"alchemize" poems
All of those identities that end in "t" and "r" and "n,"
make us feel god awful and self-conscious.
Singer, artist, writer, musician, mortician, poet.
Who entitles us to use them?
And it's true, your voice touches in between my shoulders,
and melts to the bottom of my stomach when you croon,
but you don't find yourself an apt enough player of the voice box.
And sure, painting the reasons why I woke from your dream,
might seem like I'm an artist, but I rather just say...
I enjoy painting.
And right, we like to etch words into books and alchemize
the desire to question into stories,
but we're just fans of reading.
And you know, when the air cradles the harmonies of your guitar
like newborn unicorns, I want to point and claim,
though you think you know too little to call yourself musician.
And yes, the way we lay our bodies to sleep every night sometimes hopeful we don't rise again,
is much like how we treat our desire to declare ourselves,
but that makes us only those who give the dead away.
And of course, my blood courses in order to stitch and weave worded thoughts like these together,
because they lighten our concerns and brighten our better qualities,
so of course,
yes,
I know,
Right,
Sure,
It's true,
I am a...
I might dabble in poetry, here and there. No big deal.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
alchemize this world
constant metamorphe
myself to birth anew
ouroboros
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
The careful moon maunders through the glass ceiling
on these long nights
when I try to alchemize my visions into ships.
I imagine the mist moping among the larches—
the dewy bark that wakes,
looking for shadows of loggers in the grey.
On cold nights like this I sleep beneath a sheet, sweating,
dreaming of China’s violet sky exploding with hues
of a butterfly’s paper wings.
The summer air crackles above the pale girl’s tent—
a counterfeit ankh hangs between
her naked, sagging *******
and she sees the future in the reflection of her eye
on an Opinel’s blade—her iris wheezing into shapes.
She tells me there are gales ahead
like ones in schoolbook etchings of Poseidon.
Boys will choke on salt, she says,
or the ice will kiss the little princes to sleep.
But she coos how they look like dancers at a ball.
How many boys will be lost? I ask the girl.
All of them, she says with ***** on her breath,
but this won’t stop you, will it?
In my favorite dream yolk sizzles on a cast iron as mother sings.
My older sister laughs, cheeks full of sourdough and jam,
and father’s wet hair drips onto his paper—
the ink of little letters smearing into bare branches.
The dream helps me forget that rain never ends where I wake,
where guilt’s proboscis feeds on hardened veins.
To whomever’s my son, please don’t put me in an elegy
where the memory of me will rot like wet wood.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
I am running through the Milky Way,
with love and hope perches into the soul,
dancing cloud flash the glee,
the peacock biding, rain could be
me for love
love for mine
Souls are jocund company while triumph of birds
twilight on face antecedents shine of love,
vitreous luster of a crystal as diamond,
the dark of the darkness beget the diamond,
dark defuses and alchemize,
the black grinned -
caliginous to illumine as a small table lamp
glimmer glee with the end of darkness.
I can hear babies are cackling in the next room.
