be fine
and pray you're right.
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