cowgirl-urban punctuated woman,
straw-weaved hat smiling the warmth of the sun.
saunters beside her buttoned-up boyfriend.
pauses when the pit
bends to sniff her boots,
and recalls to memory her scent from before.
beyond another moment, beneath the obvious sky --
between two sets of eyes, seeking.
the brevity of event, curiously concludes.
trail-less, girl walks on
grin-traces fading.
dog circles twice, to lay itself down again.
![[Un]fortunate Philosophies](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwu6S7Pc2oMwWth-cUInhseYn0wmMdJwf7OwNj3AlwmT16FJiUljP8V3yXWTUnNCrlfrMTqvCW9WZq7BaOmi0KBcOCyP-e2huKiWMrDHCyXuOsCFN_xrecCYpFzqyNC1jAJugc/s660/BlogPic2.jpg)
Showing posts with label (lyrical). Show all posts
Showing posts with label (lyrical). Show all posts
...
wind-wilderness tinted, distinctive gaze.
endless-bound, guileless, ravenous blaze.
joyous life written with an effortless smile,
bright silent butterflies, falling in line.
(my dear, you will not stay defined...)
blues romance distraction, momentarily aside:
tune softly and bravely, sounds intertwine.
fingertips floating, freedom gently enslaved.
grateful breath taken; not shallow, nor saved.
endless-bound, guileless, ravenous blaze.
joyous life written with an effortless smile,
bright silent butterflies, falling in line.
(my dear, you will not stay defined...)
blues romance distraction, momentarily aside:
tune softly and bravely, sounds intertwine.
fingertips floating, freedom gently enslaved.
grateful breath taken; not shallow, nor saved.
For the day of the missed flight.
"It's all the mornings we missed for sleep, as the sun glides over our apartment..." So what more can we do, but catch this one? How amazing! How mediocre. How ours to say, this time around.
Maybe I would have felt more in-tuned, more in-awe, had the choice been made for him. Maybe the miracle would have seemed more divine, than the plain truth of a choice. Maybe I'm not used to being chosen -- even if only in part -- so as not to be able to recognize the distinct divinity therein.
It's those secrets you share in knowing everything there is to know about one another; the behind the scenes "Action!"; that Frances Ha moment. It's the clearing of the mystery, out of your before-blurry eyes, just in time to see the magic unfurl. "Once upon a time..." I thought I knew the end to that story. Now I just know better. Now I know to wonder, what else?
Such a small, beautiful thing, and perhaps moreso in that so few will notice; give it more than a passing and uncertain glance. But such a thing is, here, mine to behold. If not to live first-hand, than blessedly, graciously, through the crystalline clear eyes out of which you
..................................................................................................................................glitter.
.....................................................................................................................................radiate.
........................................................................................................................................pulse.
...........................................................................................................................................look.
Suddenly back at me.
-L (6/17/13)
Maybe I would have felt more in-tuned, more in-awe, had the choice been made for him. Maybe the miracle would have seemed more divine, than the plain truth of a choice. Maybe I'm not used to being chosen -- even if only in part -- so as not to be able to recognize the distinct divinity therein.
It's those secrets you share in knowing everything there is to know about one another; the behind the scenes "Action!"; that Frances Ha moment. It's the clearing of the mystery, out of your before-blurry eyes, just in time to see the magic unfurl. "Once upon a time..." I thought I knew the end to that story. Now I just know better. Now I know to wonder, what else?
Such a small, beautiful thing, and perhaps moreso in that so few will notice; give it more than a passing and uncertain glance. But such a thing is, here, mine to behold. If not to live first-hand, than blessedly, graciously, through the crystalline clear eyes out of which you
..................................................................................................................................glitter.
.....................................................................................................................................radiate.
........................................................................................................................................pulse.
...........................................................................................................................................look.
Suddenly back at me.
-L (6/17/13)
"Out west is the only sky that's blue. So tell Katie that I'll see her soon."
That Much Further West (4:27)
by: Lucero
I tried but I can't run no more.
So tell Katie it's her that I adore.
As long as I love her best,
I'm that much further west.
And since she's been gone,
I've done less right than I've done wrong.
But I ain't that much worse than the rest,
just that much further west.
And the boys, they don't need my help.
They can play these songs by themselves.
Well I ain't that much worse than the rest,
just that much further west.
Out west is the only sky that's blue.
So tell Katie that I'll see her soon.
'Til then the thoughts that I have left,
are that much further west.
