Month: May 2015

Ode to Earth

Love hides in loneliness, in the hollow parts of the soul. It sits there, in the dark, waiting patiently for distant murmurs to become vivid voices.  But it does not call out, will not call out.   That is the law that governs the heart,  It is for the seeker, Alone, to find Looking or not.  Sometimes you’ll see it shining between blades of grass,   or glistening on overturned stones at the bottom of riverbeds. Sometimes, it flicks back and forth in the flame of a candle, But other times, it stays lost and forlorn.  I went away this weekend. I packed my car & hit the road at midnight. I like traveling by myself, I like the freedom of just going, without fear, without resilience. I drove through the indigo dark down desert roads, and abandoned railroad towns. I passed weigh stations, and souls slumbering in their semis, like dragons guarding their hoards. It rained off and on & I kept a watchful eye on the creatures of the night (deer, and rabbit, and …

Flies on the Window

Flies on the window Trying to get out Float to the top Die at the bottom Clean them out of the crease In the frame Wash my hands after Sometimes I feel like the fly Searching for sustenance Lured inside by cool air And pretty lights & abundance of fruit in bowls on kitchen tables But then the window shuts, And I am trapped Will you clean me out, When you find me Dead at the Bottom?

Playing with Shadows & Other Adventures

Life Update:  Yes, that’s right… I have embarked upon a new adventure! One in which I have crossed the days off of my calendar, patiently (and rather nervously) awaiting. I am spending the next six weeks within the mini town of Comstock where in which I will be doing my internship… (more on that later.) Well, anyhow, I arrived last night in hopes to get settled & acquainted with my surroundings and golly the little house that I get to spend the next couple months in couldn’t be cuter. It’s a perfectly rustic blue house with sotal sprouting up in the front yard. How exciting. It has a mudroom, and very pretty red adobe-like floors, a very lovely lovely kitchen, a wood-burning fireplace (only to be used for aesthetics, due to the Texas heat, ) and is overwhelmingly charming. Did I mention it’s blue? I have unpacked and am slowly spreading out, reclaiming the space over squatting spiders… I may be slow to post due to lack of internet (as I am currently window-side, bumming wifi…) & …

Natural Guise

What kind of value is in a sunset in a blank stare of ruby sky that lasts minutes and dies forever repeating until eyes cannot see it. What kind of meaning does a moon hold that wanes tighter and tighter into celestial discipline that breaks and bends and therefore spends eternity existing for no other purpose than mystery While the humans gleam short-lived lives capsuled by illness and delusions because one of them talked to snakes and bit into apples Isn’t it a wonder how nature spirals? that rocks cut in two could hold crystals In oysters, pearls I’m not asking what the purpose is but what is the purpose? I’ve lost my only way to see Malice once to the ears is now melody We’re living in a vaudeville thriving on the innocent kill and I’m admiring the sunsets look how much the earth endures Yet we hold no regrets.

An Ever-small Collection

I remember when love was young and I was young right with it. But the sun would rise and set and rise and I began (though ever-slowly) To forget it. I used to have this belief that one should never try to write, & so, I didn’t. I waited. I waited for the words to come naturally, to wash over me like a summer rain, but when they did come, they were nothing more but drips of scattered showers. I still, in my self-proclaimed Bukowski-esque mindset don’t try to write. But I am trying to give myself time. I’m getting older, my hands are becoming increasingly calloused. Greys are sprouting up at the top  of my head. I thoroughly enjoy the quiet. I seek it out & embrace it when it comes running to me. I savor the smallest moments, morning coffee, rainy day walks, my window rolled down in traffic. I used to believe that remaining stagnant and becoming satisfied only limited what one was capable of achieving. I don’t know if I believe …

Concentrate

Concentrate The meaning of the word To focus The chemistry of congregation Negative reflections of Snow kept gates And gangrene feet Ripped clothes And rat feasts The deprivation of my grandmother And her loved ones The near-loss of a society A culture Concentration My husband remembers the first sweet thing That caught on his tongue, One thin foil-wrapped sheet of Wrigley’s gum, That he traded For with one his father’s cigarettes The scolding Was worth it, To realize the world wasn’t All gray & is only half bitter.

On Ambivalence & The Paths In Between

A blue pair of shoes came in the mail today, though there will be no aisle to walk down. Part of me recalls sooner times. Times when the air was thicker and there weren’t so many choices to take, and mistakes were absent in my mind. It isn’t until we start growing older that we realize what a treasure time was and how tentative it remains. I’ve tight-rope walked between two paths nearly my entire life, and I never made a decision to cross over, dedicate. I remained ambivalent, as so many do, out of fear, or maybe even a bit of arrogance. There were days when I woke up, not knowing who I was, now there are days when I wake up wondering who I could have been. Yet still there will be the day that I don’t wake up at all and I look inside myself now and wonder if it all even mattered…. Wonder if my life was or will be relevant to someone in some way, or if it will just …