spaceoasis: (Default)
2011-02-22 01:27 pm
Entry tags:

Red

Stuttering against my teeth, my tongue catches words
Some of these are not real, others flash as flashcards
In the theater of my mind, I see pictures and faces
They do not speak, it is my nostalgia that speaks
Opens their eyes to the depth behind them in life

When in reality, nothing much lies behind pupils
Besides more black, yet blindfolded I can feel
The speed bumps of thought, the inhale-exhale
I know what you will say, so I am not interested
In your future, your predictable hunger and cold

Something protects me from surprise and boredom
And they are the regularities of this line, this stanza
Filling in incomplete thoughts in the space after form
Calls for more, the finishing touch, one last push
To finish and listen for the pleasure of writing poetry.

Just keep writing and the mysteries will reveal
Play on whatever level you can, subterranean
Motifs the mud, lofty ambitions red blossoms
I have no love for mud, swollen like fat flash
Squelching under my foot, it wants to pull me under

My skin color is freshly fallen leaves drying
I see the lines running through it like veins
Gravity and I am green, hiding red underneath
Blood and flowers in the day under white sun
White purists dangle lowly for midnight moth

But it cannot have me, I am red and it is green
I may camouflage under wrinkled leaves
But my flushing blood tells me I am as rare
As the red blossom, and my wounds tell me
Slipping away, blood tells me I am not infinite

Crimson is my flesh, I am closer to fire than sun
I am unleashed with kerosene and flint,
It is the tinder, browned my skin, woody monoliths
I am the lightning, the spark of flame,
Like treachery and destruction, inhumane

I am red, the deepest slowest of the colors
I am scarlet, tinge and rouge, glamorous
I am crimson screaming murder, seductive
I am incarnadine, the tragedienne singing
Of her torrid affairs in the infrared desert.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2011-02-15 08:40 am
Entry tags:

Last Monday Open Mic at Rainbow House

Every monday is bean night though the beans
have since been replaced with pot luck
bikes on the lawn and cars out into the street
dozens of people holding instrument cases
the kitchen by the sliding door
has paper lanterns hanging from string
the living room is breathing coloristic muse
metallic tassels from New Orleans
sweat dripping from eyelashes on the west wall
across that to the east is powder azure sky
massive hand pointing at a brain
technicolor fingers of god and Adam blend
above the open windows and the seated crowd
OM tapestries and Beatles posters
paper carpets zooming across the ceiling
the organ, elephant supporting leaning
towers of piano keyboards and guitars
couches, hair on three faces of the room
combed through by legs squeezed knee to knee
the night begins past nine, names float
on the sign up sheet orderless vapor
Lisa, dark eyebrows and pixie dancer
performs new song on keyboard, You Crazy Man,
a silent evocation of deep breathing
chasing feather in storm by tall Broadway
obsidian African, ship of sardonic song
sails across guitar blues of the Atlantic
Brieanna belted dress, wide eyes meet smiling
I sit on the bottom bunk my printed soul
on the pillow bedfellow with my friends
turn's up, I sit on a red velvet foot stool
My name's Darice, this is my first time
performing-- the crowd roars for virgin blood
like we always do and I enter, my voice
trembling with pulse, I receive, my chest
fills, awakened breath carries rhythm through
I lumber back to my seat deaf to applause
until seated I hear its last calls
echoing the silence of what I've become
drums, throaty and deep like the elementals
paranoid guitar, electric fusion jam
Eliot Smith cover and her lover's comedy act
David's prelude, his cousin's egg shaker
all stand up for the midnight goodbye
all instruments in for No Woman, No Cry.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2011-01-19 08:38 pm
Entry tags:

Clearing the Water

“Understood the poem” for the first time
and the three hundred sixty degree
sphere around me collapsed with
the chanting spoken in silence
incanted by transmission of
word, but how silent the momentary
blast when all violence is frozen
as the remembered moment before
everything changed. “It was as if
it became altogether intelligible,”
poems and jazz and expression
and pleasure intrinsically seeded.
Like all poetry blossoms from an
internal spring, how it touched
my lips in weeping, in honor at the
crumbling facade, at the dignity
of the mountain goat, chewing
not heeding the dark poison of ink.
But these are what fell away,
the steepness and treachery of the mountain
gave way to a lightness of being
“a feeling of transparency” of all
human endeavors to be alike in their
common enemy of failure and death.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2011-01-19 08:16 pm
Entry tags:

Hot Springs

Hot Springs

The warmth of sulfur springs wafts from your towel.
The silk of black, magnetic rocks crawls under my fingers
when I touch the back of your neck, and you the nape of my throat
where the pulse of “Love Life” carved on the boulder still ring.
As the melody of the words spoken underwater
the pious touch of my feet on your chest
and the candlelit ruckus all around us
dissolves you into plasma,
melts me back into spring.
Still, unclothed you smell sweet, as from afar, or below
the moon shining through iron-willed curtains,
then to waste you lay barren souls, and let the old
skin erode and the youth erupt.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2011-01-15 01:52 pm
Entry tags:

