August 2008
1 post
5th Avenue, 2:25 pm
I’m sitting
Across the street
across time
so far removed
from that cold night
I can still feel the snow
that rose over the tops of my boots
to soak my socks through
but I paid it no mind
Red wine made things warm again
Between us
Years have passed
and the street is still the same
Except for the gentle summer breeze
Stirring memory, stirring time
I can feel you here with me...
July 2008
2 posts
Make this go away
I can’t
say anything to change
What’s left
I see you and I turn
Away from
your sad eyes.
If it hurts you less
I can’t
say anything to change
Your stance
so simply I’ll go on Away from
this lost time.
I’m so sorry now
I can’t
take back the words I said
Last night
Just kiss me say
Goodbye for now
and walk away.
Sounds Like
*bleh. i can’t make it keep the formatting. hopefully you’ll get it.
plip l o drip r o p
Rain falls on top of
waterfalls on top of
water.
splish p l a s h
pl un k, splash
Thunder sounds on top of
sunshine on top of
sons (and daughters.)
And here all are happily, merrily
And here are all the spontaneous reveries
drip
drip
plippity plip
Goes the rain
goes the...
June 2008
1 post
It Was Raining, and...
There was trash in the streets.
Cold sad dark huddled figures on a train.
Wet shoes on my feet.
Rhythmic tapping on the window pane.
Around and around all the city moved.
All the city twisted up like broken umbrellas.
And I, in it, felt alive.
May 2008
3 posts
Detrius (6:31 p.m.)
Brooklyn bound #3 train. One tube chapstick—winter sport Double Bubble wrapper Toothpick-used Pink Starburst wrapper-origami folded Snickers wrapper Sticky unidentified substance (spanning the length of two seats) Empty plastic Pepsi bottle-of substance? Young people. Old.
On Starting Over In Kenmare Square
This was written in 2005…reconciliation is God’s greatest gift. In shared faith a discovery over lattes with a side of honesty with the love of a family much wiser than we could ever be And in the moments of loneliness despairing not, remembering silence does not always mean distance and regret is nothing more than lack of faith in the One who has written the entire story of a life...
Saturated
She does not yet know how to navigate the delicate space between the words that leave the lips and the air that tranports them in one ear… Listening halfway, her focus moves to his lips, his nose the creases around the mouth that have always been there though just beyond her view. She searches his eyes for a sign and sees a shifting of view—a nervous seeking, an awkward glance Whether it...
April 2008
1 post
March 2008
3 posts
Hospital Corners
Our bed is cleanly made with fresh white sheets tucked into hospital corners. It still seems like our bed though for some time now you have been gone. When we first began I resisted the stringent way you pulled and pushed and folded creasing and tucking the sheets with military precision. “This is too antiseptic,” I said. “This is clinical.” “Your way is messy,”...
Hm. That's weird.
Being with you suddenly feels like being near the sun on a cold day. All my friends say your eyes light up when you see me— but I wonder if it isn’t just the reflection of the way I see you now. Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear, as you have clearer in my field of vision tell me now, please… how do I look to you?
Washington Avenue
All the pretty girls live on Washington Avenue. At least, that’s what all the clusters of men lingering outside the bodega say, as they take long luscious looks at the legs, at the skirts that swish and sway in the late winter breeze. Here is is not aggressive, not dehumanizing. It is simply a compliment, a comment on the female form and how its very movement captivates. All the pretty...
On The Night Before Moving to Brooklyn, It Is...
Outside my window benign white flakes rush past in the streetlamp's golden glow as if anxious to get here now that winter is nearly doneWelcome march, in like a lion with a dull roar. People below walk slowly, as if to savor this moment—finally, a reason for it to be cold. Everyone looks as if they have been bathed in fairydustby the flitting hand of Tinkerbell, hats and scarves glittering in the...
February 2008
9 posts
Structure
*I am packing up the apartment to move again, and have come across a box of journals from my first year in the city. So. Many. Bad. Poems. I see how, in the ensuing years, I have grown to trust myself as a writer; I am less afraid of my thoughts. This was written in Bryant Park, at dusk, on 06/03/04. This is different. This is different from home. This is different. From home, the world revolves...
Urban Meditation
Walk (in) It (out) Off (in) Each step is breath each breath a step closer to shaking away the afternoon as the cold whips through radiant strands of silver thread catch the fading light shining against a sea of black wool, down, concrete and steel the window displays are full of shocking easter-basket grass green and egg pink useless vanities as if they are somehow trying to trick us out of...
On Moving/Moving On
*This was written in August of 2005. As I prepare to move again I am compelled to think about what has changed (and what has not) since I packed up boxes last. At any rate, here it is:
And so it ends
wrapping up a year of artifacts
in newsprint and bubble wrap
with a kiss, a sigh
always it’s goodbye
to the places where we sat
and decided there was no future
in the past
And so it...
If I Wrote Country Songs, This Would Be the Worst...
