Alicia Rekab
Lost
I was lost in the deep sea,
Caught under the blue currents of misery,
So wuz I, could you see me drifting by?
On my cloud of depression
Here I go, will you follow
No I won't, I'm the leader of this battle
So here we fight, to the birth of us both
Who will die?
Not either one of I
So will you and So will I
I was flying down from a storm in Heaven
And the Angels danced havoc over my grave
Here they sang, right next to Satan's right man
If he had a hand, it's now gone
To join me, in perfect harmony
Like the birds and the ticks in that ole' rat bush - infested by
humanity diseased by my love, who will join me?
Here I'll fly, until the sun goes up and dies
Will my flame, burn even the tender of minds?
I'm your mirror to be hidden from the world till it grows ever colder
from your sweat and yet I'll puncture and embed myself in your thigh of
wisdom so your grace may flourish once again on the delicate wings of
insanity
Sleep away your sympathy,
And you'll take away my senseless sensitivity
...grip around your neck and I'll hang on tighter after you've breathed
your last breath just for the sheer delight derived from that glazed eye
of your's,
My tentacles of selfishness will twist around stands of hair just to see
the blank, blank stare on that gravely handsome face of yours
Let my slither in you
Have my embrace with hold you
Fell my breath of decaying sweetness, against your ever-growing frozen
neck
And my love molests your pickled heart full of senseless vinegar
Upwards
Dreams
If only my dreams were a our shared reality...
to be held in your arms and hold you in mine,
to look at your face, your eyes, and wonder what's inside,
to feel the warmth of your body against mine,
to share a dark chocolate dove bar and have our lips dance,
to hold hands and use them to sculpt our souls and create our bodies,
to listen to the wind, energy of earth, stars, planets, celestial
bodies, water... - and sing in the rhythm and flow of life,
to become one,
to close my eyes and see through your's,
to be loved by you and express my love of you in all it's sensuality,
This is my fantasy, one I hide from you and fear - but what is the
reality?
Upwards
Bamboo Shoots
Surrounded by emerald verticality,
All the standing people of conformity,
Strangely alone but comforted in the labyrinth of reality,
Breathing in pseudomutuality,
Looking out into uncertainty,
Sing to the wapiti,
For the sake of comity,
Why is society,
such an absurdity,
forces man to make words like triskaidekaphobia and superfluidity,
can you see my dieing velleity?
It's affecting my creativity ;o)
Did Ernst Haeckel come up with haecceity?
This song suffers from more than atonality,
and I from anfractuosity,
As I enter my muliebirty,
I wonder if I'll keep my tainted purity,
and this is in asininity,
being shielded by my own cecity,
I've had more than enough, this is its caducity
Upwards
White Daisy
I am a White Daisy
It is the simple,
The perplexities hidden beneath this awkward complexity,
It is the beauty of security,
The eccentrics of the sane,
All the multiplicities of spaces and times exist in one Space and one
Time,
My favorites are true and always there,
God :o)
Shasta Daisy,
Dove's dark chocolate,
caress of the wind,
water,
Miss ladybug landing on your nose,
butterfly kisses,
eyelash wishes,
rolly polly on your hand,
worm on the sidewalk,
showers,
waking up in the twilight,
snug in a warm sleeping bag needing to pee and the unheated bathroom is
across a frozen field,
foggy windows,
the doodles in the foggy windows,
frozen brownies with fudge icing and nonnie's pecans,
smell of bread baking,
fresh date nut cookies,
mom's oatmeal surprise bars,
the stench of pawpaw's old sweat and cigars,
laying on sun blessed rocks,
goats on cliff sides,
hawks on power lines,
owls in dreams,
hugs,
squirrels and raccoons living through a jay walk,
waves licking your toes,
hoebies breathing warm hay smelling air on a cold nose,
ruminants tugging on your clothes,
mud wrestling,
warm bodies and warm furry bodies,
things crawling into bed in the middle of the night to snuggle with you,
movies, fireplaces and cuddles
dusk's rays and songs,
Canadian geese,
fields/meadows,
people,
twister and sock wearing participants,
white wine,
memories (whether fond or not),
the ability to communicate,
sprinkler systems,
dead batteries and already late,
smiling souls,
chlorine stained eyes (look at all the rainbows!!),
cards,
trees, in particular, magnolias and oaks,
train rides,
old airplanes,
geeky antique cars,
sheep skins,
feather down mattresses,
kool-aid,
Band-Aids,
durian fruit,
honeydew melon,
big, juicy, sticky, navel oranges,
sugartown watermelon (Uncle Abner created it),
my favorite sandwiches: tomato, pickle and cheese, and bean sprouts,
Brussels sprouts,
Australian apple onions,
Maine lobster,
Alaskan king crabs,
Northern lights,
south pacific French tuna steaks,
Venezuela,
skys with so many stars, looks like black specks on white paper,
real leather,
kites, wind and beaches,
the cascades,
silk,
cotton,
colors,
cameras,
art (not that modern crap or rap),
the mars with almonds you can only get in London,
boomtown Missouri's fireworks store,
Johnson Shut-ins,
cliff diving,
white chocolate mousse and macadian nuts,
white gold and sterling silver,
Stetson cologne on my Dad,
pink, silky nighties on my Mom,
roller coasters,
super duper spin and barfs,
and the list goes on!!
