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haiku namatata May 2010
Haikus: somewhat lame.
They serve better as segways
Between my poems.
Gossamer Sep 2015
I grew up
reading books about
boys
who say things like,
"You're so beautiful,"
or
"God, I can't believe
I've never known you
before"
and they kiss the girl
and they fall in love
and maybe there's a struggle
somewhere in the middle
but everything is
o k a y
and in the moments after
hearing how beautiful
and wonderful
and amazing
she is,
the girl is happy,
the girl is loved,
the girl is l o v e d.

The last boy who told me I was beautiful
didn't listen
when i said
NO
and I sobbed in my own bed
for three nights
and I couldn't touch my sheets
for five
because it takes a long time
to get blood stains out
when you use the cheap washers
in the dorms.

The last boy who told me I was amazing
left me at five in the morning
and said he'd call
and even as he looked me in the eye,
I knew he wouldn't.

The last boy who told me he liked me
said so as he tried to push my head
in a direction I didn't want it to go
and it seems
that all of these compliments
are meant to be segways
into getting something more.

These compliments
have turned into warnings,
red lights,
get out,
get out,
he only wants you
for your body
and I don't know
how I am ever supposed
to believe someone
when they actually mean it
when all I know
is sugar-coated bullets.

I am reading a book
where the boy whispers
promises between kisses
and I realize
I have never kissed anyone in
the light
and I am numb inside
and I do not want to be called
beautiful
anymore because to me
that means I am
about to be shot.
The mileage added up to just a grand
Not a lot for 20 days,
No crossing of a dateline
Or a continent’s divide.

But still that world seemed somewhat foreign
and I saw streams of amazing things,
That were echoes of my teenage self,
As different now as I was then.

A hazy forest, dark and damp
Where the mist turned into fairy snow
And we walked on in muddy shoes
To learn the mysteries of falling water.

A midas treasure of wave-borne findings
Spilling from a cavernous hall
Pieces of so many lives found
Floating on the morning tide.

Stories of a Nippon sailor’s life
From things that got thrown overboard
Images of fishing boats
In round glass ***** and floats of cork.

Carve the circle with a line
That led to a reunion of
The ones that I grew up beside
But never quite was welcomed in.

A rounding up of recollections
Shared at tables set for eight
Where those left out still don’t fit in
And bonhomie was the music played.

To the ocean of my childhood days
Waves that tell me who I am
And fill up all the empty spaces
City life drained out of me.

A shining tower with ninety steps
That wound around like pizza slices
And tripped me up to ******* blood
As balsa airplanes spiraled to the ground.

No time for wounding on the schedule
Shedding blood but never tears
The leader of the band played on
Admiring a Tsunami boat

Come all the way from far Japan
With cargo of the local fish
Still swimming in the unspilled sea.
A miracle born from true disaster.

Another beach, not like my own
A warmer, calmer span of sand
With jutting rocks in shallow surf
That dare you out to climb them.

Drawn once more to city lights
And the grassy ***** where mother lies
There were other gardens to enjoy and
And contrivances with just two wheels.

How quickly we grew shuttered in-
Just two days in big city life,
The restaurants and funny shows
Still told us it was time to go.

Longing for the beauty of the Gorge
We were met by smoke and blackened stumps
And exits blocked to waterfalls, ravaged
By the fires of hell, and ugly now for 50 years.

A teenage boy with fireworks and no sense
Destroyed the loveliest drive on earth
And bragged to all his awestruck friends
That all the news stories were about him.

With fingers crossed at Mount Rainier,
The sunny weather turned to slush and
Fell two inches in an hour.  I ate fresh snow
Off branches as we hiked, and froze my tongue.

We wore the heavy coats we almost didn’t bring
And cheered when sunshine took the snow away
And we could walk in forests once again
On trails we never knew were there.

A wonderland of cast off parts and metal bits
Became giraffes, seahorses and other marvels
In the hands of a roadside welding artist
Who sold a giant piece to my home town.

A visit with a sister who shared my youth but not my soul
Who grew one way and I another
Leaving not a thing in common for us
Except the love that comes from blood.

No way to avoid the final city
Hellish place of one way streets
Endless detours and construction
Pay all you own to park two hours.

Yet there was the comedy and
Segways once again to ride.
A troll under a hulking bridge and
Poor Rapunzel in the tower.

Passing up the tourist musts,
Visited in journeys past, we saw
The small and quirky things
That make a foreign city yours.

Twenty days, almost no rain
Unheard of in that rainy clime
A lot of sun, some cloudy skies
A bit of snow to frost the cake.

Twenty days to drive a circle
On the map of who I am
And where I came from
To bring it all back here with me.