-L (8/10/12)
by: Lucero
I tried but I can't run no more.
So tell Katie it's her that I adore.
As long as I love her best,
I'm that much further west.
And since she's been gone,
I've done less right than I've done wrong.
But I ain't that much worse than the rest,
just that much further west.
And the boys, they don't need my help.
They can play these songs by themselves.
Well I ain't that much worse than the rest,
just that much further west.
Out west is the only sky that's blue.
So tell Katie that I'll see her soon.
'Til then the thoughts that I have left,
are that much further west.
-L (8/10/12)
"You learn to live on less."
The Crow
by: Dessa
That old crow came back today.
Sitting in my window, like a prophet,
out on the fire escape to say,
"Anger is just love, left out, gone to vinegar."
You wake up a stranger to yourself
and then you learn to live with her.
Sit in her clothing 'til you fill out her figure.
You know life's no bella telanovela,
the tightrope bows with your weight in the center.
The slide show, don't put all the pictures together.
You try to do it right though,
right though, until you let the kite go.
Death and romance, the riddles of our lifetimes.
Tryna get a slow dance, middle of a knife fight --
you get up and you, you give blood,
even on a good night. Even on a good night out.
You send signal, you listen for an echo,
and at the first splinters you run to tell Geppetto.
And in the worst winters the whole thing feels untenable.
Crow took me by the shoulder
and he told me, "Honey, don't let go."
Nobody fears the height, you all just fear the fall.
Go up to the edge some time
and prove your body wrong.
You land badly, but you crash standing.
You land badly, but you crash...
He took me to the workshop,
showed me where they built the bodies.
A blacksmith, a mason, a carpenter.
And in the darkroom, where the whole assembly started,
all the clothesline where the hearts hung to harden.
You come as fragile, soft machines,
and you're bound too fast, you're bound to grieve.
But you're built to balance on two feet,
so why you living this last year from your knees?
"Oh, please put me down again."
I know you lost a bet,
you had to catch your breath,
but when the worst relents
you learn to live on less.
You learn to live on less.
You learn to live on less.
You duck some, you take some square.
Your luck runs out, you're there in midair.
And when the big one comes
you'll know by the snare roll --
you can be too careful,
ignore all the scarecrows.
Time flies like the crow does,
no regard for the grid.
I can't ask you to show love,
but would it kill you if you did?
Nobody fears the height, you all just fear the fall.
Go up to the edge some time
and prove your body wrong.
You land badly, but you crash standing.
You land badly, but you crash...
-L (5/10/12)
by: Dessa
That old crow came back today.
Sitting in my window, like a prophet,
out on the fire escape to say,
"Anger is just love, left out, gone to vinegar."
You wake up a stranger to yourself
and then you learn to live with her.
Sit in her clothing 'til you fill out her figure.
You know life's no bella telanovela,
the tightrope bows with your weight in the center.
The slide show, don't put all the pictures together.
You try to do it right though,
right though, until you let the kite go.
Death and romance, the riddles of our lifetimes.
Tryna get a slow dance, middle of a knife fight --
you get up and you, you give blood,
even on a good night. Even on a good night out.
You send signal, you listen for an echo,
and at the first splinters you run to tell Geppetto.
And in the worst winters the whole thing feels untenable.
Crow took me by the shoulder
and he told me, "Honey, don't let go."
Nobody fears the height, you all just fear the fall.
Go up to the edge some time
and prove your body wrong.
You land badly, but you crash standing.
You land badly, but you crash...
He took me to the workshop,
showed me where they built the bodies.
A blacksmith, a mason, a carpenter.
And in the darkroom, where the whole assembly started,
all the clothesline where the hearts hung to harden.
You come as fragile, soft machines,
and you're bound too fast, you're bound to grieve.
But you're built to balance on two feet,
so why you living this last year from your knees?
"Oh, please put me down again."
I know you lost a bet,
you had to catch your breath,
but when the worst relents
you learn to live on less.
You learn to live on less.
You learn to live on less.
You duck some, you take some square.
Your luck runs out, you're there in midair.
And when the big one comes
you'll know by the snare roll --
you can be too careful,
ignore all the scarecrows.
Time flies like the crow does,
no regard for the grid.
I can't ask you to show love,
but would it kill you if you did?
Nobody fears the height, you all just fear the fall.
Go up to the edge some time
and prove your body wrong.
You land badly, but you crash standing.
You land badly, but you crash...
