"sonar" poems
Ears pressed cool against
glass tables and vinyl flooring
words score high drained slowly
slow like wasps caught in guttered draining
not like velvet names etched in casing, but weathered like bricked and beaten graffiti –
Waning like wax always melting
Tools: spelling and grammar – uncheck
Don’t fret too many gerunds grounding air suffocating hearing between the lines that past lower truths out straight in dirt and stinky face: eyes drawn with pensive staring
lines drawn global remains of words unused: boycott form because it isn’t daring.
Adopt sonar because it traces the smokestack between eaves drop
and scrap metal hearing like thorns prickled cut by cleaver.
Clink, clink, clank.
Unlatch cellar doors of images fixed in meaning: glances slanted
heads poked out behind legs enchanting ink under eyelids.
Clank, click, click.
Wishing: Sunday morning came to rest and the cat perched rest without the windowsill and the space between my legs lost meaning.
Forgetting: Painted houses haunting furniture misplaced, training lessons in memory fading.
Dreaming: Sounds dipped in vegetable oil, Van Morrison in teething states caring.
Still lost without my last breathe wondering…
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 1:31 PM UTC
at three times the speed of sound the SR-71
was so fast it didn’t need to hide, but when
I met you we were slower, metal walls covered
in black reconnaissance paint, sonar silence.
blackbird, shy
sometimes you bit your lower lip, or my
eyes drowned, and we looked down and I cursed
my stubbornly earthbound feet, but blessed
be the stars that crossed for us to meet.
blackbird, cry
under the cozy cover of quietly building-up time
we moved on. when the back of your hand
brushes my face it slowly lifts another brick
of something sturdy into place.
the way your palms get clammy with excitement
when you point out planes coming out and in,
the way your eyes light with joy and nervousness
at my reaction is how I feel when I lean over your shoulder
and point out jupiter in the sky.
blackbird, dry your eyes
the hello was slow, but goodbyes move
faster than sound. we finally found saturn
and then time ran out.
standard procedure for the SR-71
in the event of a missile lock-on
was to continue being
the fastest thing in the sky.
blackbird, fly
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
there was a little dolphin he was sad oneday
poor chap got lost he had lost his way
his sonar wasnt working no direction could he find
from the other dolphins he got left behind.
then a friendly whale he came swimming by
the little dolphin saw him and began to cry
whale he asked the dolphin why he was so sad
i have lost my way he said lost my mum and dad
dont worry said the whale just you follow me
i will take you back to where you long to be
of they swam together in the ocean blue
when whale he spotted dolphins coming in to view.
dolphin he was happy his sadness turned to glad
whale had found his family and his mum and dad
whale he said goodbye as he swam away
dolphin joined is family and never more did stray
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Encephalon is the flagitious syndicate target
To imprison the saintly and resistant population
In the research agenda which is classified
We are selected guinea pigs in a nightmare
To the unethical secret operations
Unknown to many, is the silent suffering
Of isolated victims living amongst the community
Satellite surveillance includes electromagnetic harassment
That burning, thought stealing, control of limbs feeling
I was done by the hoary Navy's sonar
Poor dolphins washed up Cornwall's beach(1)
After sonar echoed in my right lughole
Mind control technology has evolved
The community are recruited by false propaganda
Thats the local police, council, library, not restricted to neighbours
Old style Cointelpro is in play
Discredited, slanders, and victim blaming
Who can we share with but other targets
Nobody asked which human is for "use" in trials?
