Since the day we met, I am struck and stung
From that day, my inside is singing this song
All I want to do is see you and hold you
I want to tell you, I think I love you

When you come near my sight
My senses pop out and I lose my mind
I want to hold your hand and make you smile
I want to talk with you and walk a million mile

When you look at me and you touch me, I get butterflies
Your words fill the empty space where my heart lies
This heart has been crushed and cut with knife
Your voice, so sweet to me, bring it back to life

I was smashed; my feelings were burned down to ashes
Frustration gulped me and I got serious depression cases
I was lost for very long hours of years
Scared, taunted and hollowed with fears

Now I can see the spark in your eyes
I have fallen for you, and it’s no lies
My blur life has changed to a beautiful bokeh
I want to confess I love you......................

With mechanical portals known to be doors
That either lead to different worlds or take you home,
These cabled vehicles like tunnels on wheels fastened on a railroad track
Stretch to both ends of the universe under a single route.
And as you get in for closure,
You put your trust on the obscure.

Just say the magic words;
It will take you anywhere you wish to be.
Even though magic always comes with a prize,
The only cost are countable units of your time
And also a few dimes,
In return for the travel of your life.

Across the carpeted walkway of reaching out,
Through the glass windows of visible silver lining,
Behind the blank and arid faces that lure the soul to sink in deep wonder,
The lights and skyscrapers, and mist silhouetting the scenery,
All appear in bokeh, all blend in your eyes;
Your eyes that glow brighter than fire on ice.

The coldness lashing perennially on your skin
And shaking your bones to its final breakage,
Couldn't beat the absolute zero amity between these strangers.
But your fascination has enough radiation
To melt the tip of the iceberg
And shine over what's behind their opaque walls.

Settled on the plastic seats that serve as time machines,
They nestle between unfamiliar bodies;
Static, in a state of inertia.
Blocking out force, resisting change;
Like cars stuck on parking mode,
Couldn't bring themselves to unload.

Grasping on loose handles
With a grip more secure than seat-belts,
Some tend to pull away despite of the constant push.
Like engines on reverse, they take time to backtrack.
For all we know, for every action,
Is an equal and opposite reaction.

The brakes hit; there goes a screeching sound.
But when it comes to a break, we don't really hang back
Or fall to a complete stop;
We only slide forward.
For we must keep moving ahead,
In order to keep our balance.

The portals once again unlock to let you out to the open galaxy
And let in another for the same adventure.
You've reached the end of the trip,
But not the end of the road; nor the destination.
For the journey is infinite; you know you are going to ride again and again,
Until you've run out of wishes of where you want to be where.

There is a transient moment
most profound
and necessary.

It is that line
which borders the sky
and the water,
the umimaginary,
factual,
tangible edge
of reality and perception,
past and future,
mirror and reflection,
which develops insight.

A transient, effervescent moment,
of delight.

Lily marked the gravestone. A white streak across grey cobble, the crumbling visage of a turning sky reflected in the puddle beside her. New dusk brimmed grey gold, a heady dust galloped with the rising easterly winds, a white streak across grey skies. Lily marked the edge of her notebook, nine-past-ten, the end of second period, a break in consciousness, then a tang of blood from her swollen gums. Lenin rose above the rooftops, a hand brushed her forehead as the paramedics left, a black bag.

The answer was heat death, compartmentalised energy, like fireworks falling into darkness. Burning rice, spilt coffee, Ain’s smile. Nights on counter, pad paper, day old rain. Lily fell into a nightmare, smooth black, a single light dissipating as the universe died. She spat blood, missed the bus and collapsed on the walk to school.

It was the anniversary. Setting sun, plumes of white, the exit sigh of a wasted day. Lily woke hours later. She returned to an empty home, suffocated in a dream and rose four hours too early for school. Climbing the roof, she watched the sun rise, grey and formless.

There was ash in the hallway to class, the remnants of the incense from yesterday’s memorial, pencil shavings from the forest, fingers blurring out of definition like the trees around her, the soft empty breath of loose soil. Ain came to the store on a night like this, wind gathered silent around her frame. They found themselves atop a bus shelter, lights rising from a sea of nothingness.

Eight-forty-five, the chalk felt heavy in Lily’s hand, white dash across infinity, city blackout. Everyone went to see the dam, cracked pavement, Ain dripping blood, Lily wreathed in ravens. Below the river, forest spirits wove among power lines, bird bones cracked beneath the soles of children, motes rose. Lily lost sight of Ain, the dam broke and children cheered.

Time passed. Ceaseless time.

