Grasping at Intangibles

2011-08-02T16:46:00.000-04:00

On the street just now,

a man said

(in beautiful french)

that I was magnificent,

and asked if I knew.

And while I do,

I simply smiled

& thanked him :)

Advice For Metro Surfing

2011-07-24T12:52:00.000-04:00

Widen your stance.

Bend your knees.

Stay focused. Note: if you pay too much attention to other people, you will lose your balance.

Loosen up and move with the bumps and turns.

Lean into the pressure, or it will lean into you.

Be ready to reach out if you need to.

Don't take yourself too seriously; it is always more charming to stumble with a smile.

I believe it's called grace.

Picture

2011-07-15T12:10:00.000-04:00

He took a picture of me
as I crouched precariously close to a stream
or improbably pretty swamp
taking pictures of small frogs

and all I can figure
is that he finds me especially beautiful
when I forget myself and simply am myself
spreading my whims like wings

like how he smiled in the moonlight with the magick of myths and fairytales
the time I chased a prehistoric sized moth
across a parking lot and into the grass
dancing unabashedly through the spotlight of his headlights.

Perfect Summer

2011-07-15T12:03:00.000-04:00

This is the perfect summer.

Thanks to the grace of the universal plotline
some decisive dedication on my part
and my budding instinct
for knowing a good thing when I see it
my days are being savored in the sunshine
in the grass
indulging my whims
smiling in God.

Honey drenched afternoons
evenings
late nights and headspace
are taken up with you
with us
windblown hair
delirious laughter
and all array of music loudly coaxing us.

Our time could accurately be measured
in the spins of your various odometers across the years
if we cared to spend a moment counting.
And why waste a moment counting
when there are back porches to sit on
slaughtering sci-fi swarms of mosquitos
sharing our tales and inner workings
smiling into each other's eyes
until the darkness
finally leaves us
with only our fingers entwined.

Ritual

2011-07-14T15:27:00.001-04:00

My mala beads

in our mouths
as our tongues dance around our divinity.

I pray on these.

Succulent sacrilege
pure and primal intent
the Gods and Guides are smiling at our
spontaneous exercise in magick
and writing of rituals.

Lost in us
here and now
these are the moments
that fertilize the soil
despite our desbelief.

Wind

2011-07-14T15:16:00.001-04:00

The breze blew in
like the hot wet kiss of a brewing storm
stirring your cologne
as I lay against your chest
with something
maybe
playing on the stereo
but it was drowned out
by my cheek against you
and the wind blowing kisses
that rolled your cologne
which clung to me even later
and I relished.

In Case

2011-06-25T12:35:00.001-04:00

In the event of emotional emergency
pray.
Whether or not you believe
blame curse beseech teh sky until you realize
that you are smaller than the clouds
and just as temporary
and if they can be beautiful
knowing that they will be rain
you can probably survive the day.

Sing.
Take the advice of the ancients and the pasionate and let 'er rip.
Sing broken hearted and broken voiced
until you forget that you are either and remember only
that you wish you knew more songs.
Then make them up and keep singing.

Explore your wisdom.
There is something that you understand better than your average bear does.
Something that resonates with you.
Bask in it.
Bathe in it.
It is yours for a reason
even if you don't see it.

Remember that they
all of them
everyone
has their moments of darkness
their journeys through tunnels that they can see no end to.
Sadness is an equalizer in this human experience
as is the wild laughter that splits your sides and shoots milk from your nose.
They are both true.
At all costs
focus on the latter.
Know that always
the choice is yours.

Everybody: This Is For You

2011-06-25T12:24:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking about you a lot lately.
In passing
in joy
in grocery aisles.

I think of how I'm sure that you don't realize
how your smile sparks sunshine
and how looking into your eyes
I find the solace of sameness.

Over coffee this morning
I had the sinking feeling
that all too often you are unaware
of the creative grace
that flows in waves from even your subtle movements.

In fact, you know that tick twitch fidget tell that you have?
I find it rather endearing.
It reminds me that you are deliciously human
even when I'm blinded by your glow.

I'm afraid
sometimes
late at night
that you don't know that we all
have moments of doubt.
We all question this path
this skin
how our minds hold it all together.
We all daydream about what could've been
and wonder how yesterday should've been done better
but once the chips are down and the bets are closed
it is what it is
and what do we know about better anyway?

And I guess what I'm saying
is that we all
all too often
feel all too alone
and that's the irony of all this
because we're not.
We're all on this dreamscape seat of our pants journey together.

And next time you're sure
that you're hurtling through space cold and alone
meaningless and behind schedule
running dangerously low on air
please know that you aren't alone.
You can't be alone.
I see you
and you are beautiful.

The Continuing Tale of D

2011-06-24T12:57:00.000-04:00

I've tripped over some slick lines in my time.
Built a few traps,
tested various poisons,
and played house with wolves and sheep
(they are equally domesticated and dangerous in the long run).

I've dived deep in shallow waters
barely missing the jagged rocks;
fallen blindly into fathomless depths
lost the sun;
but things do taste sweetest down there.

A word of advice:
all that glitters is not precious
even when it's set in gold.
I've been so afraid to fly
that I keep on crashing.

The travel broschures keep piling up
but I keep myself under paranoid lock and key
because if I can't make i there
who will I be?

I've loved too hard,
hated too many,
and one of those was me.
I've found myself isolated in crowds,
and lost myself again just as easily
in gracious solitude.

I've rejected authority,
conformity and anarchy
and have still met some dieties along the way
though the road less traveled
is so for a reason.

I've sworn off love more often than I've found it
and now I'm nourishing the notion that my love for me can spring eternal
if I keep my wits about me
and my soul food pure.

I've grown to accept that I will never have polite clean lines
instead I gleefully rock my carnal curves.
And while I sometimes mourn lost moments
but then I remember that hindsight is 20/20
and probably will be again tomorrow.

When I cry in the rain
I remind myself that the moon
holds me in her eye and heart
and when the day nearly does me in
I remember it's the sun that grows me.

At this bend I reflect
and admit
that I have no clue
where the paths will lead from here
but I intend to keep my sights set high
despite where the winds may toss me
or what the scenery hides.
For now,
I am free to window shop
for the shoes I have yet to fill.

(January 3, 2007)

The Breath of Dieties

2011-06-24T12:55:00.000-04:00

If yoga means union in ancient Sanskrit, she reflected as she breathed herself into shaky balance, then it has certainly been mistranslated into firm butts and trendy leggings. And,she reasoned, if it truly is more than the newest mainstream mainstay, then the fire in my thighs is really the loving breath of a myriad of dieties.

Tracks

2011-05-19T14:07:00.001-04:00

Stepping out my front door
I am already at the tracks.
Which side depends
on where you're standing.

The train roars out of nothing
faces turned passively to the glass
to the falling darkness
the speeding trees.

I wonder about them
commuting home
to safe warm dens
dinner
suburban sprawl.

They wonder about the lives led
in the spaces
that are merely their in betweens
and the lights that shine
long after they are dreaming.

Briefly we are a part
of each others scenery.

May 1, 2011.

Studies in Sanskrit: Prem

2010-09-17T14:30:00.000-04:00

Prem = Love

"Where there is great love, there are always miracles."

- Willa Cather

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."

- Plato

"Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won't adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is to sign on as its accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question. The words "make" and "stay" become inappropriate. My love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free."

-Tom Robbins

"All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt."

- Charles M. Schulz

Studies in Sanskrit: Yoga

2010-09-14T13:07:00.000-04:00

One could say that yoga headed West in the 1960s, and be mostly right. When Maharishi Mahesh Yogi became the very public spiritual advisor for The Beatles in 1967, a whole generation felt the call to seek the ancient wisdom of the East, and the counterculture found a beat it could march to. By August of 1969, Sri Swami Satchidanana was giving the opening address at the Woodstock Music Festival to nearly 500 000 open hearted explorers. Both yoga and TM (Transcendental Meditation) exploded onto the scene from seemingly nowhere.

The truth is that the information had been inching it's way across the continents for decades:

Swami Vivekananda traveled to China, Europe, Canada, and America before the turn of the 20th century, speaking about Hinduism and Buddhism at the Parliament of World's Religions in Chicago in 1893. He is quoted as saying in one of his American speeches:

"I do not come to convert you to a new belief. I want you to keep your own belief; I want to make the Methodist a better Methodist; the Presbyterian a better Presbyterian; the Unitarian a better Unitarian. I want to teach you to live the truth, to reveal the light within your own soul"

illustrating the fact that yoga has and always will be, the path rather than the destination. By 1895 he was teaching yoga classes in the Thousand Island region.

The word yoga comes from the root word "yuj" meaning to yoke, or control, which of course makes sense when we consider the discipline involved in pranayama (breath work), or even in maintaining a consistent practice. The word also means "union", and this is the commonly accepted meaning.