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 10:37 AM UTC
Madrid quedó vacía
sólo estamos los otros
y por eso
se siente la presencia de las plazas
los jardines y fuentes
los parques y glorietas
como siempre en verano
madrid se ha convertido
en una calma unánime
pero agradece nuestra permanencia
a contrapelo de los más
es un agosto de eclosión privada
sin mercaderes ni paraguas
sin comitivas ni mitines
en ningún otro mes del larguísimo año
existe enlace tan sutil
entre la poderosa
metrópoli
y nosotros pecadores afortunadamente
los árboles han vuelto a ser
protagonistas del aire gratuito
como antes
cuando los ecologistas
no eran todavía imprescindibles
también los pájaros disfrutan
ala batiente de una urbe
que inesperadamente se transforma
en vivible y volable
los madrileños han huido
a la montaña y a marbella
a ciudadela y benidorm
a formentor y tenerife
y nos entregan sin malicia
a los otros que ahora
por fin somos nosotros
un madrid sorprendente
casi vacante despejado
limpio de hollín y disponible
en él andamos como dueños
tercermundistas del arrobo
en solidarias pulcras avenidas
sudando con unción la gota gorda
el verano no es tiempo de fragor
sino de verde tregua
empalagados del rencor insomne
estamos como nunca
dispuestos a la paz
en el rato estival
la historia se detiene
y todos descubrimos una vida postiza
pero cuando el asueto se termine
volverán a sonar
las bocinas los gritos las sirenas los mueras y los vivas
bombas y zambombazos
y las dulces metódicas campanas
durante tres fecundas estaciones
nadie se acordará
de pájaros y árboles
4k
The Pen
The pick up the pen;
The put it down again
(That sunken feeling, nemesis or friend?)
The pen. The Pen.
The pacing, the pressing up against
The period. Stop stopping
Again. Pick it up to put it down.
Pointless. Pshaw.
Please.
Please me simplicity. C’mon!
C’mon pen lemme pick it up
And put something down.
I’ll plagiarize the flow for a few words of my own.
I’m looking for inspiration from the great beyond.
My muse is missing.
I know the medium is a constraint.
I know inside
The set of symbols paints
Me into a corner. The parameters
Of my pen’s head worn out. I’m ****** The metaphors
Pressed. The pen is second-guessed.
A literate piece of poetic license,
The defense mechanism
Against the prison I impose.
Me, myself, and I inside
The pen pining for a purpose.
The nexus of picking it up and putting it down
Is perplexing me, is vexing
Me like a sticky keyboard key.
So, I’m putting it all down
With the pen.
The pen.
The picking it up: who cares?
The putting it down: pensive prohibition.
The picking up; what I left out.
The putting it down: polygraph precision.
The picking up where I left off:
The putting it down: priority, what’s left of me.
The picking it up, when I don’t even know
Why I bother?
The putting it down: passion
The putting it down: plea of let me be.
The putting it down periscope; I’m diving under
The pressure’s mounting; I’m down for the counting on my muse
To bring me back
From that inky black abyss once again
My personal sonar is
Probing the depths, of what lies
hidden within
the pen.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
there was a little dolphin a clever chap was he
he lived in the ocean in the deep blue sea
he sad sonar sense to guide him on his way
to tell him to go so he wouldnt stray
oneday while out swimming he heard a little noise
coming from the side of a marker buoy
it was a little crab very sad was he
caught up in the buoy trying to break free
dolphin he was clever and knew what to do
the rope the crab was stuck in he began to chew
dophin chewed and chewed till the crab was free
he had been released back in to the sea
crab was very happy dolphin saved the day
he waved goodbye to dolphin as he swam away
dolphin he was glad the little crab was free
feeling very proud a hero now was he
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 8:22 AM UTC
Words blow
with the blast
Ink drops as oil to the flame
and burn the fire's light
Waved in the leaden air
the majesty of accuracy
scald the ears waxed with injustice
Literacy and liberty
are for all longing eyes
A witness to the silences—
to misfortunes ignored
to blessings need to be heard
to weak breath
trying to make sense of its existence-
the sonar in the deepest sea of truth
hears silences louder than speeches
Also, he believes in voices
voices stronger than power
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
there was a little dolphin he lived in the sea
swimming in the ocean so wild and very free
one day when he was swimming he heard a little yell
where the sound was coming from he really could not tell
he moved a little closer with is sonar sense
searching in the **** so very thick and dense
then he saw a turtle crying in the ****
poor chap was stuck in between the reed
dolphin he was clever and and knew just what to do
hang on to my tail said he said and i will pull you through
turtle he was glad and no longer in the ****
dolphin he was happy now that he was freed
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
¿Por qué, por qué tiene que ser así? Esto no es correcto, no para mí.