-L (5/10/12)
"When I'm at the pearly gates, this'll be on my videotape...."
"This is one for the good days,
and I have it all here
in red blue green,
in red blue green."
[A year-and-a-half today.]
"You are my center when I spin away.
Out of control
on videotape,
on videotape."
[And the month of your birthday.]
"This is my way of saying goodbye...
Because I can't do it face to face,
I'm talking to you after it's too late."
[What should have been 23.]
"No matter what happens now
I shouldn't be afraid, because I know today
has been the most perfect day
I've ever seen."
[Now just a song I can't stop playing.]
-L (4/10/12)
and I have it all here
in red blue green,
in red blue green."
[A year-and-a-half today.]
"You are my center when I spin away.
Out of control
on videotape,
on videotape."
[And the month of your birthday.]
"This is my way of saying goodbye...
Because I can't do it face to face,
I'm talking to you after it's too late."
[What should have been 23.]
"No matter what happens now
I shouldn't be afraid, because I know today
has been the most perfect day
I've ever seen."
[Now just a song I can't stop playing.]
-L (4/10/12)
"And then one day they were done worshipping the landscape, and they just put down their hands, and moved into the sky."
Soft Shoulder
by: Ani DiFranco
I don't keep much stuff around.
I value my portability.
But I will say that I have saved
every letter you ever wrote to me.
The one you left on my windshield
outside of that little motel,
is in the pocket of my old gig bag
from back when life was more soft-shelled.
Letters littered with little lewd pictures,
drawn by the ghost of Woddy Guthrie,
who would use your big thick hand
just to draw one two for me...
And I think of your letters as love letters,
which is how I think of songs,
in that it is the writing of them
that tend to carry us along.
And I dance to one of your old tunes
with my true love on our wedding day.
And your voice sang the way my heart would sing,
if it finally knew just what to say.
Two people pulled over on the same night
to look up at the same stars.
And they both found their wheels were spinning
in a soft shoulder when they
both got back into their cars.
And they missed fate's appointed rendezvous,
and then a whole lotta time went by.
And then one day they were done
worshipping the landscape,
and they just put down their hands,
and moved into the sky.
And they had barely said 'hello'
and it was time to say 'goodbye'.
Goodbye...
-L (3/21/12)
by: Ani DiFranco
I don't keep much stuff around.
I value my portability.
But I will say that I have saved
every letter you ever wrote to me.
The one you left on my windshield
outside of that little motel,
is in the pocket of my old gig bag
from back when life was more soft-shelled.
Letters littered with little lewd pictures,
drawn by the ghost of Woddy Guthrie,
who would use your big thick hand
just to draw one two for me...
And I think of your letters as love letters,
which is how I think of songs,
in that it is the writing of them
that tend to carry us along.
And I dance to one of your old tunes
with my true love on our wedding day.
And your voice sang the way my heart would sing,
if it finally knew just what to say.
Two people pulled over on the same night
to look up at the same stars.
And they both found their wheels were spinning
in a soft shoulder when they
both got back into their cars.
And they missed fate's appointed rendezvous,
and then a whole lotta time went by.
And then one day they were done
worshipping the landscape,
and they just put down their hands,
and moved into the sky.
And they had barely said 'hello'
and it was time to say 'goodbye'.
Goodbye...
-L (3/21/12)
In thinking of her sister.
Emily
by: Joanna Newsom
The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow,
set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh.
A little while later the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow.
Do you remember what they called up to you and me, in our window?
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight
sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow,
into the bones of the birches
and the spires of the churches
jutting out from the shadows.
The yoke and the ax, and the old smokestacks, and the bale and the barrow,
and everything sloped like it was dragged from a rope
in the mouth of the south below.
We've seen those mountains kneeling, felten(?) and gray.
We thought our very hearts would up and melt away.
From the snow in the nighttime,
just going
and going.
And the stirring of wind chimes,
in the morning,
in the morning.
Helps me find my way back in,
from the place where I have been.
And, Emily, I saw you last night by the river.
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water.
Frowning at the angle where they were lost and slipped under forever,
in a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky'd been breathing on a mirror.
Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water.
You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger.
Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December,
I promised you I'd set them to verse so I'd always remember...
That the meteorite is a source of the light
and the meteor's just what we see.
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.
And the meteorite's just what causes the light
and the meteor's how it's perceived.
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee.
You came and lay a cold compress upon the mess I'm in.