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Dear Nikki at 5,
I wanted to write to you today
To honor our 500th poem
To honor you and to honor
All of the pain you've carried for us
I think of that one night
Maybe the first time you wrote about your feelings
You were so hurt and angry
Emotional energy like a current
Electrifying your entire system
So you found solace in your words
Scribbling onto your magnetic sketchpad
Letting the anger rush through you
Concentrated energy through the pen
I am so proud of you for coping that way
I know you felt better afterwards
Written words tend to alchemize our energy
Firing ferocity into calm
I respect your instincts
To translate your pain into art
It was beautiful until your peace was shattered
Our mother found your writing and
Instead of discussing your pain and anger
She took your words for gunshots
Ripping apart her already low self esteem
So she sat you down on the stairs
She was distraught and upset
She told you that your words hurt her
That your feelings caused her pain
That you were bad and wrong for writing them
Instead of considering your emotional state
Instead of even asking what was wrong
She loaded your shoulders with shame
Forced you to carry the burden of her pain
A child responsible for the emotions of an adult
You took on that task and couldn't have known
That doing so would internalize that responsibility
That you would forever feel at fault
When anyone around you felt pain
She taught you that your feelings are bad
That your inner workings are inherently flawed
Your emotions, your wants, your needs
Normal pieces of your humanity
It all became your greatest enemy
And your most intense fear
I am so sorry that she didn't hug you
I am sorry she didn't tell you it's ok to feel
You deserved love and compassion
You deserved to be taught that
You are not defined by your feelings
She could have taught you that your choices
Carry the truth of who you are
That you made a beautiful decision that day
To write out your emotions when
You could have acted them out instead
I want you to know that I am so proud of you
That your feelings were real and valid
Your feelings matter, every single one
I am so sorry I spent most of our life
Shaming you for being human
Instead of celebrating your sensitivity
I reinforced and added to your burden
I blamed you for every broken thing
And turned you into a target for pain
You deserved to maintain your childhood
You deserved respect for your humanity
I am sorry for the time it's taken me to learn
After 20 years I finally understand that
Your feelings matter and your heart is good
You will no longer carry this pain
I will be the parent that you deserve
Thank you for sticking with me
And thank you for leading us here
I love you little one
You have always been enough
With love,
24-year-old You
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 2:38 AM UTC
MOTECUHZOMA
There is a third chance-medley you omit:
The several forking paths of fortune’s walks.
Seeing a panther lurking on my left,
Would you not show your lord the right-hand path?
When looking back, we do not note that fork,
Yet fate allows some swing for the intrepid.
SORCERER 2
To cure these feline fears, don’t run
From either, or your jaunt is done.
But left and right will both hold good,
If you’re the panther in the wood.
SORCERER 1
Ah, brother, who are we to armor
Arguments against this charmer?
What use, to change into a cat
As we can? He can diplomat
His way through spells, and alchemize
Pure, golden truths from steely lies.
SORCERER 2
From impotence to abstinence,
Humility from arrogance,
Plunder into philanthropy,
And sadism to justice.
SORCERER 3 See?
No bird bones nor no wands are heeded,
Only no character is needed.
ALL SORCERERS
All hail the high and mighty mage,
The gazing stock of this flat age!
MOTECUHZOMA
Cart off to jail these jaunting cavaliers!
Let them chirp out their pert remarks through bridles,
And fix their flippant eyes on cold stone floors.
Sans voice, sans books, sans tricky hands, we’ll see
What muffled incantations might avail.
Guards exit with the Sorcerers.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
These were but three. More might more prophets know.
TLACAELEL
Well, these ones missed the mark.
MOTECUHZOMA I fear not so.
All exit.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
He stood, day by day
at the edge of the water
and staring down himself,
they passed the words like fodder
To demonize his silence
He gazed into himself
and wondering what he’d find
he journeyed inner hence.
The words around him grew
for mystery like death’s dark cloak
enshrouded his eye;
they demanded recompense.
The dark of the unknown
the wandering soul,
geared up like an explorer
to climb upon the mountain’s face
and seek the edge of the gods’ grace
until the fire filled him.
Straining in the winds
as climbing higher still,
the quiet pushed outside
and filled the crown of heaven.
For in the inner will
the nature of the endless choice
to be a chorus or a voice
and cast away from all that knows;
not finding or not seeking
deliberately turning,
inspecting, touching, yearning
for the knowledge driving
us step by step upon the sands
until we find our foreign lands.
He stood, day by day
at the edge of the water
and staring down himself,
he took the hand like settlement
To alchemize the silence
He gazed into himself
and finding there an echoed soul
they journeyed inner hence.
Narcissus walked the water’s edge
and found upon the mountain’s ledge
with winds upon his back
the mirror in the water;
the depth and magic gazing in
and drawing silence into sin
of oustretched wing and Morning light.
And gazed until the end of night.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 10:25 PM UTC