#kimono - Hello Poetry

Something about her the way she sips her beer as if it’s tea, and she’s in a kimono peering out into a storm as the wind rattles the *** and snakes through the silk she undulates, sliding her finger over the rim, then sips I know the real storm broods inside her frail frame but she says little. mostly listens and it drives me utterly insane she should scream or bang on walls she should throw ashtrays into tvs but instead, she simply nods her glazed eyes as still as pearls She’s like a cherry blossom descending towards the muddy trail below she will be trampled by hooves of merchants and thieves and I am the charcoal cloud, aching as I feel her falling farther from me…

0

Mar 14, 2015

Mar 14, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC

alessander

Cherry Blossoms

Something about her the way she sips her beer as if it’s tea, and she’s in a kimono peering out into a storm as the wind rattles the *** and snakes through the silk she undulates, sliding her finger over the rim, then sips I know the real storm broods inside her frail frame but she says little. mostly listens and it drives me utterly insane she should scream or bang on walls she should throw ashtrays into tvs but instead, she simply nods her glazed eyes as still as pearls She’s like a cherry blossom descending towards the muddy trail below she will be trampled by hooves of merchants and thieves and I am the charcoal cloud, aching as I feel her falling farther from me…

22

She ran to a land of summer and pink kimonos, Where nurse sharks circled her ankles And familiar familial flaws faded to vague memories of leather scented hugs. She learned to walk dusty streets in bare feet, so she could hold the world in her toes, Leaving crumpled dollars in the hands of beggars Who saw her light skin as gold. The cherry trees bathed her in petals soft enough to erase the scars that faded in the sun, She learnt to run with her hair down and to eat kneeling at a table, Rearranged her mind with the art of Feng Shui in an attempt to find a way to live away from the dictatorship of the past, Collecting porous pebbles and lighting candles encircled in jade, As old leather scents fade to incense and jasmine. She strings lost stone on a necklace of wood and measures her life in the breaths to come instead of those she has taken. Her heartbeat beats irregularly but no longer from fear and now adrenaline is synonymous with exhilaration. And she holds sand in her palms, No longer scrabbling to catch it as it falls through her fingers, She now knows that life occurs between her hand and the ground. She broke the hourglass because she no longer counts the hours Or clings to the time that is gone. She lives eternal and bright, Clothed in sunlight And a pink kimono.

0

Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC

suchscribbles

Runaway

She ran to a land of summer and pink kimonos, Where nurse sharks circled her ankles And familiar familial flaws faded to vague memories of leather scented hugs. She learned to walk dusty streets in bare feet, so she could hold the world in her toes, Leaving crumpled dollars in the hands of beggars Who saw her light skin as gold. The cherry trees bathed her in petals soft enough to erase the scars that faded in the sun, She learnt to run with her hair down and to eat kneeling at a table, Rearranged her mind with the art of Feng Shui in an attempt to find a way to live away from the dictatorship of the past, Collecting porous pebbles and lighting candles encircled in jade, As old leather scents fade to incense and jasmine. She strings lost stone on a necklace of wood and measures her life in the breaths to come instead of those she has taken. Her heartbeat beats irregularly but no longer from fear and now adrenaline is synonymous with exhilaration. And she holds sand in her palms, No longer scrabbling to catch it as it falls through her fingers, She now knows that life occurs between her hand and the ground. She broke the hourglass because she no longer counts the hours Or clings to the time that is gone. She lives eternal and bright, Clothed in sunlight And a pink kimono.

21

I unraveled her kimono As if it were a gift, When hours earlier, She’d bandaged my arm. I traced her clavicle With the only finger left, And seconds later, would Intimately grasp the music. So I whimper within want, And blame it on the pain, Come an instant, She’d pegged me a “liar.” Then we’d love, we’d wed, A naked knowing only moonlight, And should the hours understand “Later,” we’d know only dark. So the sunrise ensued, I folded her kimono, silk and As if it were a letter, one Parting gratitude and prior wander. But the crimson and ‘Ever’d arrive later, and later’d Arrived atop a melancholy’s mount, Eternal and seasoned “regret,” She’d passed, we’d passed, And the night’s passed to know Only “broken,” broken, the bow, And how all and always unravels.

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Sep 15, 2015

Sep 15, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC

liam-c-calhoun

Terminus Kimono

I unraveled her kimono As if it were a gift, When hours earlier, She’d bandaged my arm. I traced her clavicle With the only finger left, And seconds later, would Intimately grasp the music. So I whimper within want, And blame it on the pain, Come an instant, She’d pegged me a “liar.” Then we’d love, we’d wed, A naked knowing only moonlight, And should the hours understand “Later,” we’d know only dark. So the sunrise ensued, I folded her kimono, silk and As if it were a letter, one Parting gratitude and prior wander. But the crimson and ‘Ever’d arrive later, and later’d Arrived atop a melancholy’s mount, Eternal and seasoned “regret,” She’d passed, we’d passed, And the night’s passed to know Only “broken,” broken, the bow, And how all and always unravels.

28

-----------I weave my grand mother's spirit to life-------- when I paint with my words what she dreamed in her life. My grandmother's kimono sat in the dark never worn; so needs a dusting--I lift it up into this light to be seen, to be heard, to be felt, fabric of loving heart dreams to be. It's not perfectly shaped or tattered or torn, rather fermented beyond her time to take form. My Grandma loved to eat her white rice she ate thirty seven million grains of rice by the time she reached her 104-- Born on a sugarcane plant'tion on the coast of Oahu, a child in the tropics then a teen in Japan. Her family returned to their roots to learn, & grow, reenter the cultural force. She discovered her new talent as ------------------------------ K I M O N O A R T I S T ------------------------------ Kikuyo Yamamoto became liberated as an artist and then her life changed as her family demanded she leave her position and marry away to a Japanese man who lives in California (my Grand father). The matchmaker said it would work really well....She endured life as an American farm wife, then life in Japanese intern- ment camps. Five children, nine grandchildren...Dear Grandmother I know you had lots to surrender- I honor your life as mother, grandmother, and artist --I wove this poem in the form of a kimono for you May your spirit rest in peace. I love you.

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May 12, 2019

May 12, 2019 at 2:42 AM UTC

shamamama

My Grandmother's Kimono

-----------I weave my grand mother's spirit to life-------- when I paint with my words what she dreamed in her life. My grandmother's kimono sat in the dark never worn; so needs a dusting--I lift it up into this light to be seen, to be heard, to be felt, fabric of loving heart dreams to be. It's not perfectly shaped or tattered or torn, rather fermented beyond her time to take form. My Grandma loved to eat her white rice she ate thirty seven million grains of rice by the time she reached her 104-- Born on a sugarcane plant'tion on the coast of Oahu, a child in the tropics then a teen in Japan. Her family returned to their roots to learn, & grow, reenter the cultural force. She discovered her new talent as ------------------------------ K I M O N O A R T I S T ------------------------------ Kikuyo Yamamoto became liberated as an artist and then her life changed as her family demanded she leave her position and marry away to a Japanese man who lives in California (my Grand father). The matchmaker said it would work really well....She endured life as an American farm wife, then life in Japanese intern- ment camps. Five children, nine grandchildren...Dear Grandmother I know you had lots to surrender- I honor your life as mother, grandmother, and artist --I wove this poem in the form of a kimono for you May your spirit rest in peace. I love you.

35

pink kimono opens slowly

0

Aug 22, 2020

Aug 22, 2020 at 10:26 PM UTC