No quiero que me digan que pruebe el “Café de Costa Rica”, los “Bombones de Colombia”, las “Arepas de Venezuela”, las “Carnes de Argentina", las “Pastas italianas”, los “Tacos mexicanos”, la “Tortilla española”, la “Comida china” o la “Pizza con el ingrediente especial de Italia”. No quiero que me digan “Esto está hecho en China” ni “¡Wao! Esto no está hecho en China, está hecho en Taiwan”. No quiero que me digan “Mira este documental de África”, “Que hermosa se ve esa foto de la Torre Eiffel” o “Que alto debe estar ese edificio de New York”. No quiero que me cuenten cómo les fue en su viaje a Europa, su jornada en California o sus problemas mientras estuvieron en Canada. No quiero que me relaten las historias aprendidas durante su tiempo en Egipto o los bailes ensayados mientras estaban en Brasil. No quiero que hablen de su críticas respecto a la cutura de India, de Guyana o de Cuba. No quiero que me describan lo exquisita que estuvo la comida en Perú, en Australia o en República Dominicana. No quiero que me muestren la música de Jamaica o la de Rusia. No quiero que me digan o me enseñen nada, nada más. Quiero yo poder probar los alimentos en su nacionalidad. Quiero sentir el aroma del café en las mañanas durante unas vacaciones en Costa Rica y probar ese toque especial que hace que la pizza en Italia sea diferente a la que acostumbramos a ordenar. Quiero ver cómo hacen los artefactos, estar en China y luego en Taiwan, tener esa experiencia de crear algo. Quiero visitar África y tomar mi propio documental, treparme en ese gigante edificio y apreciar la hermosa vista. Quiero ser yo la que cuente mi experiencia en las calles de Europa, California o Canada. Quiero aprender historias sobre Egipto y sus magníficas esculturas, incluso quiero aprender a darzar como lo hacen en Brasil y cada movimiento perfeccionar. Quiero dar las críticas sobre mis pensamientos hacia dichas culturas, pero con respeto. Quiero describir los suculentos platos y hacer que las personas se los imaginen, de tal manera que hasta en sus paladares puedan sentirlos. Quiero escuchar la música de Jamaica y la de Rusia y si es en vivo, aún mejor, así podré meditarla e interpretarla. Puede sonar un poco alocado y para muchos sin sentido, pero para mí es más que un simple pensamiento o cualquier capricho, son sueños y metas que a diario me propongo. Para ello hay que trabajar duro, pero desde mi niñez me enseñaron que “el que quiere puede, solo hay que perseverar para triunfar”. Sé que algún día lo voy a alcanzar y todos se sorprenderán, cuando con orgullo les relate sobre lo que un día fue “un simple deseo internacional ”.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
Night comes
r
o l l i
n g
down again
in painted coats
of thick onyx
clouding my vision
as if a brightly-striped
cuttlefish,
sister of squid
has enveloped me
in its
dark liquid
sea ink
an opaque vapor
for protection,
a shimmering
sheild against
disillusionment
pain of potential
loss
endless strands
of longing
knotting in my
hair like kelp
keeping me rooted
to the sea floor,
feet ensconced in
the soft squish
of muck and earth
Miraculously,
I breathe,
as if a sea nympth,
a mermaid
holding on to
the silvery scales
of her reality
indigo-dipped
in deepest iridescence
blending with fronds
of vibrant greens
and I am floating
within a vast membrane
of brine
somehow nuturing,
liquid cushion
of womb-water
letting it slake
the piquancy of thirst
that bursts my tongue
into succulence
Spiked in sea stars
like thorny crowns,
I reach out to
discover new textures
puncture the dark
with my fingers
enfold those waters
to me,
letting them
rock the soul
of my soul
the heart
of the seed
of my heart
and allow my
sonar, as powerful
as a whale's
encompassing call
to surge up
through nautical miles
of ocean depths,
buoyed through layers
of waves
up unto
the winds
that ride,
ever-tenderly,
the surface
of
the
dawn
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
Is trust really a delicate dance of uncertainty?