Threw the windows wide and cried, "Amen, amen, amen!"
The whole world stopped to hear you hollering,
and you looked down and saw now what was happening.
The lines are fading in my kingdom,
though I have never known the way to border them in.
So the muddy mouths of baboons and sows and the grouse and the horse and the hen,
grope at the gate of the looming lake that was once a tidy pen.
And the mail is late and the great estates are not lit from within.
The talk in town's becoming downright sickening.
In due time we will see the far buttes lit by a flare.
I've seen your bravery and I will follow you there.
And row through the nighttime,
so healthy,
gone healthy all of a sudden.
In search of the midwife
who can help me,
who can help me.
Help me find my way back in.
And there are worries where I've been.
And say, say, say in the lee of the bay, "Don't be bothered.
Leave your troubles here where the tugboats shear the water from the water."
(Flanked by furrows, curling back, like a match held up to a newspaper.)
Emily, they'll follow your lead by the letter.
And I make this claim, and I'm not ashamed to say I knew you better:
what they've seen is just a beam of your sun that banishes winter.
Let us go, though we know it's a hopeless endeavor!
The ties that bind, they are barbed and spined and hold us close forever.
Though there is nothing that would help me come to grips with a sky that is gaping and yawning.
There is a song I woke with on my lips as you sailed your great ship towards the morning.
Come on home, the poppies are all grown knee-deep by now.
Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow.
Peonies nod in the breeze and while they wetly bow
with hydrocephalitic listlessness, ants mop up their brow.
And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour.
Butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours.
And my clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines,
come on home, now, all my bones are dolorous with vines!
Pa pointed out to me, for the hundredth time tonight,
the way the ladle leads to a dirt-red bullet of light.
Squint skyward and listen,
loving him, we move within his borders.
Just asterisms in the stars' set order.
We could stand for a century,
staring,
with our heads cocked,
in the broad daylight at this thing.
Joy. Landlocked
in bodies that don't keep.
Dumbstruck
with the sweetness of being,
'til we don't be.
Told take this
and eat this.
Told the meteorite is the source of the light
and the meteor's just what we see.
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.
And the meteorite's just what causes the light
and the meteor's how it's perceived.
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee...
-L (2/10/12)
by: Joanna Newsom
The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow,
set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh.
A little while later the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow.
Do you remember what they called up to you and me, in our window?
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight
sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow,
into the bones of the birches
and the spires of the churches
jutting out from the shadows.
The yoke and the ax, and the old smokestacks, and the bale and the barrow,
and everything sloped like it was dragged from a rope
in the mouth of the south below.
We've seen those mountains kneeling, felten(?) and gray.
We thought our very hearts would up and melt away.
From the snow in the nighttime,
just going
and going.
And the stirring of wind chimes,
in the morning,
in the morning.
Helps me find my way back in,
from the place where I have been.
And, Emily, I saw you last night by the river.
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water.
Frowning at the angle where they were lost and slipped under forever,
in a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky'd been breathing on a mirror.
Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water.
You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger.
Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December,
I promised you I'd set them to verse so I'd always remember...
That the meteorite is a source of the light
and the meteor's just what we see.
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.
And the meteorite's just what causes the light
and the meteor's how it's perceived.
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee.
You came and lay a cold compress upon the mess I'm in.
Threw the windows wide and cried, "Amen, amen, amen!"
The whole world stopped to hear you hollering,
and you looked down and saw now what was happening.
The lines are fading in my kingdom,
though I have never known the way to border them in.
So the muddy mouths of baboons and sows and the grouse and the horse and the hen,
grope at the gate of the looming lake that was once a tidy pen.
And the mail is late and the great estates are not lit from within.
The talk in town's becoming downright sickening.
In due time we will see the far buttes lit by a flare.
I've seen your bravery and I will follow you there.
And row through the nighttime,
so healthy,
gone healthy all of a sudden.
In search of the midwife
who can help me,
who can help me.
Help me find my way back in.
And there are worries where I've been.
And say, say, say in the lee of the bay, "Don't be bothered.
Leave your troubles here where the tugboats shear the water from the water."
(Flanked by furrows, curling back, like a match held up to a newspaper.)
Emily, they'll follow your lead by the letter.
And I make this claim, and I'm not ashamed to say I knew you better:
what they've seen is just a beam of your sun that banishes winter.
Let us go, though we know it's a hopeless endeavor!