Upwards
Sensory
If the blind were to ask, "What does the color brown look like?"
How would you reply?
Brown is the taste of chocolate,
Smell of coffee,
Texture of tree bark and fertile earth,
Purr of a bear,
Strength of the land,
Whispers in long,flowering hair,
Your teady bear.
If those who can only touch asked,"What makes her beautiful?"
How would you reply?
A sun warmed Greek sculpture,
Dance in the sea or a storm -- you're looking into her eyes
Climb onto a cliffside, throw your arms into the air and feel the wind
on your face -- it's her embrace
Slide into a warm bath -- she's reading a book
Feel the warmth of sunlight -- her smile
Braiding your hair -- see her lips move to speak
The vibrations of the singing instruments -- are her fluid movements
Hold her tight -- feel her beat of life
What gifts we have, blessed are we
But do we not spoil, take for granted these?
Upwards
I was told
I was told that a soul like me, didn't deserve to live. I was shown
things of the utmost cruelty.
It's hard for me to put my thoughts into words. I think the difficulty
is mainly derived from the face I don't think much in English text.
This is intensified almost to a handicap with all that I think. It's
like being a satellite with countless numbers of things just speeding by
and it's all you can attempt to even tag a percentage of them.
When you have lived as long as I have, you often forget to care, to be
curious, to learn. And this my friend, is where you create your own
sorrow. Be forewarned that it is not a shallow misery, but one that
will well up and remain with you always. Always. And whatever you have
to say, it will not be heard. It will never be understood. And if one
should fancy you into listening, they will misunderstand and there
again, my friend, your grace is dug deeper still. Very few in our
world, in our time, have been great lovers, great thinkers. But none
have been both. Perhaps none ever will. The great lovers, they die
with the love of the world. For that is what they gave. The great
thinkers. They die alone. They die with nothing. Because no one ever
understood them, no one ever listened, no one ever cared. For they did
not care. But these great thinkers, they, some, had a lover far greater
than these of the greatest lover. But no one will ever know...
You're more beautiful than the eye can imagine and the soul can endure.
Upwards
Declaration of Innocence
The Declaration of Innocence
I have sinned without number
I have seen crimes committed
I have been the knife and the murder
I have shared, borne and bore fear,
evil,
destruction,
And misery plaques my soul with remembrance of the lost truth and purity
of the Beauty Of the forbidden innocence...
But I have been persecuted as any
I have been the victim of myself
I have been murdered and destroyed
But more importantly I have been created
My faith is a sculpture embossed with a strength of heavenly descent
My curiosity is a vessel of beauty,
An intricately craved craft,
Waltzing on the breezes of realties
My hands of healing and heart of warmth have never been restricted to
help the most
My eyes of youth and age have not mistaken nor bear nor speak of lies,
regardless of how painful truth is
I have defended and fought,
for those who can not,
for truth
My climbing has been in light,
when darkness was the easier depth
My wolf of discrimination is not a shadow of conformity
As sympathetic as empathy can exist,
the two remain as separate as waters from different currents,
Tides that flow between worlds,
Rapids that crusade all the multiplicities of spaces and times,
(They exist in one Space and on Time)
In a land as far as my inner eye becomes sightful,
Empathy and sympathy are Siamese twins born of different mothers.
In seeking,
Rationality and logic are the companions of my mind,
This does not exclude the unexplainable,
nor the things that are not understood,
The intoxication of emotion is liberated by the passion of the same soul
My meager grace of appreciation,
That will in my hope,
Live as long as the fluttering butterflies of eternity,
Every creation,
every memory,
every sensation,
will never be forgotten in my gratitude of being.
Upwards
Birds
"Only the Birds Carry the Smiles,We Carry the Face"
It is the large, angelic Beauty,
of the white egret that flies with,
the souls of the pristine,
lilies of the South
Ever so growing in Peace and Harmony with
the Waters soothing ripples of,
Time and
twisted Cypress of Life
It is within the bushes of the nutrirats the this is hidden,
a scroll of each's lives
It is the Swallowed Sapling that gives Hope,
not hints at Death
And it is the call of the majestic Canadian geese
that gives names to all,
but only the warmth and sun,
shall give wrath and
directs to which Hitler shall succeed and
perish
It is the ever watchful eye,
of the ruminants
that look over your shoulder
Curious yes,
strange no
I,
we,
are all the stranger,
but they still embrace us,
even in their terror,
in their murder
It is the rusty gate that
shows what we have done,
not the slaughtered heads and
souls that each sound as
my feet hit the ground
So lucky am I?
More than a thin fence divides us,
and this gap grows further still
It is the field that sings and
the trees that talk
Only the birds carry the smiles,
We carry the face.
Upwards
Rain
It's raining...
Oh really?
Yes, couldn't you tell?
I was being sarcastic.
So, what are you going to write this time?
I don't know, it's just rain afterall
True, just rain
Yes, just rain
You're quiet
I am?
Yes
Do you like it better this way?
Why are you sad?
Who said I was sad?
No one - but you
But me...I am no one
Quite
I'm remembering
Well, they're just memories
I remember quite a few rains, they've always been there for me, like so
much has not been
Do you remember all of them?
Hush, it's stopping
It's starting again
Again?
I love the smell of rain,
Rain doesn't have a smell
Well then, there a lot of things you don't know and care not to
Aren't we in a bit of a huffy mood?
Quite the contrary,
You're always the contrary
No I'm not, I'm me. People just have a hard time with that.
I remember the rains...
I remember the rains of Singapore. Fast and heavy but full of delight.
They made pools for me to swim in. And Daddy would carry me across the
overflowing streets. Ladies and gents would hold a hand above their
head - as if that would ever help any. They're called monsoons -
whether dry or wet, but I've never seen a dry monsoon. I imagine I'm
not good company for them. Perhaps the rain is selfish and likes me a
great deal. The leaves would bow down, all weighed with water.
Pathways became rivers and pools were oceans. Everyone worried about
snakes, but to many tropical fish caught my eye and my hand. The Hindu
temple would chime and stores would close, not the clouds though, they
stilled played, like me. I'd slip into a drain and slither to the end.
There is a small world at the other end. When the rain stops and it
still rains in this small world. Wonderful mushrooms and specimens of
fungi. So bizarre in shape and life, it was home. First time I saw
slime molds, fascinating creatures. Then I'd scurry back through the
drains and crawl up to the floor. Then the volcano erupted and my
friends', my brothers and sisters, my wholes became parts and their
ashes covered the pool, the balcony, everything. And I would hide in my
corner and mourn at our loss. Even before it was on the news, I knew,
and shuddered if the slightest bit of dust landed on me. Then the rains
came. They cleansed the air and the land. They brought my friends, my
parts, back into a whole. A greater whole. How I miss those rains.
I remember the rains...
I remember the rains of Seattle. Rain is rain there, but it makes the
gray grayer and strangely more cozy. They visited the forests too. The
rain were songs there. I would hide in the big tree, and sleep in the
soft fern bed of it. Giant trees. Giant clovers and moss carpeted the
ground. Tiny purple and pink flowers blinked up. Vines and ferns
floated in the air. Small fairy creatures. How the trees loved me. I
loved them too for we both loved to embrace, and we both loved the
rain. I wonder how many are gone? Are left? They never cried. But I
hear them now (but they grow softer or I more deaf). So painful, so
frightening. Why didn't I hear them before? For they loved happiness
as much as we.
I remember the rains...
I remember the rains of Houston. Spattered rain. Rain as rain but
confused. It comes, unwelcomed, unnoticed and unappreciated. But it
still comes. God send me rain for he knows how I miss it, and everyone
else.
I remember the rains...
I remember the rains of Sydney. A hazy drizzle full of disgrace. The
poor rain is dieing there. It carries all the sorrows of mankind with
it, getting weaker, but just as able to show them. But no one ever
sees.
I remember the rains...
I remember the rains of New York. Horrid sprays of wicked streams, just
like what it is. The rain is what it is, but it changes.
Alas I'm cold, I'm shivering and I'll still stay. I'll still stay with
my rain. The glorious rain.
Upwards
My yellow balcony, by the sea
And my yellow cat,
and hat,
and dress,
all the colors of a sunny Susan's face,
my hair golden too,
from long afternoon rays,
spent splashing in the waves,
My feet a darkened sandy brown,
from long strolls along the sandy shore,
early in the morning,
with dew in the air,
fog in a surreal mist slowly drifting out to sea,
Lighter
Lighter
Brighter
Brighter
till the sun shones,
and I sit,
in my yellow hat,
in my yellow dress,
with a pocket full of sand dollars and other shells,
with my yellow cat,
and we watch the purple clouds,
make butterfly ballets
and bubbles of synchronized violet angels
all in a golden hue
and I in my yellow cap with my yellow cat,
listen to the sea
listen to her speak
and coo and purr and knead the great lap of the land
and we listen to the wind
as it tickles our face
and as the golden sprinkles
the twinkling stars riding the water
like footsteps of Christ
my yellow dress and I
float back among the weeds
with their feathery tails
and trailing, clingy roots that grasp at our little pink toes
as they sink among the grains
and wander back onto my yellow balcony
time to make tea
sun made tea
I fill the old pickle and peanut jars
just like mother did
and her mother
and the mothers before
with water
and line their lids with dainty paper bags filled with sweet smelling
herbs
and carefully set them on the edge
of my yellow balcony
to let the golden sun do it's golden magic
and my yellow cat and I
no longer in my yellow dress
fall into a reclined slumber
among the soft sandy sheets
beneath the creaky ceiling fan
on the yellow covers
with the sea winds breathing in...
Oh, I feel it growing cooler, shade now rests on my bare, tan thighs
her golden irises blink up at me
Time To get The Tea
I slip on my yellow dress
and it swings into place
sways just above my feet
my narrow ankles hidden in the yellow folds
and patter onto my yellow balcony
curious cat am I
(impatient too)
I wriggle a lid free and slip my finger into the warm dark liquid and
then slide my dripping digit over my craving tongue
I smile, my so sweet
Mother nature does it right every time
I bring the jars inside
and place two in the fridge
among the cheese and fruit and bread
and the rest ontop the sandy countertop
not far from my yellow balcony
I dig out a yellow lemon
and slice it into little slithers
then drop all but one in my glass
this I savor for last
a few spoons of crystalline sweetness
and in goes the sunny tea
made just for me
yellow cat is on the yellow balcony
my writing pad in one hand and cool droplets wriggling off the tea onto
my hand and slithering round my arm...
I settle in, with the yellow hat on a different side
the sun is yawning now
yellow cat smiles back and purrs into a stretch along the yellow
balcony's sun warmed banister
I smile back while sun warmed tea dances on my teeth and trickles down
my lips
the pad smiles blankly
pad
I decorate it's face with a few tasty lines
there
now pad has character
I trace the lines on me,
I have much character, too
and I smile and hum contentedly
the sun lullaby's away
and the moon shy's up
you could see her all day
but she was in the shadow of the sun
moon's a forever friend
yellow cat curls into a ball and yellow balcony sighs in relief
yellow dress does too
as she falls to my sandy brown feet
the stars are up now
time to play with the sea
with the waters of life
life eternally
and they dance with me in the cool waves
there's castor and polydueces
I know him now
and there's my star
that funny looking one alone but not
my yellow star
my golden gem in the sky for all eternity
and the night dances with me in a golden speckled sea
by the golden grains of shore
Oh! The crabs are out.
They'll get my yellow dress
my yellow hat!
I hurry back
little sand termites scatter about
scurrying on their little legs
looking like little evil pearly pills of some demented spider offspring
I shake my friends both
and we rejoin on my yellow balcony
for a night of silent chitter-chat
the best kind of talk
lapping the night away
like a glass of sun warmed tea
resting peacefully
with the yellow cat in my lap
till yellow shines again
"good night my friends" I yawn and drift to sea...er...sleep
Sea wind gently slides a hand down my back and we are in a rocking
harmony
on my yellow balcony
Upwards
Sarah, Plain and Tall
You need not hide behind this wall,
Your eyes can not see the lies they tell.
The ones you speak to,
Hide behind fake identities,
Hundreds, thousands of miles away,
You'll never see them
Never in the same way.
The light does not shine here,
As it does there.
Darkness comes at different hours,
Creeping closer to your door.
Here you hide,
behind this wall.
For no reason at all.
Yes, you're sick and yes, you're ill,
but it is not your bedrest that keeps you within yourself.
Your family misses you,
they've gone to what they think is all costs.
Locks on corrupted phone boxes,
Hidden files,
Distorted truths based on demented fears.
Your siblings grow older,
with the time spent on there,
that stupid, lifeless machine.
You are missing out on their youth,
You are missing out on your's.
Your parents grow older,
they do not have much time left,
you have very little with them,
yet you chose to hide behind this wall.
What about your friends here?
You do not interact to have any.
The ones you do,
are as depressed and isolated as you.
Okay, you can stay,
but only once a week,
for only a few hours.
We know how hard that will be,
but as far as pen pals go,
they are not your first reality.
You are here and they are there.
But make it clear that you're not into virtual relationships,
if they can't be met within three hours,
cease to talk to these far fellows.
You're at a time where you develop,
take those pictures of sultry off.
When you are prepared to start a family,
you can strut your stuff.
Up to then, keep covered
You're not a fruit to be enjoyed at the liberty of others.
One of God's chosen children,
find another like yourself.
Keep your values and morals true and firm,
their strength is you.
We know how much you yearn to be accepted,
we were there too.
But in such longing,
we deserted our ship,
and drowned in the sea of "everyones".
But you are a chosen one,
a one or two among the thousands.
We love you,
this is for your good,
your life,
your love.
Upwards
Hot, Cross Buns
I have bruises on the bottoms of my heels,
As if I drilled,
into the earth with them.
There are little sun strips on the tips of my ugly French, Maryjane
toes,
Whom I can blame both families for,
I burnt them walking on hellish lands.
The green neon paint is flaking off my nails.
My pinkies ride the backs of their brothers,
They crossed when I was born,
They had to cut the skin between my double, Siamese twins,
I imagine it to feel like a circumcision.
I can count the scars on my feet,
as if a plague had kissed them,
these were from tiny, red, satanic demons who scurried and dug and bit
I jumped into the tadpole puddle,
In hope of some relief, none came
I hobbled home
Sometimes crawled
my feet were so badly swollen.
I passed the neighbor's mailbox,
and could not smell our gift,
we always put our dead goldfish in there,
for their pet cats.
We never could get the kittens to cooperate with the parachutes,
stolen from my GI. Joes.
They don't always land on all fours.
But you can't see those scars now,
Or the ones that wrapped round my ankles,
as my neck,
All on "accident".
The ropes had gotten round them,
like a snake round a baby fawn.
fiberglass hairs wriggled into my flesh,
like the twin wasps who freckle scarred my knee.
and I was burned,
my skin leaking some sticky fluid.
Nothing could be done,
pointless, painful, to dig around with tweezers in my pasty mess of
gummy tissue.
My shins, I warn, are not a pretty sight,
There should be more padding between the bone and skin.
See the left wound,
almost earned an amputation.
The right,
evidence of some morbid insanity drip.
Up my legs,
Tickled the Daddy Long-legs,
He's not a spider,
But he's awfully friendly.
I wonder if he's poisonous...
There's my rooster,
Ironic to the Chinese year.
Unless I tan,
the streak of that lighting stroke.
Like Powder,
but I'm not so smart or talented.
Although I am not full grown,
I know there is something wrong.
One labia has never developed,
I am a late bloomer.
This bothers me because I worry,
I will not please my husband or whoever I lay with.
It seems such a little thing to be upset about,
and it probably has more insignificance than anything.
But I want to know the cause.
Nature?
Gymnastics?
Strenuous sports activities?
Rape?
My ass is a true moon,
slight dark markings claw their way over my sweet buttocks,
screaming of the beatings they endured.
Mother swore she never used a buckle,
but she was hardly ever sober.
There are two lines,
across my breasts.
That all but disappear at times,
I think it's due to the bras I wear.
I never wanted to be a girl,
Like on Third Rock from the Sun.
And laced round my nipples,
like the tendrils on a sun.
From where some young animals clung to them,
for some reason or another.
Down the arms we'll slide,
like little green gnomes.
Over here, the right rest.
And there, the left fore arm.
You'll see the dark engravings,
Like a bad handshake with a puma.
This silly monkey fell,
some forty feet at least,
through one tree,
to hit and fall again.
Three feet above the flat I landed,
In a delirious state,
I picked debris out of me,
Like arrows, I pulled and gasped.
I laid the strings of flesh and fat,
back over the cuts and wounds.
I tore the shirt I wore,
and wrapped it tight round them.
Whatever juices flowed,
cemented them to my grated skin.
Nothing like reopening a wound.
Aware of the dangers below me,
and of the ones that could reach me,
Humans are easy prey,
to easy.
There is no fun in stalking.
Somehow I got out of that swamp,
Like Clash of the Titans.
Wriggling from twig to branch,
clinging to every elevated mass.
Panting, quietly,
and cringing if the water stirred.
Now my hands,
If you look close, I can show you more than two,
though tiny they are.
And only one hand was burned,
Like some Freddie Crooger.
I do have nicks around my body,
from bloody fights with siblings,
even if it was to hold them close,
they dug their nails into me
and I would bite my tongue so as not to wince,
or flinch and release them,
I could never forgive myself if I had.
And this is the last I am aware of,
A double attack of chicken pox.
Right here,
between my eyes,
middle of my forehead,
Three spots,
Three moons,
Three things that I forget but am unconscious of.
Perhaps a charming lover will show me others,
but as of present,
I must walk
and burn my feet raw, again,
They already stick to the road,
leaving some crusty residue.
I was lucky, they say, to have so few scars,
I was lucky, I say, to heal so well.
Scars shouldn't be a disgrace or a sin.
They show you've done a few things,
In real life.
The more ugly,
the more painful and deep,
show you can take it.
And there's always a story to go along with it.
Oh! Now! I remember, from a knife,
a tool of some kind.
Slipped and stabbed it's own yeilder,
how true.
"He who throws the stone, also throws his arm"
Upwards
Robin Red Breast
Dear Robin,
The time is near when I shall meet the one I dream of, my love.
He's staying here,
We're going there.
And as it is spring,
I ask you a favor,
sing your best to my lover!!
For I fear he does not know I love him,
or senses that I doubt.
Perhaps if he does not hear you,
another will surely remark on your charming voice.
He is so far away (and yet so close!)
yet I know you are near to us both,
your brothers fly and grace both our lands.
Court my lover as you would your own,
Romance him as you know my heart does,
But be quick to tell me any dangers,
whether they be his own or mine.
I keep your feather and await your arrival,
with a frustrated patience (you know my temper!).
I know your loyalty to the season,
Bring bright early this year!!
Lift his face to your voice,
so that I may gaze upon his handsome beauty.
And taunt him,
so that I may grace a touch or two.
You know my love for you,
I have set the ribbons out
and gathered the twigs for you.
The stone bath is full of fresh water
and there's a steady supply of your favorite seeds.
There is also a crop grown for you,
the bugs you love feast upon the leaves,
you'll find it in the corner,
by the Crepe Myrtle.
The cats have bells on this year,
and both are fat and slow from a winter of kept indoors.
Visit him soon, my love,
Your friend,
the Wind.
Upwards
Angel White
That was her hair,
So fine as not to be seen.
For many years it was this way,
and it grew strong and thick and long,
As to be mistaken for the flowing wind.
Her beauty did not stop there.
Sweet, smooth, unblemished skin,
Modern Marilyn Monroe.
But not so fair, could tan to a deep basking glow,
As if the sun made an exception to her,
and dared not burn her skin.
As everyone knows, look to the eyes
And there you saw,
the most brilliant blue.
You were mesmerized.
By such compassion and acceptance,
Through a kinship of love,
So distinctively human,
You whispered a prayer of awe,
"Surely a gift of God"
The blessing of divinity,
Is apparent still,
My sweet sister, whom I adore
Please know, I love you so
Upwards
Hail on Needles
She curled up beside me,
as tight as she could.
Wet from not what thundered outside,
but what flashed within her.
I smiled and curled around her,
in a full body embrace.
In the night, you could not tell the furry difference between us,
We never could,
(It amazed me how two bodies, regardless of shape or size, fit so
perfectly together.)
We were both mesmerized,
Excited and exhausted,
and tantalized with the sympathy,
empathy,
for what roared and danced behind the glass.
But although our eyes were wide,
her's as honey as the sun on a Susan's face,
and mine as emerald as from Columbia or a British isle,
And we shivered,
through the mounds of heirloom quilts stitched from old flour sacks and
calico dresses,
that still smelled of the ancestral sea voyage made long ago.
We were in a state of such contentment,
that we stayed conscious just to savor,
This slice of Heaven.
Upwards
Meat Eaters
Three hours late,
No call but a busy signal,
Made decent money?
Not for the cost.
Time not spent alone (but on the phone)
But it always seems so inside, here, me
Cold
But not cold enough, to shiver or even sweat,
To know that I am, indeed, alive
Curse or pleasure?
Came home,
from a friendly stranger,
to another prozac addict.
Give what liberties you can to please,
You may not make anyone happy,
But you can try,
Wonder if that will win you anything at the pearly gates?
To meet another,
Whom I wish I would not see,
Not quite so often,
Least with some escape or privacy.
How ironic, in an undeligthful way!
People who live alone,
Or with some space,
are privileged to escape reality.
Those you can't afford such,
Fantasize
Are they made sane or not?
Which is the true corruption?
Who is to say?
"Not I!!" snickers from the Peanut Gallery
I was welcomed by mother's endearing words,
Mommy Dearest.
"I wish you didn't exist"
Ones I've heard before,
She said some others,
perhaps ones I have not heard,
but my mind, my soul, was mumbling back, in echoed silence,
"I do too...sometimes"
Sometimes because there is an undeniable joy to living
People tell me that my life,
Lives as they can only see it,
is cruel
I never noticed
Never compared for a negative or positive output
It just is, was,
It is not a contradiction,
just simply complex
Perhaps painfully so
But although vast are damned
They are happy
Why make them productive?
Useful?
Or God forbid, it seems,
some intelligent or worthwhile being.
Suppose I am the fool to ask for such.
Upwards
Empire State Building
Ask yourself quick, if you believe in fairies. If you do, clap your
hands!!
Take my hand and fly like Peter Pan!
*SMACK*
Oh god, that hurt
You fucking daft bitch, don't you ever learn?!?
My metallic world
The coolness of the smooth walls,
I almost forget the warmth of you,
lying against them.
Living in a lunchbox.
No light
I'll go blind!
Like the newts in caves,
So pale,
Transparent,
So fragile - inside that hard shelter of solid rock
Now I'll never distort what I see
Maybe I'll smile now,
Like I use to,
Like blinds do,
Big goofy wonderful grins
A loss in sense, is perhaps, a gain in another,
Sanity.
No change
I'll go weak!
The smallest, silliest, stupidest, insignificant thing,
Can kill or worse, torture
Perfectly suited to this environment
Now I'll never adapt
No space
I'm trapped!
Worse than an adrenaline crazed cat in a corner,
The distance is the same, no change,
"Five Feet" some movie that started with a P, French
No Edgar Allen Poe pit or pendulum,
Buried alive? Taphephobia
But a constant state of terror drives away the fear,
Or buries it...
No voices
Save my own!
Which screams, unrelentlessy in my...head?
But I do not know if what I hear is what I speak or what I speak is
what I hear,
Can I hear?
Can you hear?
You're not here.
Save in here.
Ole' Noggin.
"Hehehe" The Hobbit or something like that,
Never anywhere else
Nothing
I run my tongue slowly against the walls,
Nothing
No taste, no sweat, no erotic or sickening flavor,
No amour,
Nor temperature,
No texture of interest,
No notch or grove or imperfection to explore with pleasure,
Who desires perfection?
Alone
Amazed I can breath,
for how long?
Nothing feels thick or thin, not yet
I've already searched
Pressed and pried
Beat and pushed and kicked
Groaned and screamed
Scratched and clawed
Till I swore,
I bleed some tangy rust like tasting fluid
I continue, with less enthusiasm, to look
Now all there is to do is, wait,
alone, with myself
Of all horrors!!
Why must I be encased
inside a living flesh
a physical state of impairment
In my metal box
I wonder what the thing called life would be like
if I had been borne into here
I had never felt so beautiful, as in the eyes of his
Upwards