A lamb may skip with innocence over the bright dandelion-covered meadows of our majestic urban constructs, whilst Mother Nature unravels her thick carpet of jeopardy, without reservation or shame.
It is possible for us to refrain from captivations which allure us to the psychological precipice and to appreciate the chords of the blues which beautifully tantalise the innermost recesses of suppressed and forbidden yearnings.
So, join hands with the sonic waves of Saturn and respect the psychological precipice with sober awareness. Darkness and daylight are not dichotomous astrological differences where fatalistic determinism stands in diametrical opposition to authentic internal equilibrium.
Contemplate the soothing and beautiful anticipations of dusk, where the flight of the bat reveals a miraculous contrast against the deep pastel curtains of the night; and acknowledge that twilight exposes her morning glory in the simple droplet of dew.
The shadows hold no substance. Metamorphosis is a tangible possibility in the realms of existence. Do you believe it?
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
our withering is changing. we have new lungs and the sour mercy of our discotheque is no longer
earth shattering. new bells that'll ring, ping the sonar of thus far, and right now. our iguana
is bothered but our cactus is out of practice, so we malice the wrong people. brown scotch
botched in the locust plume of our nothingness.
all in the night jar.
we palm the coin of many realms but snooker the genie into 4 wishes for kicks.
we split the bucket list and enlist strange agents to embroil the liturgy of our silence
with the umbrage of our slumbers.
where rumbles the blunder of our measured steps
as we stumble through the rapscallions of our private thoughts in the after hours.
we empower our oblivion
by kissing on the mouth.
this is how we keepsake sacred, but escape velocity by way of quiet... this loud.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
It is simple, and yet sublime;
Incapturable.
You need not go in,
Take away the man, destabilising the economy
That you so love
Letting them die
You need not assassinate and collaborate,
Scheme and puncture
Spheres of influence that stretch and bubble
In Latin America and Southern Asia,
You need not sign secrets away
Safe and deep
In silos and bunkers
Where Armageddon sleeps.
You need not supply, buy and axchange
Implements of violence and rage,
Picking sides in civil war, tribal conlflict
And bigger,
In lands you do not understand
Lands where the mountains resonate with holiness,
Lands of spiritual awakening awaiting for the young;
Concepts you can’t grasp, that don’t sit well
You need leave them be.
Enough has been done,
Not always with bad intention
But rarely for the greater good
Enough has been said and bought and replaced
Captured, shot at, disgraced,
Caricatured into funny cartoons
Taken over, the masters’ role assumed.
For all the radars and sonar
It seems impossible to listen;
Simple, yet sublime.
Incapturable.
Irreplaceable.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
She is salty lipped ocean throat
Warm morning fog
Mixing with her overcast
I want to place my head on her treasure chest
Listen to her wet ruby cascade and thump
A metronome for people who dance lightly
She is a mildly ******** mermaid
Born with the deformity of legs
We were all born a little bit broken
I tell her
I know you’re a body of water I want to drown in
When home feels like it’s so much bigger than these four walls
But not much stronger than the skin I’m in
So here’s to jumping off cliffs
With the hope to land a little painfully
So evolution might give me the wings I was meant to be born with
She walks like a riptide
Often risks drowning in the off chance
Nature might be kind enough to understand
What it really means to have sea legs
This is for the soft shelled crab
Who was tired of the heaviness of home
For the mockingbirds who never studied music
So they copy sound
Sometimes really annoying sound
But they hear the beauty regardless
For the Dumbo Octopus
Who clearly watched too much classic Disney
The beluga whale who can crane its neck
When its sonar song of home is not enough
To know their kids are coming back to them
For the penguins
Who are fine being flightless
Because they’d much rather swim
They didn’t think it was stupid
When they wished they could be different
And she is the ocean
Hips sway like a high tide approaching
Hiding sirens’ secrets
Skeletons in her closet
Lovers who have lost
And drown in her pitch black
She wears the water like a second skin
Smiles like the wind is pressing back her cheeks
She chokes on sea water
Drowns a little
With the hope that this place might feel more like home
Sometimes home is the hardest place to get to
But there’s nothing wrong with going home
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 3:19 PM UTC
1. Owl Of Night
Hoot cracks the night air,
Rustling rodents stands frozen,
Shock, swoop, attack prey.
