"plainsight" poems
Oh I'm coming back home
though I'm sitting still
with Dove and Owl on my windowsill.
They sound, they sing, they're whispering:
The stars keep on spinning.
And the stars keep on spinning.
Peahen to Owl is hiding a scowl;
They don't know each other much anyway.
She's quietly cross
and has nothing to say,
but that's just because
Owl might take Dove away.
Treetrunk is standing
as the steeples are sighing,
for chipmunk is chipping
the hours away.
Oh I will remember today.
How I'll remember today.
The mountains, they smirk
at the secrets that lurk
in plainsight, in view,
but to children are new:
*Cherrosa lerosa
fleurisa lilanca.*
Nothing never changes:
Ever always will.
Owl is happy; Dove is quite snappy,
but let's not get ahead
and just smile instead.
Let's just smile instead.
Look up and live
and shrug at the skies
because the future is full
of i-don't-know-whys.
Time will yet tell if all turns out well:
Tomorrow is today in disguise.
Starberry summers stuck in my head
skip around and play,
so I just smile instead.
Oh how I'll remember today.
*Cherrosa lerosa
fleurisa lilanca.*
the stars they keep spinning away.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 5:13 AM UTC
I.
On the surface easily gliding,
are my hands. I keep on the table
an ajar carton of cigarettes. Then slowly
becoming in my pocket, taking form of a hand,
a crumpled cinema ticket when straightened,
ironed by plainsight, walks with lines, the end credits roll lasciviously like an estranged lover
whose face I can almost touch.
When let go of closure, air thins and I move
secretly with fluency. This is how objects
escape my grip.
II.
In front of the eatery, a transit.
I had a dream once in a depthless sleep,
a figure in stilts studded with guilt.
The face next to me, disquieting the music
of currencies, naked in sound as the truth shaved
like a beast. The nearby tarmac resounds with
another throng of absence. As a substitute
for beings shackled to duty,
the oncoming woman assumes theirs,
borrows their faces of dreariness and ***** a thousand times like white sheets harassed by
the wind through opened windows.
III.
Define space as a venue for collision.
Say when a red-haired woman straddling
a duffel bag and myself confused as a peripatetic.
She ascribes her presence to my footing
and from where she left off, I take form
of her expired movement.
Found strangeness is that space
is what happens when remembered. But hold no
bearing and rear contrivance,
trying to be bold by definition -- space solicits
the in-betweenness and then transmutes
an occurence,
say the volatile shape of a hand when
clutching and releasing, the fugitive manner of
feet when avoiding puddles, the unsolicited
reticence of a troubling question.
IV.
A man carries a take away and is now
amongst the populace, waiting under a shed,
housing a familiar language. Home.
But first, trivialized. Haggles with the cab driver,
trying to transact a being angled towards home.
They agree to a fault, money's perfume clinches the fingers and is given to a calloused hand.
Air once stale, is now succulent with the
resonating memory of a child's excited laughter,
and is now presumably waiting behind a gated
home. Like the palm of the hand, the number
of times the vehicle trundles within
the nearby avenue is the force it enkindles
with rest. He is home,
unloosens his clothing. Like a fine specimen
freed from a vitrine.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
I have no worry about direction cuz I’m my own light
I’m my own sun so my path is clear and bright
The world is a battlefield yet I need no one in this fight
Been dragged through nine hells that I lost any appetite..
to live this life. I memorized the ceiling cuz stared at it all night
Hard to believe after all that my heart can taste any delight
Trying to make life livable and find beauty again in the moonlight
I’m no longer a teen to allow only the dark side in my sight
I believe there are truly beautiful things out there laying at plainsight
None of them compare to you, Gosh! you feel so right
Don’t believe in fairytales anymore, though you took me on a flight
And showed me hope, flaming my heart again after it had a frostbite
Hand in hand, we’ll burn bright, and a perfect future, we’ll write
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC