The incantations of my daydreams
Are slowly spelling out the happy ending of my unconventional urban fairy tale
Scratch that:
Not ending but rather new beginning
The inauguration of a new chapter
Me: The Happy Years
So with fingers crossed and eyes pressed shut
I am wishing on all the stars
Blowing out all the candles
And plucking my own lucky eyelashes to increase my odds
As I focus on what I really want
A series or realities so very close to nearly here
So close that my head is already at future dinner parties
Hostess with the mostest plus a smile and a sway
(You'll wink at me from across the room when you don't think the guests can see)
I am thinking of the unpoetic details
Of mortgages
Maybe even a business loan
So that we may have the poetry of a ribbon cutting ceremony on our dreams
Family vacations
Photo albums
A real sticky Christmas tree and fresh garden flowers
We will spend our smiling time in the organic section
And at markets
And we will nest
Gathering things beautiful and comfortable with which to line our future
And speaking of futures
And ceremonies
I bet we will dazzle them all
I think we'll give them faith somehow
Maybe even blow their minds barefoot
And our days will be bright
Our nights cozy
And our entrances always grand
Friday, September 22, 2006
Sacred City
Scavengers do brisk business
In this forest grown of bricks and mortar,
But sucking life is not illegal and leaves zombies but no ghosts ---
Or few.
I’ve built formative memories
On sacred fountains in city squares
And the wildlife that only comes out at night.
Once you have learned to brave this jungle
Nothing scares you except anything else;
But no one tells you that when you’re knee high to a grasshopper
And already convinced of your own disillusionment,
Chatting up the tourists
While the band plays and the night turns on.
We learn to plant dreams in sidewalk cracks
And pray that the buildings don’t blot out their sun
Or the latte crowd beat down their chances.
From pristine shopping meccas,
To churches as they bleed back into the earth,
For a city raised on faith
The gods that rule here now smoke too much and have a smile I don’t trust, The goddesses wear too much makeup and have forgotten their elemental powers.
But truly there is nothing new under the moon filled starless sky,
Even if our gardens grow accountants
And buskers sing our bards’ lullabies.
And we answer to the same callings
That had us dancing our prayers around the fires we worshipped,
But in our distraction now
All we hear are sound bites and lottery results,
Explosions and pop riffs,
And even drowning in this sea of authentic artificial flavors
And plastic surgery on prime time
We can still feel the universe just enough
For us to hope for more.
In this forest grown of bricks and mortar,
But sucking life is not illegal and leaves zombies but no ghosts ---
Or few.
I’ve built formative memories
On sacred fountains in city squares
And the wildlife that only comes out at night.
Once you have learned to brave this jungle
Nothing scares you except anything else;
But no one tells you that when you’re knee high to a grasshopper
And already convinced of your own disillusionment,
Chatting up the tourists
While the band plays and the night turns on.
We learn to plant dreams in sidewalk cracks
And pray that the buildings don’t blot out their sun
Or the latte crowd beat down their chances.
From pristine shopping meccas,
To churches as they bleed back into the earth,
For a city raised on faith
The gods that rule here now smoke too much and have a smile I don’t trust, The goddesses wear too much makeup and have forgotten their elemental powers.
But truly there is nothing new under the moon filled starless sky,
Even if our gardens grow accountants
And buskers sing our bards’ lullabies.
And we answer to the same callings
That had us dancing our prayers around the fires we worshipped,
But in our distraction now
All we hear are sound bites and lottery results,
Explosions and pop riffs,
And even drowning in this sea of authentic artificial flavors
And plastic surgery on prime time
We can still feel the universe just enough
For us to hope for more.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Bursting
Moon bursting
Honey gold nearly upon us
The sultry breath of full bloom summer
Is settling on my skin
Like lover's kisses gentle and firm
And in a flash of midnight
A pulse of the universe through these mortal veins
I'm in tune
In sweet touch and so far beyond
And my flesh is anticipation
My hips sudden music
My lips are thirsty
For life and love
For communion with the infinite and infinitesimal of these blissful nights
Honey gold nearly upon us
The sultry breath of full bloom summer
Is settling on my skin
Like lover's kisses gentle and firm
And in a flash of midnight
A pulse of the universe through these mortal veins
I'm in tune
In sweet touch and so far beyond
And my flesh is anticipation
My hips sudden music
My lips are thirsty
For life and love
For communion with the infinite and infinitesimal of these blissful nights
The Colour Of Light
This scene could only be rendered romantic
If another soul were here to witness this tragedy
These tears would serve a nobel purpose
If they induced loving arms to encircle my sad storm
The world will only seem real
And more importantly pertinent
And oh my soul, so beautiful once again
When someone arrives
To admire
The colour of this light with me
If another soul were here to witness this tragedy
These tears would serve a nobel purpose
If they induced loving arms to encircle my sad storm
The world will only seem real
And more importantly pertinent
And oh my soul, so beautiful once again
When someone arrives
To admire
The colour of this light with me
Irony
You will not read this.
If you did
By some calamity get to rest your eyes on these too true lines
You would not see yourself within them.
Amidst all the other kisses
You would not dream that I was right here and now
Reaching back into my not so distant past memory box
To contemplate yours.
What ifs and whys are the thin ice I dare not tread
(I'm rarely surefooted
Even on solid ground)
But I have not cried.
It would be a silly misery
A swift destruction of our small sanctuary.
If you did
By some calamity get to rest your eyes on these too true lines
You would not see yourself within them.
Amidst all the other kisses
You would not dream that I was right here and now
Reaching back into my not so distant past memory box
To contemplate yours.
What ifs and whys are the thin ice I dare not tread
(I'm rarely surefooted
Even on solid ground)
But I have not cried.
It would be a silly misery
A swift destruction of our small sanctuary.
Dearest #3
Dearest,
I heard it said once in the strangest of places, that if memories and dreams get tangled, it is as it should be.
In my false memories of you, there is more us; so much longer and more to hold onto now that you're gone. But speculation is a sad bedmate, and the nights drag through reeking of my renewed mistrust.
Truly,
Me
I heard it said once in the strangest of places, that if memories and dreams get tangled, it is as it should be.
In my false memories of you, there is more us; so much longer and more to hold onto now that you're gone. But speculation is a sad bedmate, and the nights drag through reeking of my renewed mistrust.
Truly,
Me
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