I’m taking sleeping pills just to stay awake and everything I thought was real now seems so very fake You say that you want something but you don’t know what it is Well I can’t give it to you honey if you won’t let me in And it’s a shame how we play this little game Yeah it’s a lie when you look me in the eye and say you want me say you need me in no ordinary...
Harsh Wind on a Harsh Day
It might be the lack of sleep or a lack of intuition but I have suddenly lost my ability to sense your presence to see your face in a crowd I used to be able to pick you out among the many but now you are just one of the faceless throng covered in black and pushing through the sea of Sunday wanderers dodging traffic in the street You are standing here and saying hello yet already gone as Celia...
2-6
Ashes to Ashes I have already given up everything that once enslaved me and turned a blind eye to the things that shackle me now. I have chased and slain the dragon; made quiet peace with feral urges still the war inside wages against all the things I ought to do without. And you ask, What will I give up today What will I say is The Thing keeping me from fully knowing who you are? I will claim...
2-1
Rest and Motion What is sleep, anyway? Nothing more than a wish to dream Little else than a means to put the body where it willfully will not go And late in the dark when the limbs still when breath deepens and depends on whether you’re alone or intertwined the mind continues to race as you remember What is sleep, anyway? Nothing more than a memory of hours passed without being observed but...
January 2008
5 posts
1-30
Stuck in Procrastination Station, and no train in sight. Can’t seem to finish this simple freelance article due tomorrow. Have had eons to work on it, of course… So I’ve been using the watercolors a co-worker blessed me with for my birthday (good stress release) and reading the Bible (also good stress release). Sometimes I forget the the Word is poetry. Don’t believe it?...
1-29
Unrequited I look at the other girls the ones who gaze longingly into the bridal magazines and boutique windows the ones who know where they will wed an imaginary Knight that they have not met I stare into the sad desperate eyes of the one who came from California to pursue a Broadway dancer’s dream and now puts that same fervor into grasping not the brass but the diamond ring I look at...
1-28
D.O.B. Another year older another year spent trying to be wiser another year spent letting go of me and insecurity Another year older another year spent trying to be stronger another year becoming a new version of me Another year older another year spent drawing closer another year in the arms of One who gave me breath Another year older another year spent wondering if the next year will be even...
1-25
Vision I see you see me see through me in the empty spaces where people stand shoulder to hand and try to breathe a little more deeply I see you see me see you through their eyes so I try to come down a bit and land It’s hard not to fall for you when I’m already halfway down Opposition In plenty and in want I want to want you near me always But it’s so easy to forget when you...
1-18
Olga She has hair the color of eggplant leggings displayed in the window across the way and green eyes that sparkle with elfin mischief bringing light to a rainy evening Her voice tinkles as words like “wodka” and wabysitter” roll from her tongue She says her english is poor yet her understanding of our artist souls is infinite as we agree that life as it is is not all that it...
December 2007
1 post
12-23
A Ghost of Christmas Past Is On My Doorstep, and Like A Jehova’s Witness, Cannot Take No For An Answer (or, Please Stop Dragging Me Backward Down Memory Lane) I wanted to tell you all the things I never said but words have a way of slipping off my tongue and sliding back down my throat. So instead I listened to a story about the night we first kissed and suddely ten years evaporated and...
November 2007
3 posts
11-04
1 I am afraid to love too much I am afraid I will never love enough When will I learn to guard my heart does not mean sealing it off? To give my heart does not mean recklessly surrendering it? The thinnest line is the one that can never be crossed 2 Bread Wine A simple time 3 The city is ready for a holiday. Already, lights play dancing above each intersection inviting dreams of snow-covered...
“When a book leaves your hands, it belongs to God. He may use it to save a few...”
– Flannery O’Connor
11-01
1 You say that I am pretty when I forget how to be angry You touched my face just once to show me that you felt what you said well now that’s all well and good but it can’t fix what I know You try to take it back because you should It’s nobody’s fault that you don’t love me nobody’s fault that I don’t care You thought you saw me down there in the water but the truth is I was never really there You...
October 2007
18 posts
10-25
1 Even midnight fears its own demise so the full moon tries to swallow the ocean with some humility it is only an orb after all… there are two sides to every story and in the secret silence of morning light fades into light and sun doubles back as heat to bounce off sugary sand and burn a powerful exclamation of triumph over its cool white twin.2 Wake up while you can feel the cool hardwood...
“Don’t be too harsh to these poems until they’re typed. I always...”
– Dylan Thomas in a letter to Vernon Watkins, 1938
10-22
1 You aren’t sitting in the airplane chair but under the striped cape you hunch uncomfortably under the scissors like a petulant child being tortured by stillness Little-boy eyes peering from under shaggy ends as chocolate locks fall to the linoleum Walking down Bedford the sun reveals the minuscule bits of hair stuck to your shirt and neck And I can sense your wish to go back gather what’s being...
10-21
1 She can see no reaction to her guarded attraction perhaps while reading between the lines she misinterpreted the signs *sigh* 2 Awkward pauses as the lights come up check for messages that aren’t there root in the bottom of a bag for nothing at all It is easier to pretend to have something to do it is too hard to face what is covered by the darkness that sometimes being alone does mean being...