The ties that bind, they are barbed and spined and hold us close forever.
Though there is nothing that would help me come to grips with a sky that is gaping and yawning.
There is a song I woke with on my lips as you sailed your great ship towards the morning.
Come on home, the poppies are all grown knee-deep by now.
Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow.
Peonies nod in the breeze and while they wetly bow
with hydrocephalitic listlessness, ants mop up their brow.
And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour.
Butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours.
And my clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines,
come on home, now, all my bones are dolorous with vines!
Pa pointed out to me, for the hundredth time tonight,
the way the ladle leads to a dirt-red bullet of light.
Squint skyward and listen,
loving him, we move within his borders.
Just asterisms in the stars' set order.
We could stand for a century,
staring,
with our heads cocked,
in the broad daylight at this thing.
Joy. Landlocked
in bodies that don't keep.
Dumbstruck
with the sweetness of being,
'til we don't be.
Told take this
and eat this.
Told the meteorite is the source of the light
and the meteor's just what we see.
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.
And the meteorite's just what causes the light
and the meteor's how it's perceived.
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee...
-L (2/10/12)
Maybe moving on just means selectively forgetting, and collectively remembering.
Jukebox (4:27)
by: Ani DiFranco
In the jukebox of her memory
the list of names flips by and stops,
as she closes her eyes
and smiles as the record drops.
Then she drinks herself up and out of her kitchen chair
and she dances out of time.
As slow as she can sway,
as long as she can say,
"This dance is mine."
"This dance is mine."
Her hair bears silent witness
to the passing of time.
Tattoos like mile markers
map the distance she has come,
winning some, losing some.
She says, "My sister still calls every Sunday night
after the rates go down.
And I still can never manage to say anything right,
but my whole life blew up
and now its all coming down."
She says, "Leave me alone,
tonight I just wanna stay home."
She fills the pot with water and then she drops in the bone.
She says, "I've got a darkness
that I have to feed.
I've got a sadness
that grows up around me like a weed.
And I'm not hurting anyone
I'm just spiraling in."
She closes her eyes
and hears the song begin again.
She appreciates the phone calls,
the consoling cards and such.
She appreciates all the people
who come by and try to pull her back in touch.
They try to hold the lid down tightly
and they try to shake well,
but the oil and the water
they just wanna separate themselves.
And she drinks herself up and out of her kitchen chair
and she dances out of time.
As slow as she can sway,
as long as she can say,
"This dance is mine."
"This dance is mine."
"This dance is mine."
-L (1/10/12)
by: Ani DiFranco
In the jukebox of her memory
the list of names flips by and stops,
as she closes her eyes
and smiles as the record drops.
Then she drinks herself up and out of her kitchen chair
and she dances out of time.
As slow as she can sway,
as long as she can say,
"This dance is mine."
"This dance is mine."
Her hair bears silent witness
to the passing of time.
Tattoos like mile markers
map the distance she has come,
winning some, losing some.
She says, "My sister still calls every Sunday night
after the rates go down.
And I still can never manage to say anything right,
but my whole life blew up
and now its all coming down."
She says, "Leave me alone,
tonight I just wanna stay home."
She fills the pot with water and then she drops in the bone.
She says, "I've got a darkness
that I have to feed.
I've got a sadness
that grows up around me like a weed.
And I'm not hurting anyone
I'm just spiraling in."
She closes her eyes
and hears the song begin again.
She appreciates the phone calls,
the consoling cards and such.
She appreciates all the people
who come by and try to pull her back in touch.
They try to hold the lid down tightly
and they try to shake well,
but the oil and the water
they just wanna separate themselves.
And she drinks herself up and out of her kitchen chair
and she dances out of time.
As slow as she can sway,
as long as she can say,
"This dance is mine."
"This dance is mine."
"This dance is mine."
-L (1/10/12)
"A box of rain will ease the pain and love will see you through."
Box of Rain
by: Grateful Dead
"Look out of any window
any morning, any evening, any day.
Maybe the sun is shining
birds are winging or
rain is falling from a heavy sky.
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
This is all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago.
Walk out of any doorway
feel your way, feel your way
like the day before.
Maybe you'll find direction
around some corner
where it's been waiting to meet you.
What do you want me to do,
to watch for you while you're sleeping?
Well please don't be surprised
when you find me dreaming too.
Look into any eyes
you find by you, you can see
clear through to another day.
I know it's been seen before
through other eyes on other days
while going home.