Unifying with what, then becomes the question. From even a secular position, yoga can be used to remind us the non-duality of everything. We are part of the eco-system, the universe, the collective subconscious; our existence depends on our neighbors, on our planet, and vice versa. From a spiritual point of view, we are connected not only to all that we see and understand, but we are also made of the same celestial pixiesticks and cosmic rainbows as our neighbors: the spark that makes them human makes us human; our souls can relate to other souls; we are all drops of God, even if we call God by a different name. Simply, thou art that.

There are as many paths toward union as there are creatures seeking them, and the truth is, you don't need to unroll a mat to be in yoga. Sure, physical practice helps to get you there (hatha, raja & kriya yogas), but devotional practices (bhakti yoga), or philosophical approaches (jnana yoga) will as well. In all honesty, whatever leaves you feeling in tune with all that is, will be, and ever was, is your best path to union. Whether it be composing a song or dancing the night away, your sense of fulfillment and completion is the goal behind each route. Be yoga now.

Studies in Sanskrit: Om

2010-09-13T13:31:00.006-04:00

Many of us are familiar with the droning hum heard at the start and close of yoga classes, but how many of us consider the meaning of the word?

It is said that this is the sound of creation; the vibrational tone that literally created the universe and everything in it. For instance, if we put it in the context of the quote "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God" (John 1:1), this would be the word referred to from a Hindu or yogic perspective.

Most appropriately, OM is pronounced AUM, with three distinct and separate syllables that flow naturally into one another. The opening of the mouth to release sound naturally creates the AHH; the sustaining of the sound with open mouth creates the UHH, and the closing of our mouths as the breath empties from our lungs creates the MMM. Each syllable represents a part of the creative cycle, from inception, to sustenation, to the the close of the cycle, that it all may begin again.

Each stage of the cycle is represented by a god: Brahma is the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer. Together they make up the Trimurti, or the Hindu Trinity.

So the next time you find yourself smiling at the end of class, lost in the soothing sea of OM, take a moment to bask in just how vast that sea really is.

Rebuild By Razing

2010-08-24T02:58:00.012-04:00

Please forgive the mess.
Over the past decade I have spent considerably more time rebuilding than decorating
and this fresh landing pad is as yet unadorned.

Through the packing and unpacking I have defined and refined all the pertinent pieces
and while they are rarely in order
they're all around here somewhere
including all the reasons why I should know better by now.

True, it's been a long time since I played with the kind of fire that burns bridges so easily
but I'm sure I'll remember the drill if you hum a few bars
and it's true they say there's something purifying about uncontrolled flames
and that if the flaw wasn't in Achilles' heel
it would've been somewhere else.

I have been a fire-walker so long that sensing smoke is now my nature.
I have walked longer than you know
water-bucket in one hand
match in the other.
I have earned each scar and story
stood covered in sweat and soot
burned the beginnings I have built --
both reinforced walls and warm homes --
and have learned to build both quickly.
I have screamed through searing lungs
and come through safely on each other side.

So rest assured that the freedom to wear
this heart on this sleeve
has been hard won
and is neither ignorance nor cutsey-poo innocence
rather it is a bold blazing testament to
the nerve
the strength
the force of my will
to bare myself time and again
risking what feels to my core like everything
to roll the dice for every modern fairytale
every cheesy TV movie
every book about the weirdos who find their perfect weirdo
because I have the technology to survive all the falling skies along the way
but would surely die of a broken heart
if I didn't keep up the chase.

- winter 2009ish?

If You Were Here

2010-07-19T20:20:00.003-04:00

If you were here you would be shaking your head and laughing
because you would've told me so by now
and you would ask if I was really surprised
Really?
because this is obviously for the best
and fish and seas and how didn't I see this coming?
but don't worry
you'll do it all again for the next charming man
and you would point
laugh
roll your eyes
tell me it sucks that it hurts
but imagine being you
so drink up
stop your whining
blah blah heartbreak
but you know you deserve better
and there are boys just lining up to get your heart broken by you
and I would finally and reluctantly laugh
and probably toss my hair
and assure you it's not the case
while knowing you meant you.

If you were here I would tell yoiu
hey listen
all joking aside
I'll put my pieces back together again
dust off the ol' ticker and try the track again
but you gotta know
that I can think of about a million drugs
I'd rather see you do
than that shit you do
and I have a hunch that if you don't find yourself a new bad habit
I'm gonna find myself trying to deliver some words to a standing room only crowd of crying freaks, family, displaced lunatics, and injured dreamers
trying to find some communal comfort in all that we found beautiful in youi
and man
it's the last fuckin' speech I wanna give
and there are gonna be times when your voice
will be just the reason we need.

(mostly) Hidden Things

2010-07-19T20:10:00.003-04:00

The realization that closing a door
can be an intricate process
(especially given my need to
double
15
go back and do it
again
check).

The knowledge that once
you can tear yourself away from
the checking and the door
you will be free.

The Liberation cleansing ritual I invented just now in a bathroom mirror under 2 out of 3 working lights
that involves in part
using your own fresh tears as warpaint
and praying to oneself.

The scars I have given myself over the years
are mostly hidden by laughter
some necessitate long skirts
and anecdotes of ninja attacks
but I assure you
the truth is not dinner convo
only rare and selective coffee talk
and then still with mostly averted eyes.

I mostly hide
the fact that if I wake up for any reason
between the hours of 4 and 8 a.m.
there is a good chance I will be struck by the jolting and nauseating panic of being equally afraid of living and dying
and the certainty that both
will kill me.
And I wish that someone would comfort me back to sleep
because it's exhausting.

I wish I had known I was beautiful
sooner.

Mostly hidden
is the moment you know
your path is changing
and even if you feel the electricity i8n the air
the moment of the shift
still strikes like out of season lightning
and you're filled with white light knowing
and the smell of your best laid plans ablaze.

Flavors of Love

2010-07-19T20:05:00.003-04:00

I know a girl
who once loved a boy
north of her border
and he would stay
on the phone
while she slept
so she could rest without her demons coming for her
for a change.

There is a girl
who conquered fear
and flew to love
and came back
alone
profoundly in love with the ocean
and grateful for new wisdom.

I knew a man
who loved everything so painfully
that he numbed himself to death
while writing an email
and while I'm fairly certain
it was never meant for my eyes
I would pay money to read it now.

I didn't know the girl
that my friend messaged me from another coast about
who needed someone
and it couldn't be him
so could it be me?
She started shy
but then cried
as she told me how her ex
had recently bitten her face
in the street
after pleading desperate love
again.
And I cried too.
And thought,
there but for the grace of God go I.

Here

2010-05-17T17:31:00.002-04:00

Here is the perfect spot to plant my longing;
my sparkly eyed consumer label dreams,
my middle of the night sweaty waking yearning.

This is the sky under which I will bury my idols and egos
my fantasy thems and selves.

These are the clouds that will witness the the ritual
of one tiny human woman
sprawled crying into the soil to bid adieu
to my misconceptions of the needs that I have,
my confusion over which route to the big pickle is paved just for me.

These are the under-rated beauteous dandelions that nod in agreement with my intentions
and sanction my blessing.

They will turn to puff
spread their song
and never breathe a word of this.

Unraveling the Esoteric Continued: Ganesha

2010-03-26T12:08:00.004-04:00

A popular and easily recognized deity in Hindu mythology, is the elephant-headed God, Ganesha.

There are many stories as to how Ganesha came to have his distinctive elephant head. It is said that he was created as a son by Parvati to guard and protect her quarters while her husband Shiva, was away (it seems understandable that the Gods spend a lot of time working away from home). When Shiva came back, he was greeted by this man and told that he could not pass to Parvati’s quarters. Enraged, Shiva cuts off the man’s head, and goes on past to reunite with his wife.

We can imagine that there was some awkwardness in the reunion as Shiva explains the conflict, and Parvati explains that it was her son that was beheaded. Shiva, ever just, restores the man to life, but all that was around by this time, was an elephant’s head (and better elephant-headed than dead).

Ganesha had a brother named Kartikay. Presented with the challenge of racing around the universe and all of creation, Kartikay sets off to do just that, while his brother slowly and simply walks around their parents, showing his understanding, and thus declaring the universe as nothing more or less than his holy parents. Ganesha of course wins the race, and is named Lord (Isha) of all existing beings (Gana).

-He is associated with the root chakra, providing a solid foundation for the other chakras to bloom.

-He is often seen either riding, or near a rat, and this shows his control over ego and vanity.

-The plate of sweets, or “laddu” symbolize the sweetness of purity, the conch shell represents “om”, the

sound that creates space both literally and figuratively.

-His broken tusk is what he used to pen the Mahabharata (or “The Story of the Bharata Dynasty”, one of India’s two great epics, the other being the Ramayana or “Ram’s Journey”. The Bhagavad Gita, or “Song of God” is contained in the Mahabharata).