2. Bat Of Night
Clear sight of blindness,
Sonar sounds rebound; its wings
cut fog; vampire.
3. To The Eagle
Giant golden flight,
Endless grace and smoothly glides,
Strong; its nation falls.
4. To The Graceful Swan
Elegant swimmer,
Pure white like virginal snow,
Paired to bitter end.
5. The Butterfly
Multicoloured gift,
Taken by the gusts to blend
like petal to plant.
6. The Butterfly Effect
Toxic explosion,
Hong Kong is destroyed; travels,
Condemns London air.
7. King Of The Jungle
Magnificent beast,
Ruler of his skilful pride,
Stalks African plains.
8. Roar Of A Tiger
Powerful calling,
Echoes ‘cross the heated land,
Mighty animal.
9. A Proud Cat
Sits in the garden,
Ears pricked, curled tail, statuesque,
Pride clear in her purr.
10. A Dog
…is a mans best friend,
…brightens the darkest of days,
…guarantees friendship.
11. The Wolf
A midnight howler,
Ghostly happenings occur,
Silhouetted; still.
12. The Polar Bear
Camouflaged in white,
Against the snow he hides out,
Tough, sturdy and pure.
13. God and the Devil
One high in the clouds,
Symbol of goodness; he’s blessed,
One below the ground.
14. To The Heavens
Are you really there?
Floating land of peaceful rest,
Will I be let in?
15. To Hell
Overwhelming flames,
Dead with red burns, smoke filled lungs,
Worse than hell on Earth.
16. To Mother
You granted me life,
Cared, and still do, for my health,
Made happiness real.
17. To Father
Encouraged and led,
Guided me with your being,
Created this man.
18. To My Siblings
Sister and brother,
On my shoulder no my back,
Love, care, lend and steer.
19. To A Child
Tiny newborn boy,
Asleep in his mothers arms,
The storks’ joyful gift.
20. To A Friend
A supporting hand,
To turn to, cry with and trust,
To laugh with and love.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
i like to watch the dolphins swimming in the sea
with there smiley face as happy as can be
leaping through the air underneath the sky
with elegance and grace as they gently fly
standing on there tails through the waves they skim
with there built in sonar to guide them when they swim
such a lovely creature intelligent his he
swimming in the ocean with his life so free.
a favorite with the children they all love them so
it fills there heart with happines gives there heart a glow
i like to watch the dolphins swimming in the sea
anywhere theres dolphins i just long to be.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
*Volverán las oscuras golondrinas
en tu balcón sus nidos a colgar,
y otra vez con el ala a sus cristales
jugando llamarán.
Pero aquellas que el vuelo refrenaban
tu hermosura y mi dicha a contemplar,
aquellas que aprendieron nuestros nombres...
¡esas... no volverán!.
Volverán las tupidas madreselvas
de tu jardín las tapias a escalar,
y otra vez a la tarde aún más hermosas
sus flores se abrirán.
Pero aquellas, cuajadas de rocío
cuyas gotas mirábamos temblar
y caer como lágrimas del día...
¡esas... no volverán!
Volverán del amor en tus oídos
las palabras ardientes a sonar;
tu corazón de su profundo sueño
tal vez despertará.
Pero mudo y absorto y de rodillas
como se adora a Dios ante su altar,
como yo te he querido...; desengáñate,
¡así... no te querrán!