Lily drifted through petroleum smoke, dashi, the burning husks of gods. She watched the river ryū sweep through her street, turbid with the broken heads of graves, mad with phantoms. She visited memories yet to form, nurseries of dust, cosmic return of the infinite perceiving itself. She cried, remembering everything, the smell Ain’s wet hair, ricochet of a glass bottle, Lenin’s dirt-smeared skin, the birth and death of the universe; mother unable to afford pad paper, sakura bursting the sky pink, couples riding past on too expensive bikes, father drunk on sake. Ribbons of light danced around Lily, a playful susurration, feeding her more and more memories.

Isn’t it beautiful? Existence burning through itself? A departure with no ending, no beginning, no becoming? Haven’t you lived a full life? Won’t you live it again?

Lily screamed. Split dam flooded the empty grave. The same smell of soy, dust and sweat every day. Lack birthed in the space between, like teeth, lacuna bleeding. Nightmares and old memories pouring out like a knife. Ryū stiffened, red streak across the sky, tail burying into the earth. Rice steam filled the air, a passing train carried Ain and Lily into the city, crowds of smoke, her crescent eyes reflected in a storefront, the eyes her mother loved. April awakening of the forest gods, cool spring rustled the hair around her neck, a humid breath descended from the mountain to the lake. Warm rain fell in sheets, city smudged out of focus, bokeh lights departing, Ain’s wet skin—

The city retracted; a whimper escaped her mouth; her fingers passed through power lines, wood smoke, pavement; seasons collapsed, superimposed like holograms, snow and humus; gyoza steamed, air sirens blared beneath the shadow of foreign planes; kodama rose as ancient trees reclaimed the land; volcanic blasts shook the ocean, AI sped to singularity; reality vanished like light falling off a mirror and Lily ceased to feel.

Space is illusory.

Lily.

It travels ceaselessly through itself.

Lily, stop.

And we don’t exist.

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, squirming on the ground. “Lily, stop!”

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, squirming on the ground. “Lily, stop!”

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, grabbing Lily’s wrists. “Haven’t we done this enough?”

.
So afar and tall are you to me,
For you are from shining mountains,
Higher than the clouds, your brow,
Darker than the heavens, your hair.

So small and fey am I to you,
For I am but lone whisper in glens,
Slight as one firefly on the moors
And my reflection but a tiny glow.

    Only to spark at edge of pools dark,
    Only to fly when in harnessing arms.

I crossed a bridge to be with you,
The streams slipping times away,
Beneath my girlhood, all in a rush,
Then I entered the deepest wood.

So small and wan was I to you,
For you are from snowy mountains
And I am from rain-watery glens,
For you are portrait and I bokeh.

    One day the woods engulfed me strong,
    One night the bridge I crossed was gone.
.

Do you hear it?
The hiraeth
Here it lies
City lights
The shining bokeh behind your eyes

Can you hear it?
The hiraeth
Here it lies
The rustling leaves
Of Franklin’s oak trees

Will you hear it?
The hiraeth
Here it lies
The snow knee deep
Childhood friendships we shall keep

Can you hear it?
The hiraeth
Here it lies
The ducks of bronze and feather
Make memories of hometown brighter

Lines of light
form our forms,
as shapes glance shyly
at spot-dotted stars.
They shape you, you know?
Framing your eyes
with lashes so dark,
petals,
against a backdrop of lime
clear, wide, citrus,
for me, the slicing sting
in open wound screams.
But for you?
My arms wide
to gaily catch green gaze
whole.

My gaze,
a lens sans focus,
light bends and blurs
to bokeh.
It’s lost.
It returns.
The sudden impact
of complete regression,
dynamically hastened exhales
in symphonies of near silence.

Faith in finding
new seedlings buried
below cold spring surface,
or, if-luck-might-root-hold,
flowering perennials
of Love without Lust
claw up through dirt.
Worn out and in,
like rugged denim blue,
spanning one lifetime,
two,
yours and mine.
Endless desire,
for wear,
for comfort without fear,
each year, new tears,
again.

Again, again,
sun me with your stare.

Colour blooms
Onto a canvas of black-and-white impressions
Left behind are brush strokes from the blues and greys
Overlayed are the yellows and pinks
Flowers drift left and right
A sunset glows until dark
Transforming into midnight bokeh
With every blink, something new
A painter paints
A thousand places all here at once
A thousand dreams
A thousand wonders
All here, in the colour of you

Gimpse in the mirror, hair cascading down
emerald eyes piercing the reflection that isn't entirely yours.
Suddenly you see yourself age 78
overlooking the sea on the balcony, wrinkles traced in hands.
The Bainbridge ferry streams along like always,
dropping off passengers on King Street.
Girls and boys strolling down the avenue
happiness and dreams circling their trails.