-The swastika, when facing clockwise as it often is in association with Ganesha, symbolizes the universe unfolding and evolving, and is thusly associated with Brahma (facing the opposite direction it would symbolize the universe folding in on itself, and thus be associated with Vishnu).

-To see beyond the physical appearance of this deity is to see beyond the appearance of the challenges that arise, beyond surface illusions, and into a truth that allows us to navigate difficult terrain. As such, Ganesha is the Lord of Removing Obstacles.

Poetry is Sensitve

2010-02-24T19:29:00.001-05:00

Unbeknownst to you

I swore off poetry one night when I thought you would never hold me again.

Under the freezing clarity of Canadian January and an ironically lovely sky,

I saw that if this was not the intricate work of well meaning gods that I thought it was,

than surely every fragment of beauty was nothing more than a manifestation of mathematics that only happens to be pleasing

and love is nothing more than synapses and endorphins on a joyride with modern myths and Hallmark running the GPS

and happiness is measured in the space between sadnesses

so poetry could be nothing more than the sound of an echo lost in a sea of roaring echoes

all longing to not be an echo.

And though later you held me again

and have since

and while I have smiled and daydreamed in the days that have passed

poetry is sensitive

and has proven less forgiving.

2010: New Decade, Fresh Perspectives & Tips for Manifesting

2009-12-30T17:42:00.004-05:00

The annual tradition of tying up loose ends, starting fresh, and making wild promises is upon us, and yet this time around it seems like more. It’s a fresh decade, and while “the tens” may not roll off the tongue, their introduction ought give us time for pause.

Ten years ago, we partied like it was 1999, because it was. We hoped the Y2K bug wouldn’t cancel our bank balances, or send off missiles, while
we secretly hoped that the year 2000 meant we’d all get our own jetpacks.

Take a moment to reflect on that: on where you were, who you were, all that has transpired along your journey since. There have doubtless been days you’ve tried to wish away, and those you wished you could hold on to forever. People have left our lives, others have entered, and we ourselves have grown. Is there any way you could’ve envisioned your current self back in 1999? Probably not. Odds are, you’d be pretty amazed if you knew then what you know now.

These milestones of years, of decades, of evolving traditions, are perfect times for reflection, gratitude, and the making of new plans. Here are a few tips for resolving and manifesting in this new decade:

* Don’t simply resolve to quit things. Plan on replacing negative habits and patterns with positive choices, and focus on those.

* Every day is a fresh start. Failing yesterday is no reason to give up on today. Be better.

* Concentrate on what you want and not what you’re missing. As with driving, you steer toward what you’re looking at. If you focus on your bills, you will always have bills; if you remember your abundance, you will have abundance. If you want love, practice compassion, faith, and self-love.

* Visualize until it feels true. Want that promotion? Picture yourself behind that desk, gazing out your new corner office window. Allow yourself the pride, relief, joy, that you’ve made it.

*Positive energy snowballs just as well as negative, and the most common quality in happy people is the desire to be happy. You can only hold one thought at any given moment. Choose a happy thought.

* Remember to be your best self. Trying to be someone else’s best sets you up for failure. Find your voice and revel in it; love yourself for it.

* Life is too short for hate. That goes for others, and yourself. You will be amazed at how loving and respecting yourself will change your perception, and how others perceive you. Look in the mirror and tell yourself you love yourself. Do it. Preferably naked. You are beautiful. Now celebrate with a cookie.

* Remember to give thanks for the little things, the moments of kindness shared with strangers, the fleeting moments of beauty and perfection. Give thanks not only so that there may be more of them, but so they may stay with you longer, in heart and mind. Compassion is contagious.

* If we all vow to do unto others this year, as we would have them do unto us, this year will be blissful.

May your life be filled with abundance and joy,
and may you always be aware that it is.

The Poet

2009-12-12T13:07:00.002-05:00

A dead poet once called her a serial kisser with heartbreaker eyes.

He died quietly while she was falling elsewhere
into the candy floss of love and daydreams that he felt only heroes could withstand.

She woke up the day they found him
smiling with another man and thinking of nothing like death
when he turned everything he'd ever said into words frozen between quotation marks
and every straight line broken.

She turned her occasionally dark thoughts onto matters of mortality for a moment
and let herself wallow in this new kind of loss until it fell away of its own accord
leaving only fragmented memories and oddly lit scenes
like the books he meant to write
and tear jerking movies.

She saved the letter where he told her how hard he wished and how much he cared;
hoped he had thrown out the letter of her reply where she tried so kindly to say
no
again.

She moved on;
wiser with life,
and older by days,
and rarely grasping
what she had once meant.

Mala Beads: Meaning & Materials

2009-11-11T18:16:00.000-05:00

What's a Mala?
A mala is a length of prayer beads usually worn as a necklace or bracelet. It has 108 beads (109, if you count the unifying or head bead), or a fraction of 108, such as 27. 108 is an auspicious number, derived by multiplying the number of planets by the number of astrological houses (this system is thousands of years old, and yes, we're counting Pluto).

How to Pick Your Mala
With malas, as with crystals, stones and other power symbols, it's important to follow your intuition to the one most suited to you. Whether you follow your heart, or receive them as a gift, the mala you have, is the one you are meant to have, and it came into your life at just the right time.

How to Use Your Mala
A mala is akin to rosary beads, or focus stones. They are used to count off prayers or mantras, so that you don't have to count while chanting. The head bead is a reference point, and not to be counted. Traditional mantras would be in Sanskrit, and relating to one or more Hindu god, but anything can be a prayer or mantra. Whether you choose to use a prayer you're familiar with, such as the Serenity Prayer, or to select your own words, like repeating "joy and abundance" with each bead, helping to manifest these qualities. It is said that if you use your mala beads for 40 days in a row, they will become imbued with power that can be spread to anyone who wears them.

A few materials...

Amethyst: associated with the crown chakra, it's the "stone of spirituality and contentment". It balances the energies, and clears the aura.

Garnet: associated with the base chakra, and the elements of fire and sometimes earth, it is a stone of romantic love, passion, and devotion, as well as inspiration and motivation.

Jade: associated with the heart chakra an the element of water, jade is known for bringing luck, prosperity, longevity, wealth & wisdom.

Moonstone: associated with the Mother Goddess, and lunar power, it's a stone strong in feminine powers. Good for all female health issues, it brings about an understanding of one's destiny, and is the stone of new beginnings for men and women. Cleanses negativity from the chakras.

Onyx: associated with the root chakra, and the elements of earth and sometimes fire, onyx is a protection stone, also promoting inner strength, focus, will power, discipline, and reason.

Quartz: the Jack of All Trades of stones. It amplifies wishes, tunes to all chakras and signs, and amplifies the powers of other stones. Comparable only to diamond in its versatility and power.

White Sandalwood: associated with Ram and Vishnu, it's used for peace and empowerment, and is associated with Gods more so than Goddesses.

Red Sandalwood: a symbol of Brahma and blessed by the goddess Lakshmi, it helps with attaining prosperity. Also associated with Ganesh, and with all Goddesses, it enlightens the super consciousness, improves concentration and facilitates detachment.

Rudrasksha: The seed of the rudraksha tree, rudrasksha literally means "the third-eye" or "tears of Shiva". Said to possess mystical and divine properties, it is considered to be auspicious and powerful, to maintain health, fulfill desires, and achieve all ambitions.

Read Me Here!

2009-07-13T13:31:00.004-04:00

Check out Breadcrumb Scabs Issue 7 for three poems by yours truly!

There are of course bunches of other fab poems & poets to be discovered inside.

You can download it free, but the hard copy's a hot addition to any shelf, so don't hesitate to shell out the duckets and support poetic dreams.

http://www.breadcrumbscabs.com/

How Do YOU Feel?

2009-06-15T18:57:00.008-04:00

Over the weekend, I discovered a wonderful website called We Feel Fine.

The program used by this website scans blog posts constantly, searching specifically for the words "feel" or "feels". It then pulls that sentence along with any associated pics, and grabs all the info it can: age, sex, place, and even weather. As much as it seems a bit 1984, what it allows you to do is search through feelings worldwide, from as recently as a few hours ago. It uses a variety of displays to make it fun and interactive, and oddly compelling. You can even click on any given quote to visit that person's blog if you're interested.

What are people in Montreal feeling right now? What is the prevalent feeling worldwide today? You can search by feelings themselves, opening doors to real people and how they're feeling blessed, beautiful, or inspired. It's a unique way to connect at a heart level with strangers, to remind us how connected we always really are. It made me think of how many people ask how we feel , what we're thinking, and how often we shrug this off with small and defensive answers.

