LOVE POEM #86 – Sleeping / Waking

The peacefulness of a Buddhist

draws its way across your brow

beneath the wisps of blonde hair

that hide the blank expression on your face.

 

Then, with the flutter of your eyelids,

the materialism of your features fly back

like the flare of spring when Persephone

crossed the fiery steps of Hades back to Earth.

——

 

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Left at Home (and Other Haikus)

My Necklace

It’s not a burden

though the weight that it carries

could down a mule deer.

 

Skiing

The cut of white snow,

shifting beneath the black skis,

sharp as cool steel.

 

Tumbling

A twist of red pain

stabs through the knee like a knife

till it’s ripped away.

 

Still Water

Sparkling with stars;

disturbed in the calm blackness

by a moonlit fish.

 

Left at Home

The black dog is home

staring through the dark windows

thinking I’ve left him.

——

 

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MAKING FACES

Those parents who threatened me

that if I kept making faces,

my mouth would end up frozen

in a two-fingered grimace, forever

 

clearly never considered that the Buddha

has a smile that long outlived

all the pairs of uptights and unenlightened

who concentrated too much on his future.

——

 

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OUR LAST CAT (AND OTHER HAIKUS)

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Under the blue sky

an image blocks the sunlight:

“Eat like you mean it.”

 

Leisure

I sit cross-legged

drinking the inspiration

of fresh morning dew.

 

Crescendo

The drum of fingers

tap against the countertop

waiting for their cue.

 

Seeing Faces

A face in the grass

smiling in the windy air

blinks out of my sight.

 

Our Last Cat

He left deep gashes

in the memories of home

carved into the chairs.

——

 

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DEPARTURE

I was out on a walk through the city when my mind shifted between the membranes of existence. I had been looking at the crowds, breathing the air—both the fresh and the foul—and letting the tail ends of the trees brush through my fingers, just like any other person. Then, I was outside myself, looking down on everything else. Not as a god, but a hopeless observer. My body was still moving below; still enjoying the views and smiling at passers by, and I could feel it’s every movement and ache within myself. But my eyes had left this world. I was out over the clouds, looking down at my own personal globe of reality.

I turned the vision, and saw the whole mass of people on earth. For months, I followed them around, growing further and further from my body each day. It wasn’t long before I lost connection to it altogether, and had to track it down myself, instead of just feeling its movements. By that time, I was beginning to grow bored with my new world. Being an observer is hard.

The people below don’t even think about what they are doing. They go about their days, listening to iPods, working mindlessly, and ignoring nearly everyone else. Many of these people go home, look up to the sky, and hope for something to change, but never take the first step to do so. The more they talked, the less I listened. They weren’t all like this, some brave souls tried to explain the problems to the youth, but too often it was too late for them too. Eventually, I found myself more interested in the flowers and the trees than people.

I could follow the roots, below the ground, and watch as they sucked the water from the dirt. I could track the petals as the fluttered through the sky. I would try to console the wilting plants, neglected by their owners, before they washed away into the earth and became part of the collective again, but the truth is they never heard me. I could dive down with the fishes, and see in the dark. The bottom of the ocean is more quiet than the biggest caves. The creatures down there don’t move so fast. They drift, like wood on the surface, wherever the unseen current would take them.

I could even slip between the rocks, and watch the long conversations they had. One day, while I was listening to them, I felt a tug at my soul. First it was light, like a child pulling blankets in the night, but then it began to pull harder, and I felt myself flying through the world. Faster and faster, until I couldn’t even see where we were going. I tried to dig in, to grasp at my globe, but the force pulled me along. Then, as quickly as it started, it all stopped again. I awoke with a start, in my bed, as if from a nightmare. It was dark in my room. I moved to the doorway without even thinking, and flicked the light switch. I was home again. I was back in my body. My heart began to race. I didn’t want to go back. It was so boring here. I climbed back into bed, hoping to escape in the sanctuary of dreams, and fell asleep.

——

 

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DREAMS OF VISIONS IN FIRE

Recently, I had a dream about fire. It was well past midnight, but I had grown cold beneath my cloak in the woods, so I decided to build up the fire again. The cinders in the fire pit were nearly out, but because I was quick about getting the kindling I managed to relight it before it went out entirely. I sat there, waiting for the flames to grow as they gnawed hungrily at the wood. When they were finally big enough, I pulled back my gloves and bared my fingers against the heat. It was soothing, like closing the door inside a toasty home on the night with heavy rains.

The longer I sat by the fire, the longer I stared into it. It was beautiful. It snapped back and forth to an unheard tune, like a lost dancer looking for its partner. Eventually, the body of heat morphed into a vision of a reality far, far away. It was a ballroom, with its own massive hearth, filled with elegant dancers, all dressed in matching red outfits. The fire snapped again, and suddenly I was looking at the cosmos, full of dancing red stars—each moving in a disjointed pattern. There was no rhythm to it, yet it somehow look completely expectable.

The fire snapped again and I was back home. Not the house I lived in, back in the village ten miles east, but home. The long expanse, across a thousand miles, through rivers and over mountains. A home I had never seen, yet had always known was mine. And looking back out at me, from inside my home, was a beautiful woman. I somehow knew she was my wife, though I had never been married, and in her arms was a small baby crying with a voice that I couldn’t hear. She looked at me, and smiled. I put my arm out to reach for her, but as I did the fire snapped at my wrist, and the images burned away.

