Saturday, December 20, 2014

Where I'll find you


Finding Lightness



I search for you 
as snow recedes as milk stains on grass

you with the glint of dragon fire in your eyes
you with the naughty smirk on your lips

Carry me to where the forest 
is greening & lake is squirming with fish

Above the bare maple trees
I see the sun's marmalade cheeks

Even as grey clouds
billow as  fraying ribbons across sky   

There will be no winter blues for me
No rainy days to swallow bitter pills

I'll write on tea leaves
while drinking warm apple cider

I'll find lightness
in belly of winter, flint the shadows

with dawn fingers, 
and strike & strike at the core

That ember that leavens
bread & shapes my sandcastles to garden

That water that rises
above dry land & breaks into a storm-

I'll carry a black umbrella
creased with words & painting tubes-

Here, I'll wait for you
with a hundred blue balloons-  



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - For our last OpenLinkNight ~ Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all ~

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Breaking bread




While I carefully butter
the plumb belly of native bread
& sprinkle it with sugar,
his delicate fingers
would tear the bread into pieces
and dunk it in his warm coffee
like a wet tissue
Maybe it is out of habit
Or maybe it is to make it easier
for his dentures 
We are sliced apart
by more than 
a generation
a war
& my mother's elopement
Yet over the breakfast table 
In pajamas, grandpa and I
eat leisurely while shooing away the flies
waiting for our crumbs
Outside the sun rises
a yeast
browning the sugar fields
and settles between us
a bread
filling the spaces
what words couldn't


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - I am pleased to be your host for this last Poetics for 2014 
~  Thanks for the visit~

Sunday, December 14, 2014

To the muse


Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Here they come again
Puncturing your chest
With wires
To keep you from drowning

Your eyes are sallow glass
As your heartbeats
Go into an overdrive 
Grasping for pure oxygen
I admit
I lie to you

You are doing fine
When you say you cannot
Take it anymore
But your stubborn body
Holds on 
For more than 10 years
Defying the doctors who always 
Leave you with
Another knot
Another scar

I try to smooth over 
So you will talk to me
and listen to my journey 
See my knots, still untangled
See my scars, still fresh 
But you only hear yourself
Restless
In the couch bed
Insomniac, a depressed butterfly
Graying
The corners of the bedroom

*I wish to God I had made this world, this scurvy   
And disastrous place. I
Didn’t, I can’t bear it
Either, I don’t blame you, sleeping down there   
Face down in the unbelievable silk of spring,   
Muse of black sand,
Alone.

I don’t blame you, I know
The place where you lie.
I admit everything. But look at me.*   
Mom is also slipping into the same darkness 
Come back to us
Dad with your belly laughter
or I will
Come down to you.


Title and lines are inspired from James Wright ~

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - We are getting inspiration from the words of James Wright
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Friday, December 12, 2014

Pink in my mind


Pink Lake Hillier, Western Austrailia


I change the snowdrops
with sunny skies & lush trees
Here, my mind is pink
Tiding of flamingo calls 
And my feet, greening with buds



~0~0~0~



I float away
My eyes tracing the sky 
The lake bears me soft
as mother's hand on my cheek
humming a half-lullaby




Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Transforming Friday Hosted by Hannah
and Poetry Jam - Quiet Hosted by Peggy ~  I am trying to get back to my writing groove after a break ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Queen of the night


Epiphyllum oxypetalum
Queen of the Night
Photo by M. Penaranda



in darkest of nights
my hands open to receive you-
burst forth as lightning
unfolding every jagged line bold-
you are beautifully made


~0~0~0~



when the sky is dry
her hands are water
when night is cold, 
her hands are catching fire opals-
mother, thread my hands with yours




and Poetry Jam:   Hands - Trying my hand in tanka form as its been some time since I wrote one ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Haibun: Shark by the Lake



you are the radio star, whose dulcet voice enchants over the air.    you cast yourself a modern cultured man of the city with your progressive views on women and arts.   during a public event, when you noticed me out of all your young adoring fans, I felt like a winner being singled out by the city's brightest light.   

your silky voice
is summer's caress, i bloom
as night full of fireflies 


our second date is perfect  - dinner then coffee invite at your home by the lake.   i lean in for a sweet kiss, but what happens next is forever stitched in my memories.   you hit me, three times on the face with closed fists.    i fall on the ground with knees like water, but you are not done yet.   you put your hands on my throat to choke the wind from my lungs. your eyes are wild with desire.   violence is your opium rush.  doubts came, festering my confidence into silence. i felt like a loser for falling for your ego-sized games. 


your eyes, teeth are red
on my neck, your hands blacken - 
what animal are you?