Twenty-five minutes ago, a 23 year old from Warwick, NY, posted "I love the feeling of inhaling cold air conditioned air", even though it seems it was cloudy when they posted. I would gladly take that information in the place of so many of the worn things we tell one another.

In our society of diminished emotional bonds and increased superficiality, it seems a blessing to have access to these moments of intimacy, as much as it is wonderful to know that these feelings have been shared, and are not sitting stagnant and ignored. As a result, the boundaries between "you" and "I" seem lesser today, and I am relieved to know that four hours ago, someone, somewhere, was "feeling better about myself".

The Deaths of Rats

2009-03-29T13:19:00.003-04:00

Dying

he buried himself and waited.

Unlike the others who died

one quietly nursing surgery scars

one who tried to outrun it and was found on the living room floor come morning

left to rest in peace by 2 suddenly solemn cats holding vigil in their eyes

or the myriad who did not return from the small animal hospital.

This rat

named for a notoriously local poet gone global and quickly aging who can still make young women breathless from a distance
displayed his understanding of circumstance
and knowing that his next stop was a trash can in the winter cold of an apartment building basement garage
he dug himself in under wood chips and bedding holding onto his head which must have been aching right then like the white lightening pain that takes your breath away
and waited to go back to earth
watched as they came for him
these spectres of well loved rodents who ate out of hands and snuggled into shirt sleeves
a guinea pig gone less than 2 weeks before.

The rat was curled up with him
like a lover perched on the losing end
trying to stave off time.

Now his turn
and alone
he buried himself so that when we woke up
it seemed as though
he was already gone
because
he was.

Essence

2009-01-20T12:21:00.001-05:00

She was the presence of a woman and he was the concept of a man

in fantasies and dreamscapes they fulfilled the faceless roles of love

in explosions of tears and delight they held each other

even as their paint washed away

their colours and textures swirling and singing and melting into rainwater

dirty but proud

a mighty river flowing through the gutter

2008-11-10T16:08:00.001-05:00

waxing romantical

silly girl daydreams, more cornball than porno

read an email a friend got from a woman who wants him desperately

it was filled with dense & disconnected metaphor, praise, and self depreciating blah blah blahs

I think I may be a cliche...

Pickup

2008-08-23T10:36:00.002-04:00

A redneck in a pickup truck
with a cracked windshield
and a pit-bull hanging his head out of the passenger's side
revved his engine at me today
and I swung my hips despite myself.

Dream of You

2008-08-08T11:40:00.005-04:00

When I dream of you now
which is with increasing frequency
we are quiet
and it feels like home.

In your last appearance
you wore an Expos cap
slick and new with a shiny vinyl emblem
trendy in town years after the team's demise
and I was content to fall asleep
with my head on your shoulder.

Scene

2008-07-14T15:55:00.002-04:00

Exhaling smoke into the sudden rain

she leans against the door frame

at the end of a too hot day

a desperate black and white heroine

made all the more gritty by flesh and colour.

Triplicate

2008-06-12T11:39:00.003-04:00

She wrote her songs
in triplicate always.

One she said was for her,
one was for others,
and the last she buried.

In soil
or snow
depending.

She said this one was for God,
and that she was afraid
that if she did not give thanks

did not pay proper tribute
her words would leave her,
as people tended to do.

Big Thanks

2008-06-03T12:18:00.002-04:00

Thanks again to the Anonymous reader who suggested I check out some Buddy Wakefield, Taylor Mali, and Sage Francis. I'd never heard of these guys, which just goes to show how much quality stuff is out there that I have no idea about.

YouTube has Wakefield and Mali, and the Sage Francis tunes I've been able to get my hands on have made it to my MP3 player for daily rotation. I strongly suggest "Cafe Girl" & "Got Up This Morning". Both are worth it even if you just Google the lyrics. He does what I want rap to be, which is really tight poetry with cool beats. I know that's not for everyone, so please, no hate mail if you like your rap done MTV styles.

If anyone else in internet land has any suggestions of writers, artists, fun stuff in general that may be of interest, please leave a comment and let me know! That's how people find the treasures you know, and really, we are all in this together.

Dawn

Gone

2008-05-29T10:12:00.001-04:00

He stopped crying when she left

because she kept leaving.

He grew to appreciate

the art of distance

the impressionist strokes she became

beyond arms length.

He came to enjoy the way

he could love her

when she was gone.

Noir

2008-05-08T17:13:00.003-04:00

I hate this feeling.

This feeling that half the time it is bliss

Full of life and light

And I

Am fully invested

In this optimistic foundation of my future

While half the time I feel stupid

I've done it again

Fallen in love with my own needs and delusions

Again

Just another inadvertent con from another well intentioned man

Inside I am torn

Between these moments of seeing myself cast beautifully

As bride to be

And foreseeing the ugly aftermath of empty nights thinking none of this was what it seemed

But when I try to apply some enlightened lesson of non-attachment

I find myself too loose and absent

Lost in notions of eternal oceans

Thinking:

Time

Will tell

Time

Will work it out and remove these veils of fear and confusion

This knot in my chest

This elephant in the room

But I

Am too conscious of time

Finite precious irretrievable time

Unforgiving of my quandaries and pauses

Wrong turns trysts and tears

And at this

Time

As I meditate on the mathematical impossibility that is

One plus one

And all the things that it really may equal

I wonder how anyone can ever be sure of their answers

Even if they show their work

And how I will respond

To these calls for timely resolution

Flowers

2008-04-10T11:20:00.001-04:00

I pressed flowers
Between the pages of a poetry book
Filled with lust and longing.

The pollen
Dyed the pages
And broken petals clung to the words like tissue paper and white glue
Until they blotted out the words.

I never finished the book.
I kept it
Whimsical symbol of summer dreams
Along with the flowers that were pressed
And tied with a piece of red thread
That we found on the way
To somewhere we never reached.

Tribute

2008-03-09T21:44:00.002-04:00

Last year a friend commissioned me to write a series of poems about her son Michael. He was a troubled young adult whose life kept going from bad to worse, and since the request, he has gone missing and is presumed dead. I publish these now as a tribute to Michael, and an homage to the strength of his mother, JK.

Dear Michael
You’re in another city
But your body’s still here
Somewhere under this same painted sky
You are using these clouds as a canopy
Uniformed demons with nightsticks and sneers
Chasing you away from sleep.

I press my eyes and try but can’t
Imagine the kaleidoscope flashes that set your waking dreams ablaze
Nor can I fathom the jagged shadows that crash in on you
And maybe that’s for the best.

I am sure that the summer rain
Loses its sugar glaze when it’s all you have and the concrete
Is threatening to swallow you alive
If not whole.

You said the sun has a cold side
And that people are made of that same stone
And I heard the chaos behind you
Voices laughing yelling the scuffle
Of aimless jaded youth
The crackle of a damaged payphone
And I wondered what became
Of the elephant you mentioned last time
The one you ride to get away from it all
But so many things change too quickly these days.

When you float
Through the masses
Scared and unsure where and when you are
Remember I will always take your calls
Collect distraught and late night
Sobbing or laughing’
That dark cackle that is new to you
Both turn my stomach now but I
Would rather hear you
Than wonder in the silence
If you can still speak.

My Heart
From the time
You
Were small
I
Was by your side
For your scrapes
And successes
Sweet dreams
And screaming nights
And all I ever wanted
Was to bask in you
And guard against anything
That could tarnish your glow

Then you got older
And
I saw how you were affected
The demons of your short past
And the tricks of your brilliant mind
Haunting you into scarier places
And I
Wanted only to keep you safe
And home
Healthy

And now
I pray
My every breath is a prayer
That when my eyes are not on you
Some grace may still protect you
And
That when I do see you
Briefly
Do hold your hand
(You have grown so thin now)
My prayer is that you smile
Feel my heart
Know my name
And so
I write to say
That even when you feel
That there is no one
And nothing
Outside of your darkness
Know that I am near
And watching
And doing all
That I can do
To ease your various torments
And that as long as both our hearts
Are beating
I will give my whole self over
To the cause of your salvation
And once your heart slips
Off its rhythm
And into eternity
I will pray for your wings

Spectre
A moment ago ---
A couple of ragged breaths
A few pained heartbeats
The passing of a stranger ---
Ago
My hand was on your cheek
Your eyes flickering with recognition and memories of me
You smiled
Turned
A spectre in the rush hour subway station
Overloaded with bags and troubles
Suddenly another in a sea of private storms
I watched you
For a whole slow moment
Stealthy among the strangers
And then you were gone

The Heartbreak of a Hero
Our Hero met his Heroine
In a moment dark as night
He’d always claim he wasn’t looking
What he found was lust at first sight
Her hips were loaded
Their stare was locked
She worked her charms before his eyes
Her lips were wet
Her grin was wide
Her power grew as he drank up her lies
Our Hero brought her flowers
He offered up his soul
He chased for days and hours
He needed her to feel whole
Miss H was his beloved
But she was just bemused
Still our desperate hapless Hero here
Couldn’t see he was being used
And as this Heroine had done
So many ugly times before
She abused him and ruined him and then locked the door
On his hopes, on his dreams, on his strength to wish for more
For this Miss H, you see, love is never the goal
She’ll suck you dry and leave you out in the cold
And when our Hero
Sweet sad man that he is
Had filled her needs and served her whims
She vanished into the tangled branch memories of faded dreams
And he stood
Naked cold and alone
Stripped of all that he’d ever called home
Family, friends, faith and future
He’d forsaken all he had to give
And though still breathing
So not dead yet
He lacked the spirit to live
In the overcast twilight of this in between
Our Hero saw that Miss H had not been what she ’d seemed
And though his heart ached from her absence
His loss
He took time to reflect on all he’d been taught
And the idea that tomorrow may yet be better than today
Was the simple hard earned lesson he managed to take away
And in the shifting rainbow colours
Of dawn’s first muted light
Our Hero finally believed
That his day could yet be bright

Icebreaker

2008-02-23T09:59:00.004-05:00

When I ordered poutine and beer

You said that I consistently surprise you;

That you had me pegged as a white wine with steamed edemame beans type.

