Sunday, June 26, 2011

Poem: C'est tout ce que j'ai

It is all that I have.
My dignity, my pride... my love, my compassion.
C'est tout ce que j'ai.
Mon coeur that beats.
It is all that I have.
What is passed the wall of pride, the dignity that has died?
To half them.
C'est tout ce que j'ai.
L'amour and my compassion.
My heart beats.
My love, my compassion...
Are these the atoms of my cells that run through my veins, pumped from head to toe?
I hope so.
That would be pure.
It is all that I have.
C'est tout ce que j'ai

Poem: I have need

I have need for your heed.
The color of my need is red.
Like the royalty of kings,
Like the roses red, blood red.
Your heart beats, mine in tune.
Red like the sunset chased by the moon.
I have need of warmth.
I have need of red...your red.
Your warm earth under me.
...NOW!... I have need, just of your heed.

Poem: A lovely day in Paris: Le métro

The air is chilled out side the dungeon steps that descend to the stench below.
Autumn brings the colored leaves to rest about my feet.
I don't want to go below.
I wish to wait for the bus and go by street.
I read the sign... no bus... I bellow “no”
I guess I must go below.
As I descend those stairs, my pass quickens, hurry, hurry.
The hustle bustle is almost more than I can bear.
What a stench there is below!
A resonating tone, the doors slide shut we are off.
The man jammed next to me!
His face is smashed against the window.
We are sardines in is boxcar.
 The scene is rather frantic here below.
Claustrophobic frightened eyes dart about in a furry.
Hurry, hurry as the doors close tight.
There is a good variety in the metro.
From all over the people are closed tightly together.
Two stops left before I take flight.
My relief... speaker, “we having technical difficulties, we will be moving shortly”
My relief has taken flight before I,
Am closed tight, next to Monsieur,
We start to move.
Two stops later, I arrive late.
I begin the first flight of steps from below
There are two to go.
The last... a blast of cool air slows my assault.

Monday, June 20, 2011

The Tapestry

He wandered aimlessly down the long corridor, so many paintings he thought... and for what? What is the meaning of all this painted photography? What is the meaning? As the end of the corridor came nearer there was a particular piece that caught his eye. It was strange and almost terrifying, unlike all those that hung around it. Nor was it of frolicking naked women, of a luscious bowl of fruit. But it required a fair bit of examining to understand the movements of the oil paints. “Something strange” thought he, it was as if the oil was moving... As his eyes focused to the bizarre tints he began to see the elaborate curling of waves and a rock in the middle that bore a lone man... staff in hand he was posed as if a man was combating the sea, fighting with his life in a way that the very sweat seemed apparent, glistening his face. The tapestry was truly horrifying indeed, and as he drew nearer, the oils showed more; a clap of thunder is visible striking near the peak of stone, the man dressed in robes parries and as this act of defense seems to be actually happening one sees his robes flutter, like fabric in water. The relentless waves appear to be even more ferocious than ever. Closer, closer he steps wide-eyed in disbelief. Then a larger wave than the rest rises up and engulfs the man the last that he sees is the robed man beaten against the peak. This man as if in one last muster of force lifts his staff and points the tip at he. A flash of light and the corridor grows still not a person in sight and the canvas at the end of the corridor is no more than a tattered old man and his cane upon a rock amongst a vicious sea.  

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Poem "The sounds of the soothing spring"

The sounds of the soothing spring sauna are heard along with the sense of touch like the cool breeze washes lover your body like the heat previously did. The simultaneous noises that birds make as they play in the branches of gardens. The budding foliage fights off the last few months of hibernation. Colorful and reveling cloths that cover the joyful women; making hormones rage in ray ban clad boys who watch giggling and with frank eyes wondering. All the sounds of spring, the one that catches my attention the most it its’ silence brought by the warm sun. It could be just that the heat makes you lazy and thus this relaxed feeling is just a calming sensation of indulgence. Not sure… All I know is that summer is in my liking and writing about it gives me pleasure. 

An abyss of ignorance

As the wind blows brisk through my hair, I look towards the approaching clouds from the north. The sun has been blotted out giving a somber light to the now still terrace. Birds sing charmingly in the distance, an occasional rumbling motor rises from the monotonous “hum” of the city. One million sounds all put together have the same effect that colors do. Black, an abyss of ignorance.
Much like this white sheet of paper=the background. Then, after applying the words one has a dirtied piece of paper. An abyss if you will. After you read from the beginning, word for word the darkness is lifted by dawn and you become aware of each unique presence given off. This is the network of the actual day; an abyss made clear through understanding. 

(This is part of a letter that I wrote to my little brother. I believe in handwritten letters.)

Monday, June 13, 2011

Poem "Where!"

The spring morning was a whispering sun, blossoming from it's rusty night.
While trees sound alive in the melt of sleep.
Out of the wood... a child listened, as did an owl.
Who above this shiver stream freeze...creak at green leaf, petal.
Dream rise! As life is happy early, in flower only.
Bloom... summer, autumn, harvest, snow winter, Howl! will laughter come full after death?
You investigate, a small light trickles.
Grass, THUNDER, plant, "There!"... garden, dandelion weed, insect, mushroom, Birch, cicada. They...are here.