To this place so vastly different
I wonder how I found a way
To fit inside this giant tumbler
And plant a seed that actually grew

A would-artist long ago
I wonder how I mixed the paint
To make a life so changed, in colors
Blended from Seattle’s soils.

Painted on a Portland canvas
With a brush of Longview bristles
Wetted with Pacific water
To present my image to the world.
                       ljm
Should anyone be curious about our route, here it is:  Fly to Seattle, pick up car, Ferry to Kingston on Olympic Peninsula, drive to Hurricane Ridge and Sol Duk.  To Forks (No interewst in Twilight locations) to Beachcomber museum, and Hoh Rainforest.  Aberdeen (skipped Curt Cobin park) and Longview.  Class reunion.  To Long Beach  (the only REAL beach on the west coast), To astoria to climb the tower (and fall).  Maritime museum and that tsunami boat.  Seaside, Canon and Red beach.  Tillamook and the cheese factory.  Portland.  Mom's grave.  The poor mutilated Columbia Gorge, to Umatilla.  Then through Yakima and Ruchland to Mt. Rainer Nat. Park.
To Puyallup (properly pronounced pew-al'-up) to see sister and on to Seattle for the last 3 days, then home.
*** - I've just done a boring vacation letter.  Be glad you aren't on my Christmas newsletter list !!
Minal Govind Mar 2016
Sometimes I worry
about the amount of things
I will have
left
to say to you next time -
should I make a list?

How will I account for segways?
(You take a lot of detours
and I follow in fear that you'll walk
away,
but I'm expected to find my way
back.)
I'll bring breadcrumbs next time;
maybe ducks will eat them though.

As long as I'm with you, anywhere
feels right.
Like on your kitchen counter,
sipping sickly sweet grape juice
while you microwaved popcorn.

Or on the stairs in the basement -
where I discovered your heart
beat
and you discovered that my lips are sweet.

Or crouched on the tiles behind the cabinet
with tears puddling around me
and I text you instructions not to call
but you
still
tried,
7 times,
and you said that it's okay if I say nothing.

Back to square one:
we find ourselves with phones to our ears -
(yours possibly taped to your head because
you like to eat at
1 am)
in silence together.

At some point, I cave -
'What's the point of this? We could be silent and not on the phone with each other.'

You reply - 'It's just better this way because I can
Feel you.'

We'll never run out of silence
because now it's all we have.
Qualyxian Quest Sep 2021
Said my Uncle Marty
After my (Irish) grandmother
Would speak.

She was a teacher. Herself.
Me too.

Grandma,

Help me do
My best purpleblue.

     Toledo hue.
Charlie Fanning Apr 2020
Safe sound startled
Choir chimes up and down
Away through town
No frown upon the upside crown
The lounging leathers
The Sunday blues
Snoozing on segways
And the passing allabies

We cry goodbye for the shine
Of saying hello or hi
The mood changers the mood swingers,
Now its a last goodbye

Christ or religion
Freewill or free living
Shivering with the gays and queers
Your on your own for this journey through hospital trip visits
And lessons from English teachers
What for? The man said
We all forget it one day

So you can take a journey to Brooklyn state hospital
And find Woody Guthrie or stop being a fraud
And write your own poem

I may be right I may be wrong
But you'll find them both in the Grand Canyon
At Sundown
Penne Mar 2021
What rhymes with the opthalmologist's light?
Soothe the sand with your new shampoo
Starfish boosted paragraphs
Or starfish-looking eyes?
Melon wax building up on the corn's wall
Man, how do they season the bee's lens?
How do you feel about dominoes  cracking?

How many times to trip on belt powder?
Why did the kid asked "Why do motorcycles circle around while we can't?"

Segue to segregate the segways in the sky basket
Hearing the boy once more,
"I will make you shiny!"
The aunt told him, "I will bake you apple pie."

What if the queen ant had  feelings?
A sub-species requesting a leverage from the higher up
Uplift the spirits
Listening really is the answer?
Explain again how a small hut can fold a bloodstained ring
Careful, there is only one plane
They say don't wiggle it for fun
Wait, hold on
Will you attach the baby meerkat  on the GIF maker's father?

Do you want to be a song title?
Maybe dream more
I would not have this job

Farewell,
Santa Claus
Qualyxian Quest Mar 2023
Toledo is comfort for me
3333
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas
Catholic education

I heard Cornel West
St. John's Jesuit
T.S. Eliot
I take my medication

My grandma and her segways
My grampa and his trains
I stack the Christmas presents
Teaching is dedication

Purple near the tree
Books about Ireland
3333
Buddhist meditation

             Silencio
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2020
Try followin' those segways
My uncle says to me

My grandmother's Irish mind
Moved associatively

I also have this movement
Dear reader, perhaps you can tell

Black and White is ignorance
Black and White is Hell

My mother is Sally Brown
I sally forth as well!

— The End —