And I did not mention the chilled bottle and soy products waiting patiently in the dark cold of my home fridge

But instead wondered what other assumptions

You had built up around me;

What silly expectations I could dispel

With a casual word.

2008-02-18T14:34:00.000-05:00

When you left I was
Grasping at intangibles
But fell on my feet

2008-02-13T14:29:00.003-05:00

I am swimming through

The tides of our short time here

Drinking all I can

In Advance

2008-02-08T13:02:00.001-05:00

I wish to give thanks in advance

For all the mornings I will awake by your side

Too tired to smile or otherwise display my joy

That you are not a dream and are in fact

Still here

Nifty Neti

2008-01-23T14:51:00.000-05:00

I'm not one for jumping on bandwagons; especially not brand spanking new theories on what's good for us these days (yes, avocados have fat in them. Mother Nature put it there, and it's good for you. Put down your damn chips and go get an avocado!).

But I digress.

I prefer those wonderful bits of ancient wisdom that resurface (more accurately they make their way West) because of their tried and true record. It's important of course to always approach these ideas with an open mind (a dash of optimism and a smidge of skepticism), but here's one I tried, and yes, it's true.

Jala neti means 'nasal cleansing' in Sanskrit. More commonly the practice is just called neti, or nasal irrigation. You probably think your nose is all neat and tidy thanks to blowing, and a dedicated gold digging practice, but you probably still feel sniffly and have a variety of sinus related symptoms. Jala neti is done by pouring lukewarm lightly salted water up your nose.

Don't panic. I don't like swimming without a nose plug, and I can assure you this isn't nearly as bad as it sounds. The first time isn't super fun, but after that it goes like butter. Within the first couple of days I noticed that my sense of smell was heightened, and I could breathe through my nose all day and not feel like I was missing out on the little things...like oxygen. My nose isn't getting all boogery in the cold now either, as neti clears out excess mucus, and scrubs down your scilia (those abfab l'il hairs that catch the germs) so they can work more efficiently. This is great for people with allergy symptoms or chronic sinus problems. I've also heard it said that it's a great practice fort those trying to quit smoking as it makes even smokers more sensitive to the smell of smoke, and reminds them how good it is to breathe.

They do sell neti pots, little teapots really, but that sounds like an unnecessary expense. Really, all you need is a small container with an opening small enough that you can pour into your nostril. Don't forget to do both sides.

I'm loving it so far, as you can tell. The long term benefits...well, I'll have to keep it up and see how it goes. I can say that I decided early on in the season that I wouldn't get sick this winter, and so far so good. It's going so well, I don't even feel jinxed by saying it. That's unrelated really, but it deserved to be said. I do however have a new cavity, which tells me 2 things:

1) no one is perfect

2) when concentrating on health, well-being, success etc., try to be as specific as possible, while covering all your bases.

Anyhoo, my review would be that jala neti is a must try as the results speak for themselves, and quickly. Please post if you give this a whirl, or if you already have a healthy, sparkly nose.

New Year, Fresh Success!

2008-01-10T12:25:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year everyone!

Sorry I've abandoned my blog for so long, but all the typical excuses apply.

The good news is, I'm starting the year off on the right foot, with a poem appearing on anderbo.com.

This marks my 3rd publishing, but it feels like my first. I don't know if it's just been so long, or if it's because it's my first international acceptance, but it feels fantastic. (The other two, for those keeping track, were in Circa 12/25, which should be impossible to find by now, and Lickety Split #2 which is still available through licketysplit.com. It's a fabulous publication, Montreal born, but it is a proudly artistic smut mag, so uh Dad, don't buy the one I wrote for.)

With all this positivity coursing through my veins (additionally, I am in deep love with my day job), I want to encourage everyone to take their life by the reins, don't let the odds stand in your way, and refuse to settle for less. You are infinite, beautiful, and you deserve more than you believe. The only one standing in your way is usually yourself.

As I resolve every year, I will take better care of my precious blog, but only if you promise to keep reading it ;)

Long Gone

2007-11-27T16:48:00.000-05:00

Frosted night bus shelter

When I was 10 years younger

(Or more).

You were in your layers:

Band shirt flannel corduroy

(As always)

And you rubbed me warm

Through the hole in my jeans

While we considered what more our markers could say across the small turf of our wind-block.

All of this was romance then;

Long before dramatic teen-aged heartbreak,

Years before the real world settled upon us and into our pores

Like a fine weighty dust.

After the bus pulled away with you I

Lit my cigarette in the safety of the shelter

Popped my collar and stepped into the cold.

Around the corner

Snow under foot and hormones cluttering my inner narrative

I rubbed cinnamon gum on my fingers

To hide the smell of tobacco.

Practice

2007-10-25T12:34:00.000-04:00

As of yet

None of my poems

Have been a true or adequate tribute to spirit;

Though union is continually achieved

Through the sticky act of my creation.

Small Thanks

2007-09-09T16:15:00.001-04:00

Thank you for the air
That rushed in through my bus seat window today;
The air that was briefly without car exhaust and construction dust
And was in fact like fresh cold water on my dirty face.

Query

2007-08-27T11:25:00.000-04:00

She stopped --

Eyes hard,

Lips down-turned --

And asked

"Why must you walk through the grass when there is a designated path?"

Which there was, and on which she stood.

It meandered through the greenery with intentional curves

Meant to insinuate an organic nature.

I grinned;

My feet firmly planted, and my toes touching life

And asked in reply

"When did walking on concrete ever make someone smile?"

My Nature

2007-07-10T20:48:00.000-04:00

Growing up

The field across the street from my home

(Sturdy squat apartment building

Proud of its small mark on the skyline)

Smelled of chamomile through the summer

But I didn’t know what chamomile was

And only knew that it smelled like field.

The tiny cluster of trees in that field

Huddled together against the encroaching city

Sheltered bears and rivers and snakes

In my youth

Despite being across the boulevard from a mall.

And while it would be nearly a decade before I saw a bigger forest

I have yet to sleep under the stars.

In Memory

2007-06-25T22:08:00.000-04:00

My Bubby passed last Tuesday. Anyone who knows me or is a regular reader here, knows the depth of this personal tragedy.

In addition to being an all encompassing grandmother who could transform a can of Campbell’s chicken soup into an event, or keep me enthralled with a sink full of water, a few kitchen items and her uncanny knack for improvisation, as I grew I saw her as the whole and wondrous woman she truly was. A woman whose face lit up when she recounted the dinners and dances of her youth, someone who would smile at your naiveté, let you choose your own course, and be there with open arms when you fell, offering love, hope, and a small sermon on the subject that left you wiser. She had a strength and fire that propelled her gracefully through her 95th year. She was God loving, not fearing, though she believed in universal balance and counted on it often. A skilled storyteller, she jumpstarted my imagination, and in the decades since she has provided me with vital recharges as needed.

She wanted to be a Rabbi before a woman could be, and though people laughed at her, she didn’t stop telling people her dream. She grew into my own spiritual leader, and the spirit she introduced me to is pure, and transcends religion. She taught me that prayers, spells and rituals are all equal, the magick is the intention behind them.

She was the matriarch of my heart, and charged me with the task of continuing to tell my own stories despite my periodic disappointment. She planted the seeds and tended to a part of me that no one else has ever touched, and now in her absence, I must flourish in her honour.
When we buried her on Thursday, the first day of summer, under perfect skies, across the street from strawberry fields, I marvelled at how right it all was; such an appropriate final chapter for a wise pagan and proud Jew. We had said our good byes many times (just in case), and when she went, it was with a smile. No one can ask for more.