You are only twenty. You should be experiencing this too.

Holidays at the pond
reminded you that you were always going to be alone
and look at where you are now.
No one will see the lights with you. No one wants to see
a smile at the bokeh, the incandescent halos
wrapped around the bridges.

You only wanted to be happy.

Sometimes I like to play with fate. I slip the lenses from my eyes...

Sometimes, when the circles of light are all I can see, I cross the street - letting mother universe decide my demise.
I haven't ever had good depth perception

​​june reminds me of

the calm before the storm
the flinch & the shivers
the wisps of smoke on your window sill & the wet bough
the purple sky with its thunder
& persistent rain
watching the bokeh of head lights
with dreamy eyes & iced teas    

it reminds me of the
wordless wait of an recluse
and
you...

this fridge is empty
nothing to fill it
light's on but there is no need
just like you life
you feel the same way
every night it's the same thing
all alone no hand to hug you
no one to tell you how pretty you look
as you head up stairs to go to bed
there's a knock at you door
you turn around not sure to answer it
waiting to her the knocking again
as the second knock is heard you run down the stairs
opening the door you see this we'll dressed man standing at you door step
with a bokeh of flowers a ring in the other hand
you look at him puzzled
until you notice the empty feeling fading away
you heart feels warm your skin lights up
there's a bright smile lighting up your face
you let him in then close the door
as he comes around and gives you a kiss
you put both hands around his chest
he does the same with his other two
the lonely and emptiness that was once there
is replaced with love a ring and a kiss
she is no longer her empty fridge

i. my chest shivers with my heartbeat—a hummingbird, flapping its wings.
ii. the first spring sunlight, warm rays of melted gold. light falls like a blanket, lucent, scintillating bronze aglow.
iii. redness on skin, marigolds flowering, blossoming pink scattered on cheeks like stardust. a thousand million comets, light and more light.
iv. warm grass beneath my fingers, sprouting up and growing through my body towards the sun.
v. fields of wildflowers. rosy morning sunrise over ocean. light, light, and light, draping over earth like curtains of amber, twinkling. bokeh pouring through forest canopies, a solar sedative, the fauna doze. light, more light, drizzling from sunbeams, riding on the claws of the birds.
vi. warm golden blankets, lulling the world to sleep.

good, so good
that's what they say about it-
but when I peer down at the scrawl
led-dragged, so heavily
I know it can never be enough.

bokeh lights and smoke streams
an insignificant metaphor-
just as Love is an understatement.
bullet wounds don't match
how hard You hurt.

discontent gets old
and eight months of displeasure
of dead static psychosis
have rendered me useless;
defined me as dead
to whatever connection I held
with beauty, glory,
understanding.

so good, they say
as the pictures piece together
in the minds hungry eye,
starving to relate,
unknown to the fact
it can never catch the passion;
the poetry is powerless.

june reminds me of

the calm before a storm
& the calm soft of your fingers
wisps of smoke out the window
shivers on my legs after the river
watching bokeh headlights
with dreamy eyes & a violet sky
cold sheets & loud fans at night
soaked shoes through the sprinklers
vaseline on my lips that i passed onto yours
the ivory scent of your laugh that still lingers

it reminds me of worldly things that now seem out of world
it reminds me of a past yet awaiting life
a blurry memory of who i am
it reminds me of you

I forgot how to breathe
underwater; serenity
inhale-exhale seemed like exercise
the wheel chairs moving
on white lawns
like exile

life behind lenses not tinted
but rimmed thick; reality check
felt like harsh sunlight

leaving bokeh lights clouding
my judgment
and I grew afraid

of insight - behind clouds
shrouded but certain
the windmills continue to rotate

left - right
left right

.
So afar and tall are you to me,
For you are from shining mountains,
Higher than the clouds, your brow,
Darker than the heavens, your hair.

So small and fey am I to you,
For I am but lone whisper in glens,
Slight as one firefly on the moors
And my reflection but a tiny glow.

    Only to spark at edge of pools dark,
    Only to fly when in harnessing arms.

I crossed a bridge to be with you,
The streams slipping times away,
Beneath my girlhood, all in a rush,
Then I entered the deepest wood.

So small and wan was I to you,
For you are from snowy mountains
And I am from rain-watery glens,
For you are portrait and I bokeh.