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
It's all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago.
Walk into splintered sunlight
inch your way through dead dreams
to another land.
Maybe you're tired and broken.
Your tongue is twisted
with words half spoken
and thoughts unclear.
What do you want me to do
to do for you to see you through?
A box of rain will ease the pain
and love will see you through.
Just a box of rain,
wind and water.
Believe it if you need it,
if you don't just pass it on.
Sun and shower,
wind and rain,
in and out the window
like a moth before a flame.
It's just a box of rain
I don't know who put it there.
Believe it if you need it
or leave it if you dare.
And it's just a box of rain
or a ribbon for your hair.
Such a long long time to be gone
and a short time to be there."
-L (10/13/11)
by: Grateful Dead
"Look out of any window
any morning, any evening, any day.
Maybe the sun is shining
birds are winging or
rain is falling from a heavy sky.
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
This is all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago.
Walk out of any doorway
feel your way, feel your way
like the day before.
Maybe you'll find direction
around some corner
where it's been waiting to meet you.
What do you want me to do,
to watch for you while you're sleeping?
Well please don't be surprised
when you find me dreaming too.
Look into any eyes
you find by you, you can see
clear through to another day.
I know it's been seen before
through other eyes on other days
while going home.
What do you want me to do,
to do for you to see you through?
It's all a dream we dreamed
one afternoon long ago.
Walk into splintered sunlight
inch your way through dead dreams
to another land.
Maybe you're tired and broken.
Your tongue is twisted
with words half spoken
and thoughts unclear.
What do you want me to do
to do for you to see you through?
A box of rain will ease the pain
and love will see you through.
Just a box of rain,
wind and water.
Believe it if you need it,
if you don't just pass it on.
Sun and shower,
wind and rain,
in and out the window
like a moth before a flame.
It's just a box of rain
I don't know who put it there.
Believe it if you need it
or leave it if you dare.
And it's just a box of rain
or a ribbon for your hair.
Such a long long time to be gone
and a short time to be there."
-L (10/13/11)
"There are some mornings when the sky looks like a road." -J.N.
What an astonishing and ridiculous month April truly is. Oh Saturday, my Saturday! With your Kellerweis Hefeweizen and hummus on toast, and more projects/papers/exam preparation than a girl really knows what to do with, besides begin. Always beginning, it seems, since the endings aren't something it makes sense to talk about. (Anymore.)
Ten momentous birthdays, one heartbroken anniversary, eight silly school assignments, and more than the year's worth of radiation and ambivalence later--all we have to show for it is a solemn afternoon with enough time to consider. The face on the screen with the smile that was. Frozen in place, before a now finite number of backdrops.
Grief
Trying to remember you
is like carrying water
in my hands a long distance
across sand. Somewhere people are waiting.
They have drunk nothing for days.
Your name was the food I lived on;
now my mouth is full of dirt and ash.
To say your name was to be surrounded
by feathers and silk; now, reaching out,
I touch glass and barbed wire.
Your name was the thread connecting my life;
now I am fragments on a tailor’s floor.
I was dancing when I
learned of your death; may
my feet be severed from my body.
by Stephen Dobyns
-L (4/30/11)
Day after Thanksgiving.
From "A Broken Heart Still Beats: After your Child Dies": an excerpt from "Threnody" by Ralph Waldo Emerson.]
"The South wind brings
Life, sunshine and desire,
But over the dead he has no power,
The lost, the lost he cannot restore;
And looking over the hills, I mourn
The darling who shall not return.
"Now Love and Pride, alas! in vain,
Up and down their glances strain.
The painted sled stands where it stood;
The kennel by the corded wood;
His gathered sticks to stanch the wall
Of the snow-tower, when snow should fall;
The ominous hole he dug in the sand,
And childhood's castles built or planned;
-------------------------------------------
"But the deep-eyed boy is gone.
-------------------------------------------
"Was there no star that could be sent,
No watcher in the firmament,
No angel from the countless host
That loiters round the crystal coast,
Could stoop to heal that only child,
Nature's sweet marvel undefiled,
And keep the blossom of the earth,
Which all her harvests were not worth?
-------------------------------------------
"Covetous death bereaved us all,
To aggrandize one funeral.
The eager fate which carried thee
Took the largest part of me:
For this losing is true dying;
This is lordly man's down-lying,
This his slow but sure reclining,
Star by star his world resigning."