10-20
Scribbled on the back of a program at BAM tonight while watching Compania Nacional. He goes pail, frail kicking and screaming dreaming, perhaps of the womb his last place of comfort Now twitching, gasping there is no air outside that watery birth place No air only ominous flashes and shadows He can hear nothing see little speak not Powerless he writhes against the powerful flailing, pushing...
10-17
1 Scribbling the afternoon away watching little children play In their eyes such simple joy the entire world is their greatest toy Their days are full of fascination everything open to interpretation Oh to have retained that marvel and look on life as some great carnival 2 Wide-eyed hair tied back business suit too-big pants Playing dress up for the corporate hacks The world works the world works...
Museum pieces
Both of these were written in December of 2004 after a visit to MoMA. I was struck by the way both figures were rooted in the ground, yet there was an ethereal quality to Mattise’s La Serpentine that juxtaposed the heaviness of Giacometti’s City Square. La Serpentine Alone, she thinks with pensive eyes and wonders at the masses passing through her corridors as a gentle finger plays...
10-16
1 There is great pleasure in great leisure— In the crisp crackle of a toasted bagel, In the excitement of an unknown answer. There is great pleasure in the arrival of fall and with it, a chance at something new. 2 Her hands tremble perhaps from wanting— or maybe it’s that she never let herself want— and she tries vainly to fish a dime from her pocket for the pay phone Who will she call on? Is...
“ creative homeless comedian in need of press release I am traveling the country,...”
– posted on craigslist>manhattan>writing gigs
10-11
1. The streets are riddled with rain in each puddle a reflection- a shimmering vision- of what life looks like when clean. 2. I am trying to write everyday but sometimes I can’t find the words to say All the things that are swirling inside So instead I’ll just curl up and hide (yeah…that was bad) 3. Small, cramped warm brick walls the scent of grilled meat and simmering beans...
10-8
1 Scratchings from a dark heart This is a very dark art 2 This place is filled with noise but nobody is saying what they are thinking 3 You say you want to help me but all I can feel is you wanting to help yourself Wanting to do the right thing so you can sleep better tonight and I’ll be alright If I can just do this for awhile Not help you help me but just be 4 I look upon myself without wonder...
10-6
no new poems this weekend…taking some time to fill up the creative stores for the week! here’s one from the vault. On A Sunday Morning You smell like home and warm southern comfort- like clothes drying in the sun that cast a white gleam in the shimmering heat. The scent of your detergent drifts into my lungs and back out again in warm waves of memory. It lingers on the pillow where...
10-4
1 We fill time and space trying to compress each into something less futile more manageable and end up creating an existence that is a greater void 2 It’s just a day- 24 finite hours 1,440 small minutes 86,400 quick seconds- It’s just a day. Count it down, let it rest. It’s just a day. 3 Could we go, you and I Back to the place Where you looked me in the eye Before we needed space And there was...
“…If you bring off adequate preservation of your personal myth, nothing...”
– Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time
10-3
(It’s ok to only write 5 on travel days).
1
It is only pride
that keeps us
from the inevitable
2
Unable to disengage
a cell phone
a laptop
an ipod
There is no room for silence
no place for stillness
24-hour entertainment
is available in vending machine form
day and night buzz
yet we’re still not sated
3
Everyone
is interrupting
Someone
4
I know it’s hard...
10-2
1
5:00 a.m.
Frisked.
The day begins.
2
It is easy to see
how life becomes
little more than habit
a small series
of repetitive movement
like dancers at the barre
Stand on line
pay the fare
hurry up and wait
Repeat.
It is easy to see
how life becomes
little more than disappointment
a small series
of repetitive movement
3
Fingers fly
tapping out
an angry reply
it must be...
10-1
1.
Here come the pumpkins
skeletons, ghosts and goblins
It is a wonder that we celebrate
what’s twisted and ugly
When we revile it
every other day of the year.
2.
9:33 p.m.
Lit up in white
you define the night.
3.
Stacks upon stacks
upon piles next to bunches.
So many books
and I’m not getting any smarter.
4.
Sometimes inaction
is the only action I can muster.
5....
“Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not...”
– Emily Dickinson
9-30
1
Shut the fuck up
College is over
And this building isn’t
Your dorm, your mom’s house
Your playground
Grown folk live here
And none of us
(are) Like you
2
Forks scrape plates
A playlist ends
In the stillness
I see your hesitation
In the silence
I can hear what you don’t say
Why don’t you break up with her at home
Instead of here
Under the titillating glare
Of covert busboy...
September 2007
4 posts
9-29
1 You are trying to tell me something I am trying to listen Over the screaming in my head The voices say they don’t want to hear this But I promise that my heart is open Even if my ears are not 2 Fourth Street is awash In dancers and balloons And little children drowning In pools of pink cotton Here, the flamenco artist Raises arms triumphantly Over there, a petition to stop The encroaching...