Category Archives: Poetry

Aside

sundarbans or ames the summer sun streaks through trees playing peekaboo yellowed leaves will fall autumn restarts the cycle camphor blooms anew

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Questions

My breath still trips just a little bit, and my heart clutches
When imperfect memories augmented by frozen moments
Show me again that boy with his wide, rare, charming grin
That bit of humour and mischief; the intensity that stayed
The direction that did not.

And I wonder if I am to remain eternally, impossibly, forever
In love
With a slender shade of the past.

Neruda

I’m a bit lost, a bit adrift
Straying along the galaxy
Sleep deprived a little
Working overtime. Yes.

Wondering about loss and pain
and what they mean, really.

How very unfair it is that

some few can drive daggers into hearts &
some have and some lose, but all hurt

What does it matter anyhow?

Nothing is to stay, and maybe just maybe neruda was too full of pain and bitterness to see:
He had her once. He’ll never forget. And for those moments she was only his. You can’t control or be sure of what will happen. Or what happened before. And if ownership is a concept real, then to have had is to have, because you’ll never lose your past unless you choose to.

Or you forget.

Building up

Somewhere beneath Period Three Implies Chaos
In the whirlwind

of strange, unexplained, half-forgotten phenomena
of dirty mugs, empty bottles, open pens;

Between the dog-eared copies of Slowness and the Prophet

and half-corrected fourth grade notebooks
with strawberry stains smeared generously on top

Lies a cream envelope she’s looking for:
Love
Buried beneath mountains of duty and paper.

Modified from the original on the LotrPlaza.

More Cherry Blossom Obsessions

What should one do when life
slips out through crevices and cracks
1 didn’t know existed?

when there flickers a flame
that as long as it does, burns true?
and within, burns clean through?

when the rock breaks and the
cookie crumbles? : contemplate life —
— cherry blossoms falling?

Little Known Truths

Woven within the lies are little known truths.

Fingers clenched into a fist, thumbs tucked in, insecure,
what does she protect herself from? and how? Foolish.
Nails marking half moons in red on white flesh, in pain,
what is the punishment for? and why?
A child controls and reacts from a full grown mind.
Where does the adult go in these vulnerable times?
Tap tap tap. Thoughts process; run through.
Lists made. To do. But the other hand clenched, still.

The ones from whom she wants respect,
and honesty
and faith
and trust:
where are they? Can they not see beyond the lies —
to the truths inside?

True, it’s too much to ask: Who sees the truth
woven within the lies?

cherry blossom obsessions

are an endless quest to find beauty
and once you have it, to keep it,

not realizing
that sometimes

heart breaking poignant beauty is in impermanence