I am rerunning the pieces I have written about her, including one that was never posted. I expect that she will continue to inspire and affect my life from her place in the wind. While I will miss my Bubby, I know she will make a wonderful angel, and I can sleep soundly knowing that now, she can dance again.

God’s Light

I sat with the oracle
One Sunday
As she ate sparkly pink marshmallow hearts
That are not good for her diabetes
Which is of no concern to either of us
And I asked
If there was enough light
Because I wanted her to see
How my daughter has grown
And she smiled
And said that
Only God has lights
Bright enough
For her eyes
But that my daughter is gorgeous
A real shaina maidelach
And I promised that for Easter
I would come back
With marshmallow chicks
And brighter sunshine

Smile =)

She taught me the power of crystal

Then showed me that power in everything

She taught me to see in tea leaves, cards, and palms

And then taught me how to read people

She told me to stay close to God

And then years later that god is Love and Joy

She taught me to improvise

But never compromise

And to smile

But not too much

Or people will think you're stupid

Butterflies

I still remember walking through summer

Hand in hand with her

Before I knew she was magick

Or even a woman

Only that she was my grandmother

There were more monarch butterflies then it seems

And they say calmly

Elegant here and there on the leaves and concrete

But when she tells the story

The butterflies are endless

Wings the colour of sunsets and moonless nights laid out like a tapenstry before us

And suddenly I

Remember it that way too

A Thought For Today

This past weekend I had the pleasure of sitting down with my grandmother. My Bubby: quick witted, strong willed, right about 95 years young, she's my favourite lady in all of the world that I've seen thus far. I bet that despite whatever travels I may yet have, she will remain as such. Proud and honest, uncompromising but always improvising, she is a pillar in my life, a role model, and my soul food. Even if she wasn't prophetic, spiritual, sharp tongued and at peace, she would mean just as much to me, but of course, she is all these things, and days later I'm still glowing from my brief time with her. I feel inspired, uplifted and renewed, and while I know that not everyone has a Bubby (for which I really am sorry), I hope that you can connect or reconnect with someone who brings you the same joy.

Go get 'em.

Change

2007-06-03T15:49:00.001-04:00

My poetry comes out differently now

It floats out when I breathe

Spills from my eyes

Locks up my words

I can walk away now

From a blank and longing page

And my soul still dances in time with cosmic winds

And though on occasion

My poems still do leak through the nibs of my various pens

To fill the pores of this page

Canvas to my imagined genius

For the most part now

I inhabit the spaces between words

And each breath is a volume

A universe unto itself

The Night Of

2007-06-03T15:44:00.000-04:00

Mid winter vision quest
With a fresh subconcious seeker,
His skepticism washed away with the moment,
And a silent type
And me.

I feel like a fly
As on so many walls before
But he thought I was an angel
Or a witch,
And maybe we are all both
Once we get past our dogmas and jean size.

I am reminded how much
Summer nourishes me
And how very far away it is
But I am whole
Filled to bursting.

And come morning
Just myself and you
With your starlit memories
I know that my quest is complete
And my journey has just begun.

On The Bus

2007-05-05T11:54:00.000-04:00

I find myself in the back of the bus again

Scribbling bumpy lines to pass the time again

And I'm feeling like joining the ranks of the indelible and indecipherable

The esoteric symbols and names of the latest phase

Those with enough passion to feed their protests

Pointless and otherwise

And there is a small sanctuary found in the youthful ease of steel toed boots

Worn bright and arrogant

Ready to shitkick the world

And there is cool comfort in the company of those

Who still have the energy and naivete

To believe that they can change the world

Before it has the chance to change them

And though I still tend to be a proud member of a limited breed

The enraged vigilantes for beauty and civility

I am aware of all the cocoons I have sprung from

The countless daily concessions I make to compensate for my cosmopolitan cravings in this instant's society

But I still manage at times to muster the spark to design a few signs

Walk a few lines

And in flashes that seem on occasion to be

Duller and fewer and farther between

I find the fire to fully believe

That I can create art from this ongoing calamity

Build my own future

Buy a farm

Find my rhythm and learn to drum

And finally drop

Into something greater

By dropping out of this

Butterflies

2007-04-20T13:33:00.000-04:00

I still remember walking through summer
Hand in hand with her
Before I knew she was magick
Or even a woman
Only that she was my grandmother
There were more monarch butterflies then it seems
And they say calmly
Elegant here and there on the leaves and concrete
But when she tells the story
The butterflies are endless
Wings the colour of sunsets and moonless nights
laid out like a tapenstry before us
And suddenly I
Remember it that way too

Smile :)

2007-04-15T16:04:00.001-04:00

She taught me the power of crystal
Then showed me that power in everything
She taught me to see in tea leaves, cards, and palms
And then taught me how to read people
She told me to stay close to God
And then years later that god is Love and Joy
She taught me to improvise
But never compromise
And to smile
But not too much
Or people will think you're stupid

Coming Home

2007-03-30T16:23:00.000-04:00

I've gone from grasping at intangibles
To forging my reality:
Melting down my unnecessary leftovers and outgrown bits
For recycling and reinvention
While passing bad twenties to buy some time.
Frankly
I am touched that you came
By fluke or design
To this point in time
To share your heart and space with me;
And though I have crafted sad shelters
Out of necessity and despair
Built fetid cocoons in the hopes of minty fresh recreation,
Only now can I
Raise my feet
Rest my head
And bask in home.

Recurring

2007-03-27T16:41:00.001-04:00

Often in my dreams I am rolling to safety
Inches from impending wheels
Heart beating
Breath caught
Screaming not even a passing thought
I am rolling
To the curb
To the grassy dark ditch
Wherever
Away from on coming headlights
Always night
Usually raining
Or at the very least there are puddles
And damp cracks in the road
Too close to my face
As I roll out of the way just in time
And each time I am surprised
That I have made it
As the tires blow by my face
That I was not hit
Not killed
By the anonymous car that drives away without hesitation
While I lay roadside
Catching my breath and counting my blessings
Over
And over
Again

Message

2007-03-17T15:47:00.000-04:00

Wrapped in ribbons of scented smoke
Doused in tea soaked steam
My mind slides to memories of you
With your wind whipped tresses dancing wild
Meadow grasses red and gold
Gowns flowing
Clinging
And you said
To live without fear
Because there will always be something to be afraid of
But living is a limited time offer
And from the endless depths of your eyes
From under your heavy lids
You told me that I had to laugh more
Especially when at wits end
To smile when it would be easier to cry
To sing before I scream
You brought the smells of wet earth and mating flowers along in your hair
To tell me that I had to live out loud
Or forgo my voice and just grin and nod along
And you left these fragrant memories
Like careful forest breadcrumbs
So that I may always find my way
Back to truth
Despite the distractions and misplaced destinies
Regardless of whatever fumes and fashions swirl around me momentarily
I carry your wisdom
And your smile
As my charms

Fallen

2007-03-06T12:05:00.000-05:00

When stuck in the dirty asphalt grey of a nasty cloud
I understand that its inherent silver lining is nothing more than a distant and unlikely theory
But from all the times
You were able to see
The clouds of others from the outside
And tried to help them map their escapes
You must know there is sky
Beyond your sadness

Unread

2007-03-06T12:02:00.001-05:00

There is an anonymous sense of comfort

In the fact that you have no interest in my tidbits

Rhyming or otherwise

In the knowledge that no matter whose blood is spilled here

You will neither be witness to the carnage

Nor wrongfully implicated in the crime.

Bubby: A Thought For Today

2007-02-26T23:36:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I had the pleasure of sitting down with my grandmother. My Bubby: quick witted, strong willed, right about 95 years young, she's my favourite lady in all of the world that I've seen thus far. I bet that despite whatever travels I may yet have, she will remain as such.

Proud and honest, uncompromising but always improvising, she is a pillar in my life, a role model, and my soul food. Even if she wasn't prophetic, spiritual, sharp tongued and at peace, she would mean just as much to me, but of course, she is all these things, and days later I'm still glowing from my brief time with her.

I feel inspired, uplifted and renewed, and while I know that not everyone has a Bubby (for which I really am sorry), I hope that you can connect or reconnect with someone who brings you the same joy.

Go get 'em.

New Pics

2007-02-20T00:07:00.000-05:00

Us

Danny a.k.a The Boyfriend
ummm...Me!

For more of Dan's fab pics, including some great shots of Europe, click the Danupix link to see her site.

2007-02-13T21:46:00.000-05:00

You said I was destined
To plant flowers in anonymous fields
And write poetry in chalk on walls by streetlight.
While I have done neither
I have pasted my pages to mall bathroom stalls
In the hopes that some captured audience
Would be touched
And often
Upon seeing spots of spontaneous and unlikely beauty
My mind has wandered to you.