This is the day I had looked forward to after 10 years.   You in the courtroom being charged by the police for sexual assault.  You have been fired from your job.  Your dark eyes are filled with worry.    An animal in the cage, caught and restrained by law and negative public opinion.   You hired a good defense lawyer to save you.  I read that she is the celebrity's shark, out to destroy all the witnesses, (including me).  No matter what the legal outcome will be next year, the real winners are the victims who are speaking out against the rape-culture mentality of our time.


above bony trees
hawk glides sleek as ivory sky-
I find my voice 



Jian Ghomeshi leaves College Park court with his lawyers on Wednesday, Nov. 26, 2014 after being released on $100,000 bail. This image - the accused flanked by his lawyers, surrounded by police, who are in turn surrounded by media - was a striking and revealing one, writes Christopher Hume.


Background:    This is our local version of USA's Bill Crosby story.   However the man in spotlight, Jian Ghomeshi is a celebrated CBC radio star, accused of sexual violence against women (15 stories), without their consent.   In Canada there is no time limitation on sexual violence; you can still be charged & sued even after 10 or more years has passed. You can read more here and here~


For D'verse Poets Pub - For Mary's prompt of Winners and Losers ~  I have not been around due to my studies and on-going home renovations.    I have one more week to go before my exams, and the renovations should be done by then ~   Thanks for the visit ~

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Rosebush, thin


bowed head, she is 
an old woman sinking to herself:  
thorns, stems, hips, perfume-
her bony fingers grasp
tight the last brown-burnt leaf

the soil is hard
stone-bed, mulched  
with twigs & pitted-black petals
milk-dust snow is a knife 
paring her delicate neck

the carbon air thins
hour by hour
knotting each pulse to static 
until only the roots
remain, meager as beggar's cup






My roses during springtime


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Make the abstract concrete ~  Hosted by Marina ~

I am writing less these days because I have to study for my upcoming exams ~  Thanks for dropping by ~

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Grant me my day





I search for myself
not
among the fallen leaves
black
bruised on rain-silted path

But
in stillness of afternoon sun
yellowing
the field, a river serene
sloped
to all echoes of passing birds

Here,
death is the smell of wood
here
earth is red nest, spaded deep with
fossils

Grant me my day
bending
to sip water from the sky
rocks
grass, sleeping trees, depths of
myself



Title inspired by Salvatore Quasimodo (in part):


Grant Me My Day

(Dammi il mio giorno)

Grant me my day;
so I might yet search myself
for some dormant face of the years
that a hollow of water
returns in its transparency
and weep for love of myself.



Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday's Mini-challenge:    Salvatore Quasimodo and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The dead man's journal

Grace @ Everyday Amazing


The dead man sits on wooden bench, rained with fallen leaves.
He marvels how sky light ripples the leaves
to cantaloupe gold, to dusky orange, to flaming red.
How the colors speak to him:
music interlude, flare of sunset, smell of overripe fruits-
Today, right now
pierces his numbed bones
as if his skin is made of a thousand dragonfly wings.

He gets a small jar to capture the air & scent of autumn.
He wants to slice & label 
Today, right now
With BIG, BOLD letters.
But the night wind is faster
sweeping leaves to decay & rot, 
wrapping them with glaze of first snowdrop-

Even now
time does not stop nor linger
Even though tomorrow means nothing
to the dead man now  
He feels the weight of his feet, moving as caterpillar
during last of summer nights:   voracious, hungry 
for every leaf, for every color shading the grass

He pens in his journal:  
Today I am hungry
and I have never felt so alive




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - We are getting inspiration from The Book of Dead Man by Marvin Bell ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Nightingale


By Fire Painter, Steve Spazuk


To fire painter

Draw me out of flames
Smoke streaking the air
Where there is darkness
Let your feather brush silvers

From out of soot & toxic air
Move your hand 
Etching my face, bones
To life until I am a bird

Singing at night 
Free of poisoned chemicals
Warbling of joy
To gentle moon



Note:  Steve Spazuk works are a reaction to the heavy use of pesticides in North America and the consequential poisoning of insect-eating birds.

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - 55 Words - Hosted by MamaZen
Shared with Poets United