Lee todo en: Rima LIII - Poemas de Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/rima-liii.htm#ixzz32XxscF4bVolverán las oscuras golondrinas
en tu balcón sus nidos a colgar,
y otra vez con el ala a sus cristales
jugando llamarán.
Pero aquellas que el vuelo refrenaban
tu hermosura y mi dicha a contemplar,
aquellas que aprendieron nuestros nombres...
¡esas... no volverán!.
Volverán las tupidas madreselvas
de tu jardín las tapias a escalar,
y otra vez a la tarde aún más hermosas
sus flores se abrirán.
Pero aquellas, cuajadas de rocío
cuyas gotas mirábamos temblar
y caer como lágrimas del día...
¡esas... no volverán!
Volverán del amor en tus oídos
las palabras ardientes a sonar;
tu corazón de su profundo sueño
tal vez despertará.
Pero mudo y absorto y de rodillas
como se adora a Dios ante su altar,
como yo te he querido...; desengáñate,
¡así... no te querrán!*
― Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Once there was a man who had only one friend.
Every day, just before the demise of a cyclamen orange burning ball on the horizon ~ he swam to the shore, waving with a magnificent tail, blowing bubbles and bundles of water and air into the wide open skies.
Under the darkening heavens, he sang the muffled song. Tempting his beloved. . .reaching magic, farther then any sonar's ability. Abnormal coldness froze Icelandic Beauty. But beneath the surface, life was warmer without wars. Dwarf seals were jumping into the laced ocean; trying to cry each time they were cut off the Earth's gravity.
This Mighty friend of an old man, was his only link to the global world. The man was old-fashioned; had no telecommunication facilities, his radio were gulls, stray cats, shepherd dogs and sheep on a green hill, behind his wooden hut.
Sometimes he looked over his shoulder, only to determine whether his elderly donkey is able to follow. . . or do they both need a little rest, just to postpone the books from the saddle for later and spread the beautifully ornamented Indian carpet under the great great grand olive tree ~ to take a reviving little nap in the shade.
When he woke up, the old man lit his wooden pipe, puffed few beautiful rings of indigo smoke, smirked to a buzzing bee and found that the air is still pure enough. The pressure was normal, the wind was playing with wave foams in the neighbouring bay.
Under the olives, hanging from the tree canopy, the quietness was fulfilling the old man's heart. Motionless peace was heard. Tranquility.
And the motion of a Humpback Whale. Leaving.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
swimming under lightning,
lighting our submergence flash allure:
smooth bodies, bright to glimpse and shadow-grin intent
collide and mingle folds of pleasure, firmly
bent to tangle, clasp and spurn the world above,
rely on one another's breath, stored for loving
long in bubbles gasping sweet melodics free
as with imagined merfolk passion-songs of lore, prescient
lapping dance of tidal fruits you loved before they came,
moonray columns stage us in our seashift wombs--again--
within a womb--like instant chrysalises blinking luminescent bursts
i am interred within the waves you ripple into me, blind
carnal pressures built from ancient shores become the sea again
the magnitude entrances on its own, that acrophobic thrill
celestial in our interthreaded eyes, open
to a color deeply in the dark of octopodal ink
a curtain phosphorescent armpit pulse,
caressing thumb and lip, billows, sways the dance anew,
to sonar drumbeat, pulmonary height
the spinal scream a surface ripple for the sky,
symphonic deep to barely whisper into air
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 9:06 AM UTC
i like to watch the dolphins swimming in the sea
with there smiley face as happy as can be
leaping through the air underneath the sky
with elegance and grace as they gently fly
standing on there tails through the waves they skim
with there built in sonar to guide them when they swim
such a lovely creature intelligent his he
swimming in the ocean with his life so free.
a favorite with the children they all love them so
it fills there heart with happines gives there heart a glow
i like to watch the dolphins swimming in the sea
anywhere theres dolphins i just long to be.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
I dreamt you today.
I dreamt that I went to see you.