 

That’s where the dream stopped. I can’t really explain it. The red outfits I think pretty clearly mean passion in some form or another. The cosmos make little sense to me, but the rhythm between them seems to me to mean possibly something like “the universe is exactly where it means to be right now.” The woman could mean my own desires, though I don’t know who she is. In my dream, my being seemed to have an idea of who she was—like we had met previously, or would know each other when we met.

Or, it is equally possible that, after watching Howl’s Moving Castle and finishing the third Game of Thrones book, where visions in fire are a prevalent aspect, my subconscious simply had the mystical properties of fire in mind, and felt like playing out its own vision therein. I don’t know. What do you think? Do you have any cool/strange/incredible dreams like this that you can remember? Let me know!

Oh! And make sure you have a safe Halloween! 😉

 

 

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LOVE POEM #63 – UNE NUIT

Alright, real quick before I start, I wrote this poem in (rough) french, as a thought exercise. I quick put a translation below it too. Let me know what you think!

 

Une Nuit

Madamoiselle, c’est à toi qui je pense,

et à toi qui je veux d’avoir cette danse.

Une danse rêveur avec toi dans la nuit—

une nuit où le monde ne bouge pas trop vite.

Et je pourrais me perdre dans tes yeux

pour en toi, je découvrais un vrai dieu.

Mais j’ai peur parce que je sui pas certain

que tu vas accepter ma nerveuse main.

Toi, avec tes petites cheveux bleu,

j’ai toujours voulu à dire “I love you.”

 

Translation:

Madamoiselle, it’s of you who I think,

and with you who I want to have this dance.

A dreamy dance with you in the night-

a night where the world does not move too fast.

And I could get lost in your eyes

for in you, I discovered a true god.

But I’m scared because I’m not certain

that you will accept my nervous hand.

You, with your little blue hair,

I always wanted to say “I love you”

——

 

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A DAY AT THE FAIR

Emerging from under the shadowy tunnel

into the blinding sunlight of the September fair

builds more child-like suspense in me

than any movie soundtrack could.

 

Suddenly, all those twenty-two years

melt back into the sevens and eights

where oceans of cotton candy and

rivers of soda pop were mine to sail through.

 

The loud hums of the stereotyped amusements,

from Mexican dancers to redneck farmers

whistle through the air like a swarm of bees,

and I hadn’t a care in the world.

 

I roamed about like that, in half a daze,

so filled with the happiness of the afternoon

that I nearly forgot the Ferris Wheel,

and anyone who knows me knows

that I’d never forget the Ferris Wheel.

 

There’s something beautiful

looking out over the plane of the world

at a point that no human was meant to see

where the air tastes fresher than spring

and the Earth seems perfectly still.

 

Even if it is just for a moment,

before the basket of humans makes another spin

and we all have to step off the ride

to go home again.

——

 

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SLIPPING IN AND OUT OF DREAMS

When you start walking through walls, do you finally realize that you are in a dream? Personally, I struggle to even remember dreams, much less realize that I am in them. I’ve been trying to take stock of them when I wake up over the past couple weeks, and I’ve gotten a little better. Now I can usually remember the endings of the dreams, and if it was really vivid I can usually remember the major plot points, but I still struggle with beginnings.

Not that dreams really have beginnings. I doubt there is some voice over that says “one day our weary hero was walking through the woods, blah blah blah blah” like some cheesy 80’s movie. But let’s take, for example, a dream I had about a week ago. Somehow, I got to a point where these massive, titanic beings were chasing after me, literally bursting through buildings to get to me. The whole world knew, and the everybody was trying to help me get away from them, but I had no idea how I had gotten to that point. Was I the scientist who made them? Was I carrying some secret? Was it some other reason? I don’t know. But I am certainly curious.

The other interesting thing I’ve been trying is to slip in and out of my consciousness and dream states more quickly. Often times, I will wake up—or be woken up—before I mean to start my day. In many cases, I will have been woken up out of a dream, and will want to fall back into it. If I have to get up to do something, I’ll lose track of the dream, but if I can relax my mind into a resting state, I can often slip right back into the dream I was experiencing. Sometimes it takes a sharp turn because of this. For example, if I was dreaming about picnics, it might be that while after I wake up, the picnic leads me to a circus fair or something.

Anyways, that’s just my two cents on the topic. Do you have any recommendations for remembering dreams? Let me know!

 

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THE END OF DAYS

If all men are dogs,

Then are all women frogs?

And are all mice men?

What’s that make children then?

 
But we all drink water;

We all have a father;

We all feel the pain

That’s driving us insane.

 

The pain of being alone,

Stuck inside a world

That’s bigger than our own.

 
Do you remember the days of old?

The days when our family

Was more valuable that gold.

 
Days before the calamity,

When we became preachers

Of goodness and chastity.

 
In the days where our leaders

Didn’t sell us out to greed,

And the land was our teacher.

 
Those days when we were free.

Free to be, you and me.

But those good days have long gone past,

The end of the world has come at last,

And machines order us throughout our days,

Because we let them put us in this haze.

——

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