Downtown Streets

If we flew over the morning dew
and waded through the midnight sky
we would never know what it is to die
yesterday was just a dream in a cocoon

tomorrow we feast on leaves in the blue
today we take our time and nothing comes too soon

a little girl she dances on the street
with the man busking on the guitar
their eyes never meet and her smile will fade
but her grandfather with the hat
will remember the way she twirled
and the joyful rhythm of her feet

one day she'll sing and dance again
in harmony with the love in her hands
yesterday was just a dream in a coccoon
and tomorrow would only come too soon
spaceoasis: (Default)
2011-01-06 08:44 pm
Entry tags:

The Fields

In the fields
stranding together a headdress of flowers
white clovers
to catch your daydreams

In the fields
blowing dandelion seeds apart
white parachutes
dispersing them all grants you a wish

pluck effortlessly
weeds from the ground that easily give

In the fields
lying spread among stalks of your fingers
white fragrance
your teeth in a sweet mouth,
I pick a flower to me

nip the stem with two nails
a little sap caramelizes the petals
its veins golden

In these pages
drying and pressed between
white paper
you've strewn petals cleaving to my spine
holding onto our story.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2010-12-25 11:00 pm
Entry tags:

IMAGO

Underneath a mulberry leaf, a worm spins
two hundred thousand times, thus begins
a twelve day long metamorphosis,
one strand to enshroud itself in a chrysalis.
Inside the cocoon permeates a deep dream
that dissolves the worm's outgrown scheme
its lengthy abdomen shrinks and its jaws
dissolve as destruction brings to growth a pause.
The imago emerges as caterpillar foretells
from the memory of a few remaining cells:
discs containing the whole of its becoming
the catepillar had carried all his time being.
Latent inside the current skin sleeps infinite
choices the heart can make, and to unite
with the One beyond its many faces of expression
is the highest aspiration in living intention.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2010-11-04 10:24 pm
Entry tags:

Conversation

There is no certainty, only a price
Sometimes too steep, I will not play

Understandably you have your fears
but I am here to soothe your pain

My pain gives me strength,
temptations I can resist.

I tempt you into nothing that
you are not already seeking.

I am satisfied in my daily life
I need nothing more than this.

Lies, you are angry and alone,
afraid to taste your own desire.

I desire only my peace of mind
and never to feel hurt again.

You live, you die. You will love
and you will hurt and be hurt again.

I could never release my heart
for anybody's amusement.

No farce, no games, readily my heart
seeks out yours to comfort and soothe.

Only then can your own wounds close
after comforting another worse than you?

Indeed my own heart is broken too
and through healing you, I seek fulfillment.

I do not want your comfort,
do not pressure me to change.

It is the one thing we can do for each other
why stay in all that pain?

My suffering is who I am,
without it I am naught.

I am nothing compared to your pain,
but I wish to show you something new.

But there is nothing else for me.
Even you will not be lasting.

I cannot satisfy all of you forever
only now can I promise any love.

This is all for your amusement,
games of love and not devotion!

It is the only thing that soothes my grief
at having loved and lost so young.

You have never loved since then
only have you gone through the motions.

You care for nobody but yourself
your pain insulates you from mine.

Right, I care not for you and your games
I seek a wife and not a lover.

I would never promise my future
to one so cowardly in the face of another.

Do not call me coward,
or mock me my decisions!

You are only fooling yourself
if you think yourself better alone.

I can do much better than you,
find somebody truly devoted.

You will find one reliant on you
simpering and delicate to be your fool.

That is what you want me to be to you!
So then you can feel needed and fulfilled.

Yes the only thing that soothes my pain
is the swoon of losing myself to you.

That is not far from the truth,
you are an addict to love.

Lack of love feeds my pain
is it so dishonorable to want joy?

I am just another shell to you,
I will bring you no joy in the end.

Let me bring you joy
deep from my untouched resevoirs.

Bringing you joy will fulfill me
and I will no longer suffer.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2010-10-01 05:08 am
Entry tags:

The Gardenia

The Gardenia

She shared
her joy with me:
A small gardenia
floating in glass.
The scent

she adored
and brought to my nose.
I drank deeply;
she was pleased.
At bikram yoga

to regain my breath,
I imagined
that gardenia;
its honest perfume.
I deserved joy.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2010-09-29 10:30 pm
Entry tags:

Conflict

Looking between her hands
she holds her baby girl.
the child's father is gone
she hadn't wanted to do this alone.

the girl grows up
given everything she hadn't wanted.
the child's father comes and goes
she watches him from the window.

the mother remarries
has a son with this new man.
the girl watches their family
wondering when her father will arrive.

she leaves for college
dates unavailable men
hurts herself over and over again
for failing to connect to her father.

the mother waits for her to return
so that she can take her under her wing again
but the girl stays out late
playing lonely games.
spaceoasis: (Default)
2010-09-29 10:28 pm
Entry tags:

The Beach

The Beach

Lying on my back
my face to the side
I see the curve of the world:
the sky, a dome above
the earth, a globe below.

The sun is felt by its presence
the ocean, vast in her breath
and there is nothing between them.
As beings we sail where they meet
then retreat into the ground swimming.

We are as birds just landing from flight
and our minds, kelp washed ashore,
our feelings as gentle as the sand.
It is so soft as it yields to touch,
how can it be just one thing?

How are there so many grains?
You will look forever if you wanted someone in the world just like you.
It means to move in the wind when you are a grain of sand.
A grain of sand must always be surrounded by others, many.
Else what keeps it from being all that is left from a star-- the beginning of another one?