I wanted to surprise you while you were sleeping
But, when you woke up you caught me trying to go inside.
You told me to come lay next to you.
I laid my head next to your chest and we were just talking.
We held hands.
We cuddled.
I fetlt safe by your side
I knew that everything was okay
I knew that I loved you even more
We wrestled for a bit, you let me win each time.
I looked at you whenever you weren´t looking and I was thankful that you were mine.
But then I woke up and I then knew it was just a dream.
I went back on feeling that same emptiness inside my heart.
I´d rather go back on dreaming knowing that you´re close when I dream about you.
I love you.
Te soné hoy
Soné que te fui a ver
Te quería dar una sorpresa mientras dormías
Pero te despertaste y me cachaste tratando de entrar
Me dijiste que me acueste a tu lado
Puse mi cabeza en tu pecho y solo estuvimos platicando
Nos agarramos de la mano
Nos dimos cariño
Me sentí segura a tu lado
Sabia que todo iba estar bien
Sabia que te quería MAS
Jugamos de luchar un poco, pero me dejabas ganar cada vez
Te miraba cada vez que no me estabas viendo y pensé que suerte tengo en tenerte
Pero después me desperté y sabia que solo era un sueno.
Regrese en sentir ese sentimiento de solitez dentro de mi pecho
Prefiero regresar a sonar, porque se que estas cerca cuando te sueno.
Te quiero.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
Me and dad used to watch bats;
lie on the grass in the gap
between the house and hedge.
Shards of glass
against the barely black
half-light of July.
Flying in drops and dives
twisted kites
tossed on stormy skies.
Sat on the deck
we’d hear, under the gable
the static click
of sonar, like ships;
taut sails,
riddled with mites and ticks.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
From atop Chehalem Mountain I heard it for the first time
Like a violin on a death bed
Firetrucks at midnight
Sirens to a sailor
The sunset, it rose that day
Purple fire across the tree tops
Music notes bouncing off of falling leaves
Crickets playing violas
The bats came out - a choir of sonar in the sunlight -
A song meant to welcome the dark
Played in the parting fog of dawn
Morning dew just the right squeak under my shoes
A wailing woman whispering hello to...
...something it feels I should recall
I danced
To the coming of whatever it was she was praying for
I danced
The notes rang from under the trees
And I watched it
Climb from out of the valley
Past my childhood
Swimming through remnants of first dates
First stick shifts
Second tears
Thinking swings
I watched it crawl through the memories of everything I have ever known
This beast
This past
This regret a mosquito to the flame of this song
This
This song
This
This music
This royal procession
This woman
Compelling me to dance to a lullaby I know all the words to
I...I just can't remember how it goes
From atop this mountain I look down upon everything I have been
Every path I have taken
And none of it makes sense
I am lost in the maze of the directions I have chosen
Changed by every mistake I have made
The woman singing a song of past in the air
The notes of this song so random
Every memory changing the song
Each song meant to move me shot arrow straight
Every missed note sending me typewriter reset sideways
The melody a scared cat on a keyboard
Equal parts haunting and nostalgic
The tune a childhood toy running low on batteries
And after all the moves had been sung
And all the lyrics danced
I stumbled down the hill
Blackberry bushes tearing at my shins
I opened my arms to receive the beast of past the woman called up from the valley
It swallowed me whole
And I wept silent tears onto two week old deer tracks in her throat
Falling leaves just falling leaves after the monster had her fill of me
The purple flames of sunset now an overcast autumn day
We have no crickets here just sounds we heard once in a book
The squeak still under my shoe
Just a squeak
Only a squeak and the occasional snap of a stick
As I climbed back to my car
The music had stopped
I was right where I started
Nothing around me looked familiar
Everything around me was exactly where I left it
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Spring tepals
sepals ripe with sticky dew ~
only inner calyx thorn
or some star-corymb splay
like sonar-notes across the diver's head
portray the meaning of another's thought
exploration's prescient surge
; the rise and fall of summit senses...
; all perspectives breathe
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC