All of our memories are ghosts
Shadows of broken knives
Sketches of passing time.
They sit still on lasting years
Cradled on puppet strings
Masked away history.
We forget that they wait
Embedded in a secret
Lost among sleep.
Let it be.

The fangs of my own mind sink into me.
I need some anti-venom or I'm history.
I try to fight back but it's to no avail.
The toxicity spreads; it's inevitable prevail.
I realize my fate, my brain gives up on me.
The anti-venom is  empty.
I'm history.

Yea I am gone again!
Get the lime or the lye
my way into tomorrow
by reaching through yesterday
slang terms for money/scrip/script

It's all scripted
so cut loose, baby!

What I Wanted to Wear for Halloween

…is not what you wanted me to wear for Halloween.
I wanted to be one of those girls in the comic books,
spinning around in high-heeled boots, high-strung ponytails, and miniskirts.
You convinced me to be Mulan.
It was the 90’s, after all.
And she was pretty cool. I guess.
I loved it more when I realized she had a sword. I planned to cut my hair with it.
But when I asked for her sword, you handed me a fan, told me to have fun with my friends.
My best friend wore a real kimono that year – all thick and purple and bright –
her father brought it back from Japan.
We were both Mulan. I guess.
But she loved her fan and silk and uppy hair up-do.
Mine had already taken a tumble for the worse.
And that is exactly what I see, many years later, as I stare in the mirror – finally in my boots.
I keep them on when I sit at the keyboard and type in her name
M-U-L-A-N
The truth comes after H-U-A
After twelve years of fighting, and dying, and winning, and fighting by her side,
China didn’t even know she was a woman.
They couldn’t have cared less at all.

My heart breaks when you're not near.
My heart fills up with nothing but fear.
The pain I feel just can't be real.
Give me something, anything, to feel.
Please don't go.
I once said so.

Knowing that history repeats itself
and to define a fool is also repitition
Theres madness stacked in minds of many on a shelf
mankinds unordinary fatal condition

Our generation is falling
while temporal worldy attainment rises
Technology renewed us into babies, crawling
to the new updated components that buys us

So blend up the world and fit it in your cup
i hope you choke on the faithless future that fuels you
Dont get out of bed dont wake up
when you dont know how to

The spirit of this race was depleted
when the disease of identities was treated

Precipio


Beneath the cherubs of Basilica di

Santa Maria Maggiore, St. Frances of

Assisi inculcates the embroidered

    Il tuo sorriso è l’alba che ** perso questa mattina

word of God, threaded into centuries

of artwork extinction, rehabilitated

into the minds of a museum, where

we cannot touch, only to distinguish,

what is ours, what is there’s, why

we must perderò  understand the

implications of sunrises bringing

another day of God to teach.

Our loss of Nativity is

freestanding figures

brought on by time.

...

I was invited to read poems as a response to Ann Hamilton's exhibit at the Spencer Museum of Art. Read more about this event here: (This poem is actually shaped like a face, but I can't get the lines to stay, but you can see the actual shape at the link)

http://shannonathompson.com/2013/04/19/reading-event-ann-hamilton-at-the-spencer-museum-of-art/

I hear the Bechstein


a blushed blur of universal vibrancy, constructed

……….of covered caution, a colored dream—a

……….dance.

a pressed curl of waxen connections, torn

……….over a rumbled boast, teetered to time—a

……….transition.

……….Folded space, a future chase.

……….The movers and risers pull the views out of

place before anyone can                          see.

……………………………momentarily

...


I was invited to read poems as a response to Ann Hamilton's exhibit at the Spencer Museum of Art. Read more about this event here:

http://shannonathompson.com/2013/04/19/reading-event-ann-hamilton-at-the-spencer-museum-of-art/

Words have left its home,
Wonder where my story has headed to,
For today I have no poetry that rhymes.
Opened a treasure box after midnight,
Eyes of mine swelled in tears.
I read the vows and wishes of the past,
Reminisced what history had left me with.

With trembling hands and veins that felt electrocuted,
I still relived flashes of images, familiar between two souls.
You dare to sketch your own grave now,
With my desired wooden swing near your lost soul,
Strings of joy had vanished into your arms for now.
Will I ever revive them into my very own, I might ask.
Doubts of future overwhelms me,
So does what will be and not to be.

You are a pure soul to me,
I don’t understand your defense, don’t think I ever will.
For I have only written your blemishes in the sea shore,
Where the distant waves crashes in and washes them away.
The cravings of your big heart is in mine,
Where it shall remain,
If you ever want to find yourself,
Don’t you look further than the gift within your every breath.

You will find it within your divine smile,
The very light you have given to me.
Words have dried up tonight my love,
How can anyone give nothing yet have given everything?
I can’t sing a melody,
Yet you have heard my rhythm.
Did not miss on a single beat,
I wonder if that is the very reason of your presence.
Tonight I am out of my mind,
It is incinerating the life out of me.

The line before and after shall have no resemblance to one another.
For each line is picked out from an exotic memory.
Call it a prose or a message of a restless heart,
Tonight the lover of words does not care its worth.
I have called you in many names,
I have come to know you in various forms.
The giver, the lover, the fighter, the dreamer.

Whatever you maybe now or tomorrow,
Keep my love with you in your endless journey.
And grow; grow my love out of this filthy world.
It has nothing much to offer you,
So find your own freedom in the only truth.
My voice is your voice,
Use them, keep your morals glowing.

I may not be seeing your every step,
Nonetheless, my smile is immortal in this voyage.
It shall hug your smile every time it collides.
My ramblings are long when I have no directions,
Bear with me as I end my plight soon.
I love you are words that are scarce,
They always have been.
They are just words imprinted on screens or papers,
My love is like nature,
Wherever you go, it shall invite itself to you.
Waiting for you to touch them,
Feel them,
Hear them,
Emphasize the wilderness.

You won’t need presence of this old lover,
To remind you of those etched memory.
I shall strum on an old guitar maybe,
And someday get lucky to have a ring.
That ring of life they say,
The one where they live happily ever after,
I will meet you there, I am sure.
Till then, capture my loving solitude within yourself,
As my smile fades into yours in this spiteful night.