-L (11/26/10)
"Thinking of her is like dreaming of ice when you're cold..." -M
the weight of your loss
surpasses the strength of my faith
my fate not the same as before
i know now the futility of desire
for what?
starvation bites with the force of survival
lying dormant with eyes all a-flutter
your dreams as fleeting in non-waking
as mine of you are to wake up to
no more
this passing of time like betrayal
now missing an essential piece
and peace a laughable concept
belief an inviable option
so what?
[on: Brother-2's house tomorrow; juice fast ending today; seeing a counselor once a week; Marie's dream-text; mama's otherworldly "journeys"; and all the rest of it...]
Frequent dragon serpents, secreted away on crimson support beams.
Flit frightful underground, fret falling through the floorboards atop the vast (expectation of) below. Stay low and be hollowed of all air when the fire comes a-raging. Feel its gentry wind of breath whisper conspiratorially against the eavesdrop of your neck. (Don't tell me where we're going.)
"Frequenting dragons temper, my light is the light of a door as the wind and rain create stained glass on my heart!" (-M. at the drop of a line, sagely.)
Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (3/30/10)
"Frequenting dragons temper, my light is the light of a door as the wind and rain create stained glass on my heart!" (-M. at the drop of a line, sagely.)
Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (3/30/10)
Nation's flower fumes orange-pink.
The bite precedes the writing, and follows it too. Waiting as excuses do, on the far back of your tongue. "Only Monday", like it hasn't come before, or won't come again. But none like this. (Ever, nor never again.) Granola blends with yogurt hoarding ripe slices of banana, and the weather looks mischievously in at the weather channel: snow-covered palm trees; sun shining (some) rain (on) down.
Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (3/29/10)
Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (3/29/10)
Zen-talk.
No sense "trying" to BE. The flow of the words counter-intuit the words if the words are speaking silence. Not right, but true. And natural in the most open sense of the WORD. MY words look a certain way, even when they think/try to mean something altogether different. La otra arte. The other art. El arte del otra. The art of the other.
Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (3/28/10)
Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (3/28/10)
...
BRIGHT AS LIGHTNING TUNNEL DIMS / VISION SWIMS ALONG THE FRINGE / dream of tasting lovers' whim / grim gaze designates the end / ENTRANCE SWALLOWS NOT ONE DISSENT / DESCENDS BEYOND SHY MOCK RESENTMENT
M,
I love you. And still...
...you've never nuzzled my neck;
...you've never met my whole family;
...you've never touched me so softly, or gently;
...you've never kissed my toes,
.....or asked me, "Can I give you a massage?"
...you never hold my hand
.....or stare at me
.......or make me feel beautiful
.........or strong
.........or loved.
After all this time, you still give me reason
...to question you.
.....Your commitment,
.......your authenticity,
.........your eyesight,
.................hindsight,
.................foresight.
I ask you to write down key words,
...the substance of your love--
.....Me. "Why?"
You do write me. (Why do i love you so much for that?!)
...It reiterates in short-hand what you've
.....already expressed.
'That I'm a great girlfriend.' Not Me. What I Do For You.
You then give me permission to come home
...even though you don't guarantee that you'll be there.
And I'm not sure if I want it--either one. Anymore.
...Because where's my permission? My allowance? My
.....guarantee? My promise? My compromise? My sacrifice? My
.......evidence? From You. You never question how I love you,
but it's not because you're more secure.
...It's just that I don't let you.
... (Remember?)
...you've never nuzzled my neck;
...you've never met my whole family;
...you've never touched me so softly, or gently;
...you've never kissed my toes,
.....or asked me, "Can I give you a massage?"
...you never hold my hand
.....or stare at me
.......or make me feel beautiful
.........or strong
.........or loved.
After all this time, you still give me reason
...to question you.
.....Your commitment,
.......your authenticity,
.........your eyesight,
.................hindsight,
.................foresight.
I ask you to write down key words,
...the substance of your love--
.....Me. "Why?"
You do write me. (Why do i love you so much for that?!)
...It reiterates in short-hand what you've
.....already expressed.
'That I'm a great girlfriend.' Not Me. What I Do For You.
You then give me permission to come home
...even though you don't guarantee that you'll be there.
And I'm not sure if I want it--either one. Anymore.
...Because where's my permission? My allowance? My
.....guarantee? My promise? My compromise? My sacrifice? My
.......evidence? From You. You never question how I love you,
but it's not because you're more secure.
...It's just that I don't let you.
... (Remember?)
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