Burnt Dream

2007-02-12T20:57:00.000-05:00

I dreamed of fire last night
Nothing all encompassing
Only my bedroom burned down
(A subtle reminder not to let visitors smoke in bed)
I ran headstrong into the smoke screen
In a frantic daze
Convinced as always that I
In my amazement and indignation
Am in fact more potent than mere flame
And my only preoccupations were to salvage some of my favourite pieces
-- Paper mostly, and that unfinished --
Along with a few necessary props and personas to see me through
Arms full of trash and trinkets
I ran into the street
Into the wide open dark
Naked and singed
And I woke up sweaty
Holding you

Missed Call

2007-02-04T18:00:00.000-05:00

I believe it was you
Who called just now.
Rang and rang my phone
But hung up on my answering machine
While I ran through the hall
Naked
My hair soaked and raining down
My skin exploding in goosebumps
To get to the phone
And standing bare and alone
All I got was the click of your goodbye.
So I ask that next time
You're looking to share
Some of your beautiful words
Please do leave a message if I don't get to the phone in time.
I could use the air.

No Room

2007-02-04T17:33:00.000-05:00

There is no room here for the inaccuracies of language.
There is no space in the air between us
To grope for adjectives and flowers
Or rediscover the forgotten art of romantic metaphor
In this moment of clarity
Where we are
And can
Just be
There is no need to articulate
This ocean inside of me
And if poetry comes from struggle and sadness
Then I will lock my lips and dance wildly
Around your fire.

(2005)

Future

2007-01-31T20:02:00.000-05:00

When we talk about the future
We speak in serious tones pierced by lilting laughter
Frequent pauses
In which we stop
To enjoy the view
Speculation and dream weaving are fine arts
Requiring patience and on occasion
Held breath and hushed voices
As we place the flowers
In the garden we will grow

Upon Finding You Away

2007-01-31T20:00:00.000-05:00

If the moments of my life
Are the poems you've been waiting for
I will bundle them up in a bow and
Leave them
Unedited
On your doorstep for your perusal
Don't think of them as a sacrifice but
As a meager donation
To your grandiose cause
Your big picture scene
Larger and liver than its bare bits
And if you find my pieces to be passable
Fit to find themselves on your hallowed shelves
They will be the proud testaments
To my humble blind faith
That you will get this message at all

Posting Problems

2007-01-31T19:45:00.000-05:00

Okay....so sorry for the various delays. As I commented, I haven't been able to convert to the NEW Blogger and can't log into my old account, and was/am trapped in limbo. I've gotten in by going to RECOVER PASSWORD and getting in through my email. If you're having this problem, I suggest you do the same. =)
I'm may still be in the aforementioned limbo, but it's post-erific baby!!!
(Thanx for noticing my absence...I feel the love!)

55 Word Stories

2007-01-05T20:58:00.000-05:00

1.

“But I saw it!” Jimmy protested.
“No you didn’t. Fairies are only in stories.”
“What about the Tooth Fairy?”
“My brother says your mom does that.”
Jimmy wondered how his mom knew when every kid in the world lost a tooth.
“But it was glowing and had wings,” Jimmy pressed.
“It must’ve been an angel.”

2.

It was funny to see him lying there. Not funny ha-ha, but funny weird. There were butterflies loose in her stomach; she was glad she’d skipped breakfast.
He looked smaller than she remembered, like a doll in a box, and no doubt just as light, un-tethered by the weight of his life or his innards.

3.

“Hurry up, I hear someone.”
“You’re paranoid,” Jessi sneered.
Heather stood in the empty corridor chewing her fingernails to blood, eyes bouncing from door to door. The home-ec class had burned their assignment; she could smell it.
“Okay, let’s go,” Jessi called, and they ran, leaving their handiwork behind, SLUT scrawled across the grey locker.

4.

To her, poems were drugs, absorbed to alter the mind. She had to have them, and wanted them to be a part of her somehow.
She was on the verge of eating them, she explained.
“Why don’t you bathe in them?” he laughed.
She shrugged, tearing the pages from their binding as the tub filled.

2007-01-03T10:34:00.000-05:00

One night there was screaming
Quick words
Hardened hearts
And then the storming
Away from you
And this.

(2005)

Tat Tuam Asi

2006-11-25T18:52:00.001-05:00

In Sanskrit, there is a phrase: TAT TUAM ASI. Roughly translated, it means: THOU ART THAT. The concept is that just as we cannot live in joy or anger without joy or anger living within us, we cannot live in this universe without this universe existing within us. From the simplicity of the elements we share to the too-impressive-to-fathom spark of life that lights all beings, everything under the sun is reflected in the microcosm of ourselves.

It may sound elementary on one hand and whimsical on the other, but can it be pertinent to our everyday?

The fact is that in today’s global environment, the idea is more pertinent than ever. Right now we’re provided every opportunity to distract ourselves and to consume wildly, without once having to consider what voids we are really attempting to fill. Society seems to be increasingly based on self absorption and lack of reflection, a path that is leading us progressively farther from our true selves, each other, and our place in this universe.

The message of TAT TUAM ASI is a simple but powerful one, and I ask that you try on this perspective for a minute or two.

Remember:

- We are every puddle; simultaneously a whole and a collection of drops.

- We are every tree; firmly planted through our storms and transformations.

- We are every person who we perceive as hateful, ignorant, selfish, impatient, etc. We dislike in others reflections of qualities that we are shameful of in ourselves, it’s just easier to point fingers than be honest about our own shortcomings. Negative feelings are natural and necessary, it’s how we react to and manifest these feelings that we’re in control of. Today, recognize that we all have our ugly moments, but we are not ugly people. Take the opportunity to react to the negativity of others in a positive way.

- We often react to the joys of even our dearest friends with a modicum of jealousy and bitterness. Remember that the joy of others can serve to remind us of our own capacity for joy; their luck indicative of the our own waves of fortune. Be happy for the joy of others. Smile at a stranger, so that they may remember to smile.

I know it may sound corny (stop sneering, or your face will stick like that). But honestly, if we close ourselves to the positive possibilities of the universe what are we left with?

Unstable

2006-11-22T00:09:00.000-05:00

If change is constant
Then we are permanent
Eternal on this flaming roller coaster
Emotional cocktail shaker of closer, lighter
Double the dose
I can’t tell if I’m penning a Valentine
Or spilling the lines of a Dear John with your damn name
But I don’t even have anything to walk away from
And I can’t pine and whine over the dissipation of dreams I wasn’t sure I wanted to have come true
No name to my feelings
No right to you
Whirlwind around me
As you close the door

Sepia Dreams

2006-11-22T00:06:00.000-05:00

I can never find the words
To put to
What you do
To me
But I think you see
Quite clearly
The script you are writing in the comfort of your director’s chair
I am a matinee heroine
No matter what screaming horror role you write me into
Like a room with no windows
Trapped and alone
Perfect movie poster
Cracked around the edges and unsure of itself in the harsh daylight
Frozen in time and mind through the lens of this memory

2006-10-24T22:46:00.000-04:00

Inside my lines there resides
The sticky sentiments behind my leaps of language
And inside my frequent cries of isolation and incomprehension
Is my call to kindreds
The soulful
The bare and wandering
Who in dark and separate rooms
Plead the hopes we cannot speak
Amid the sad candles that burn
For light and not romance
And where the music seeps through cracks
And into pores
Igniting hearts that are already open
And asking
So much so deeply
Of the speckled night sky
And between those jaded twinkling wishes
Lodged between our pressing and cosmic concerns
Floating on the mantras of our prayer
We will find each other
In bold and naked truth

Reflections

2006-10-09T14:20:00.000-04:00

1.
Over my years
Worn and tattered though they be
I have held to my heart countless dreams
And their fears
I have cried until I thought I would die
Or could and not care
I have doodled more names than I can recall
Both in my youth
And in shameful moments of youthful fantasy behind these current closed doors
I have spilled my soul like apocalyptic downpours
On well intentioned and kind companions
Who could not catch my drops
Let alone swim my floods
And now from here
Steady old sun blazing through the disintegrating grey
I am a blossom shaking off the rain
Fragile and lovely but unbreakable in a storm
Hopeful and eager to see
What my future hindsight will show

2.
In this life thus far
I have been moved
By soulsd and words
And the vibrant vivid fearless few
Who have basked and bathed in the muck and rainbows of my mind
And have equally allowed me to revel in their realities
I have been astounded by the random intimicies
That have struck like lightening to dry wood
And amazed at the speed with which even well crafted tapestries can come undone
One snag
So simply a pile of string
The smells of the days have whetted my whimsy
The cool medley of night has raised my skin and engaged me
Inflamed me to my next passion
And I stand on some cusp here
Fresh mid summer well past midnight here
Wondering what this morning mist
Is finally blowing my way

Spell

2006-09-22T01:16:00.000-04:00

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

Sacred City

2006-09-22T01:12:00.000-04:00

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.

