October 31, 2012 § 2 Comments
“Write every day, line by line, page by page, hour by hour. Do this despite fear.For above all else, above imagination and skill, what the world asks of you is courage, courage to risk rejection, ridicule and failure. As you follow the quest for stories told with meaning and beauty, study thoughtfully, but write boldly. Then, like the hero of the fable, your dance will dazzle the world.”
– Robert McKee
October 31, 2012 § Leave a comment
The sweet sweep of love that
Courses through me
Leaves a bitter tang of doom
In its wake
In the back of my throat.
I love you so much that
Pain seems right
Seems the only way to fully
Possess you, control you.
I want to lock you in
A dark room
Keep you and force you to
Depend on me
Make you be mine.
But only sometimes.
October 29, 2012 § Leave a comment
The New Moon Economy
We’ve all been in towns
that wouldn’t have us, whose woods
beyond the cemetery
hide houses made of leaves,
their windows lit low
by peat fires, the slow stink
of heat rising through trees
then sinking into grass, the mounds
that seem to shrug and settle.
And the exiles we are, in overcoats
and heavy shoes, we present
our sticky faces to the tellers
and soda jerks, the lovely girls
cracking gum at the luncheonettes,
and we’re told to leave, simple
as that, told to walk our sorry selves
back to sea, back to sod, back
to wherever we come from which, funny
enough, is a place a lot like
this one, happy once and
lovely and now turned
like the moon to black.
October 28, 2012 § 2 Comments
I very rarely have the time to celebrate Halloween as it always falls during my final exams, but this year we were invited to Rezann’s birthday party and we simply had to attend.
Our make-up and costumes were extremely impromptu, but here is what we ended up with.
- Graftobian FX wheel white.
- L’oreal True Match foundation in Ivory.
- Essence Fix and Matte loose powder in Translucent.
- Maybelline Define-A-Lash mascara in black.
- Rimmel pressed eyeshadow in black.
- Rimmel eyeliner in black.
- Random cheap face-paint ‘pencils’ in white, black and red.
October 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
April 8th out my upstairs window.
The white oak is reaching miniature hands toward me,
toward everyone, a big sphere of little hands,
each holding a sprig of seaweed
from the earth-ocean they rise, faceless, out of.
Catkins be their name.
They are not seeds. Acorns are the seeds
of these strong-standing, reach-down-deep elders.
The catkin parsley they hold
has some other purpose for their continuing.
This foam of exuberance, extrabubbly in the greenery,
are male flowers of hopeless innumerability,
clumps of alphabet on the ground.
Catkins are strands of pollen.
The females they are looking for are microscopic,
high up and pollinated by the wind.
Why some language is so beautiful it makes us cry
we do not know, just that we want to hear it again.
Catkin beget acorn beget oak. It is true.
Catkin begat acorn begat oak.
But sometimes the sequence is broken—
too much rain, too damp for too long,
so there are very few acorns in the fall,
and even fewer oak trees
beginning to grow next spring.
There is a waiting we can learn from trees,
something deeper than patience. They keep
our soul’s perfume in the resin and in the grain
of their spelling, in their spilling this scattered
expensiveness. Let me stay in love
with such becoming, the sounds we hear and make,
as we cry out to give the night
something kin to catkins,
or maybe more like peepers
that come singing out of low places
in late March, their notes and alphabet,
peepers and catkins in syncopation,
to remind us how another round
will come that never was.
*That last verse is just pure gold…I love it!
October 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
October 24, 2012 § Leave a comment
XVII (I do not love you…)
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Translated by Stephen Tapscott