    One day the woods engulfed me strong,
    One night the bridge I crossed was gone.
.

Telephoto or prime
Bokeh or crisp and clear
I can't find the right lens
To capture your beauty,
Sunlight or flash
Moonlight or twilight
I can't find the right illumination
To capture your soul,
Film or digital
Polaroid or canvas
I can't find the way
To present you
To the world
Perfection in my eyes
From within
To your exterior,
Pen to paper
Chisel to stone
I can't find the way
To say permanently
All that you mean to me,
From that second of splendor
The first instant we met
To the ever present current
Sweeping us apart and together
Distant and close
But I'm holding out
For the days we'll journey
Rhythmic steps side by side
In the sand again...
APAD13 - 069 © okpoet

Another glass
(bodega red)—
Christmas lights,
all buzz-eyed bokeh—

I want you close,
my nervous tic,
my lunar love,
Cassiopeia—

this holiday I
said too much,
I made a fool of
both of us—

but I don’t drink
to disappear—
I drink to kiss
my fearless lover.

When I first saw you,
I was blinded and saw
bokeh lights and
a fuzzy silhouette.

You came closer and
I felt your warmth as
if you're the Nothern Star
and I'm on the way home.

Whenever I see fire,
I see you and you started
something in my heart
that felt like those little
fireworks you hold every
new year.

I thought your flames
would stay and your
embers won't go out.

But it's winter again and
I've never felt the wind
this cold.

It made me shiver so hard,
it chilled my bones.

Feeling rather off lately.
Must be time to stretch my wings.
Flutter up, and out,
above ordinary things.
I feel a chill in the air, and a feeling- that familiar glare,
of red and orange bokeh lights on the freeway,
dusty clouds over head,
waking up under the overpass of your love,
and the heart beat that
beats ahead,
ahead of the others,
ahead of the crowd,
it whispers, "Stand up straight,
don't slouch, speak up loud.
Throw off the familiar,
shake off the cloud,
run with the leopards and
leap with the deer,
unbind your icy feet,
and crush the new year."

-Dm 2017

my feet are taking me someplace I don't want to be.

they say
third times the charm but the fourth

is luckier.

traffic is
so pretty at night;
bokeh dance shrouded in black,
cars oscillating forward and back,
so enticingly juvenile are the lights.

at crossroads I
test the waters
concrete ocean;
I can stand on it.
I can almost taste
the blood
in my mouth,

I can almost wash
the blood
off my hands.

Bokeh flares glitter.

Give me love
Give me love
Give me love

Spirals of white.

Give me love
Give me love
Give me love

Dancing yellow light screeches.
Overwhelming prisms flash through.
Angry heated red sets fire.
Meadow green comforts, too.

I close my eyes and I listen.

I see a masterpiece painted behind my eyes, sitting, waiting to be discovered.

Encovered. Enearthed. A firework display of passion errupting in time

One and two and three and four ...

Blood, oceans, dirt, sun

The words bring the passion and the passion brings the show.


The rhythm creates the motion, gives life to the color.


Color.

Give me love
Give me love
Give me love

Every song has color.
Every song has a display.
All we need to do is close our eyes and wait and

Take the time to listen.

-t.s.

My eyes staying in your veil of poetic peace,
squeezing out fear and intimidating fact
that the void will be coined
by the other

The horizontal slides from its straight ruler
certificating broken sunlight against the blind bokeh,
swaying the Nos, I'll be going when my time can't hold the truth

Your identity softens my years of solitary
my fear trips over your sincerity,
but I know it's hard to gaze at the sea
when the wave crashes down on my knees

My last plea
is could you not stray away from me
I can do best by turning back against the sea
and be as the weak wind

So you can take the hold of the blow
So I was told that I was gone

I remember the Fall
I remember the bokeh

Placed in a vase and kept by our bedroom
window

It took your breath away, fed off your lungs
and grew so monstrous by dark

We tried in vain to replace what was lost
with the artificial:

Albuterol haze, Gaussian distribution

It failed, as you know

And I too fell within the blur of the rebound effect,
struggling to keep from panic

Then rang alarums that lay-in-wait, then came red lights,
then came shouting for help

You laid on the livingroom floor, intubated

Life nearly snuffed out

Me in tremors, two cats hiding

You would survive, but neither of us would
ever be the people before

Clearly, not all blur is equal, each has its own aesthetic quality

Mine tends to fall under the umbrella of disturbing thought patterns

We each reflect on different things
about that day

My fail-safe is trying not to remember at all