Bursting

2006-09-06T00:24:00.000-04:00

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

The Colour Of Light

2006-09-06T00:23:00.000-04:00

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

Irony

2006-09-06T00:22:00.000-04:00

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.

Dearest #4

2006-09-06T00:21:00.000-04:00

Goodbye.

Dearest #3

2006-09-06T00:20:00.000-04:00

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

Being

2006-08-22T22:35:00.000-04:00

I'm on a non stop quest
Commercial free journey to the centerpiece of this perceived reality
And intangible though my rewards are destined to be
I expect those treasures will fill me satisfactorily
Because I know with unflinching certainty
That the crux of spirituality
Is balanced precariously on the precipice of insanity
Guarded by the sirens of passionate creativity and loving universality
That we must joyously embrace
Without remorse or distaste
The grits and juices of this life
That even through the highs and lows
We must remember to savor the flavors
Of
Each
Passing
Moment
Because the admittedly incredible accuracy of looking back
Can't help but naturally lack
The emotional poignancy
Heartwrenching suffering and glee
The messy and necessary everything worthwhile it takes
To simply and gloriously
Be

2006-08-22T22:29:00.000-04:00

In today's sparkly daydream
I am decorating an urban hot spot penthouse
For two
Where you keep coming home to me
And I to you
And in this particular sweet technicolour brain tease
I feel the full force of inertia
The fierce fire of optimism ablaze
These simple lazy smiles giving meaning to my days
Adequate monuments to the joys of my spent time
Testaments in themselves to the moments I have breathed

2006-08-22T22:20:00.000-04:00

Summer sunset angel
The sky smells of miracles and blessings
For the mornings I hope will never grow into productive days
So that I may instead stay
Bare and languid and touching you

2006-08-08T11:50:00.000-04:00

I woke up in the middle of last night
(This morning really
But so impertinent a distinction
And so hard to judge)
Thinking I was willfully standing in front of a speeding bullet train
Or on a serene and stunning moonwalk
But only daydreaming my air supply
And though my mind was spinning and yelling and warning and withdrawing
I didn't feel it
And my usually tricky itchy trigger gut feeling
Was lying back chillaxing and basking
In the brief bliss of sweet touches and soft smiles
And though I have devised some doozies in my day
This does not feel like delusion

Ice Cream Run

2006-08-08T11:46:00.000-04:00

Crisp midnight grocery aisles
Faith wanders through
Unrecognized though melodious
Purifying the tired tiles
Shuffling through the ghosts
Inspiration hides among the glossy boxes
Bulging produce
And carcasses slowly rotting

E-LIT-IST

2006-08-04T12:17:00.000-04:00

I have in my acquaintance
A well meaning wannabe wordsmith
A stunted social misfit clinging to the convenient cover of artist's clothing
Not a person in possession of prophetic poetry
Rather a purveyor of lame alliterations
Metaphors measly and transparent
Cheap baubles fit to tempt
Only the giggling
Or the drunk
And speaking of transparency
I do stand firm in my glass home
Humble
Whole
And though soulfully moved by the sounds of syllables
I can't shake from my mind the meaning behind the design of my lines
The indescribable intangibles that we find in this life to be unfortunately inarticulable
I never set out to construct literarily impaired cardboard cutout catchphrases
Hooks lines but mostly sinkers
Out to snag booty and praises
So grasshopper
Prose poser
It's time for you to regroup your motivations
Drop your cheap facsimile of awe and fascination
And if you truly feel that this artistry is part and parcel with your destiny
Hone your skills and style
Skip the smile
Because imperfect and in progress though I may be
You lack the heart and imagery
To shoot this ink with me

2006-08-04T12:12:00.000-04:00

In today's fantasy
I am in possession of an array of never ending lattes
And there is this same sun
But as seen through the chlorinated surf
And in today's fantasy
I am loved
And in love
Smiling with a perfect tan
My legs lovely and freshly smooth

Approximately 50 Words I Need More Of In My Life

2006-07-31T13:09:00.000-04:00

1. respect
2. bliss
3. security
4. laughter
5. inspiration
6. progress
7. wine
8. bodypainting
9. fireworks
10. snowangels
11. candlelight
12. wonder
13. pampering
14. compassion
15. thunderstorms
16. faith
17. cloudbursting
18. breakfast in bed
19. spontonaety
20. sweet dreams
21. strong arms
22. music
23. patience
24. chivalry
25. naked cartoons & sugary cereal
26. trust
27. flowers
28. massages
29. passion
30. tenderness
31. surprises
32. stargazing
33. love notes
34. roadtrips
35. whispers
36. beautiful memories
37. flattery
38. picnics
39. smiling eyes
40. belonging
41. reasons to dress up
42. love
43. art
44. understanding
45. shared mornings
46. protection
47. creative romance
48. partnership
49. affection
50. dancing

Getaway

2006-07-31T13:04:00.000-04:00

Yes
The debaucherous days and nights we have joyfully burned
Will certainly make it to the pages of my history
Our laughter and play
Childlike and primal
Rewrites standards and will fill this sunbeam season
As we lay
And complain about how we can't find
This
With the people we want
But then
We can't find them either
And we hold each other

Ode To Muses

2006-07-17T16:52:00.000-04:00

Praise the soft muses as they dance
Through the particles of oxygen and smog
With celestial ease
My breath catches
Throat closes
Eyes well
And even if I had the strength to overcome all of that
Simple language would fail me
Bless the muses free and beautiful
Misty rainbows through the thick of clouds
And countless hearts closed and longing
Give thanks
Make offerings of blossoms
Honey
Glittering stones
To honor the angels
Nymph like
Bliss like
As they paint the dreams and plant the seeds
Unfolding our world with the chimes of their laughter

Clarification

2006-07-12T13:31:00.000-04:00

Perhaps I have not been clear
Maybe in my jaded days and bitter nights I have not wished on enough stars
Begged with enough fervor
Or cried enough tears for all that I want and don't yet have
Maybe the universe did not understand
That when I shunned the conventions of romance
I did not mean to shun romance
That in forsaking picket fenced in compromises
I had no intention of neglecting my concepts of starlit picnic perfection
Though I may be crushing the cliches of wannabe bride fantasies and silly preconceived notions
My castle does need a King that even this Queen can admire
And so this soul blistering search
For my one and very only partner in time
With whom to traverse the turf of this life
Committing senseless acts of beauty and joyfully bathing in each day

Afterglow

2006-07-11T14:42:00.000-04:00

The thunder has rolled through
Has passed
Has left the thick mist of quenched concrete hanging in the air
With the songs of a few literal early birds
(3 a.m. but they're determined)
The streetlights are pouring down
Like paintbrush sunrays
Onto this perfect and deserted street
My skin is enlivened and the moon is riding the highest wave in the late night sky
A golden honey pot cutout bursting at the brim
Showboating and preening
All for me

2006-07-05T23:25:00.000-04:00

Here we are
Against all odds
Like magnetic kismet
And the awesome simplicity of nature
And if they knew
The secrets
Of our growing string of perfect pearl moments
We would have a following

Dearest #2

2006-07-05T23:20:00.000-04:00

Dearest,

maybe I am foolish to believe that gone does not mean too far, and goodbyes do not mean forgotten. And maybe I am naive to hope that when you are the you that you want hope and deserve to be, you will still want to look at me the way I know you can.

You closed the door tonight, eye to eye and all, but I cannot believe it was meant to be such a short story dream sequence. That would be its own tragedy, and one less poetic than most. And though I hope the fates or flukes will bring us more sunny days, I cannot find faith.

Truly,
Me.

Storm

2006-06-30T13:52:00.000-04:00

The rain is wailing down
Open unabashed sobs onto the summer lovers
Tucked away in their night boxes and collective realities
Onto the sad hearts
Broken and alone
Weighed down by their private corpses
And tonight
Through the clouds
And the thicker tint of my own sorrow
I know I do not watch alone

2006-06-28T12:06:00.000-04:00

If I were to be kissed right now
I think I would cry in the sweet relief of it

Patchouli & Leather

2006-06-24T16:30:00.000-04:00

She smelled of patchouli and leather when the whim of lust hit me
But she was gone by the time I turned around
I’ve been searching for a boy whose soul smoked endless cigarettes in jazz bars
And greeted the sun at sidewalk cafes
And I found a man who wrote poetry with his heart across exploding sunset horizons
But didn’t write any of it down
And now he whispers music to me on the water at sunrise
But we never set foot in that poetic bar
Or that tortured coffeehouse
And something on the air tells me they closed their doors years ago
And all that remain are the anonymous boarded windows
Plastered with new distractions
And a hint of patchouli floating in on the tip of evening