One Hundred Words A Day
Monday, May 31, 2010
Circle of Life
Whose hands are
Whose eyes
Whose present
Even Death relent.
Whose hope
Whose dream
Whose life extended
Now blended
In mine.
Whose blue veins
crisscross my pale, freckled, back of hands
Whose future ran through the line of happiness and life, and other unclear folds.
Whose eyes
Reflecting back,
Looking out from our snapshot,
Nestled in my husband's chest
That unmistaken severity
Wounded gaze ¶ 1:57 PM 0 Comments
Whose hands are
Whose eyes
Whose present
Even Death relent.
Whose hope
Whose dream
Whose life extended
Now blended
In mine.
Whose blue veins
crisscross my pale, freckled, back of hands
Whose future ran through the line of happiness and life, and other unclear folds.
Whose eyes
Reflecting back,
Looking out from our snapshot,
Nestled in my husband's chest
That unmistaken severity
Wounded gaze ¶ 1:57 PM 0 Comments
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Beauty
Reaching for her face so cold, no trace of imperfection
Black eyes like coal, dark deep in contemplation
glisten
With joy
Soaring,
Until my wings were clipped.
Tumbling towards earth
I'm broken in million pieces
That instant
I had glimpsed at her cold beauty
I melted
in gratitude.
¶ 1:57 PM 0 Comments
Reaching for her face so cold, no trace of imperfection
Black eyes like coal, dark deep in contemplation
glisten
With joy
Soaring,
Until my wings were clipped.
Tumbling towards earth
I'm broken in million pieces
That instant
I had glimpsed at her cold beauty
I melted
in gratitude.
¶ 1:57 PM 0 Comments
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Write
Whatever you did not write, will never be written.
A door shut tight,
Train out of sight,
Memories erased.
Did they even exist?
vaporous air,
was smoke.
The worse death, to leave nothing behind.
But worst
for me, who love you,
now have nothing to trace back roots.
How will I discover, and uncover, pen in hand
An archeologist bending on her shovel, and dustpan.
How do I follow your handwriting like pebbles
to lead me home on forsaken paths
from the dark wood.
Whatever you didn't write, I will.
Open that door,
bring back that train
Now your memories are words.
You exist. ¶ 8:46 AM 0 Comments
Whatever you did not write, will never be written.
A door shut tight,
Train out of sight,
Memories erased.
Did they even exist?
vaporous air,
was smoke.
The worse death, to leave nothing behind.
But worst
for me, who love you,
now have nothing to trace back roots.
How will I discover, and uncover, pen in hand
An archeologist bending on her shovel, and dustpan.
How do I follow your handwriting like pebbles
to lead me home on forsaken paths
from the dark wood.
Whatever you didn't write, I will.
Open that door,
bring back that train
Now your memories are words.
You exist. ¶ 8:46 AM 0 Comments
Friday, May 21, 2010
Sieve
Take this sieve and sift
Rice from rocks.
It works in life too,
grading good from bad
sifting out
the right friends from wrong. ¶ 2:30 PM 0 Comments
Take this sieve and sift
Rice from rocks.
It works in life too,
grading good from bad
sifting out
the right friends from wrong. ¶ 2:30 PM 0 Comments
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Bullets
Ouch! Two bullets from different directions and more to come,
I stepped inside the human circle and into the minefield,
Still smiling, my upturned lips they thought a crescent axe
My dancing feet kick boxing stand.
No more than arrows that pierced, but their directed words shattered nonetheless as metal on impact
Loudly their barks traveled the distance like canine chorus, imitating each other's sounds
Feeding on fears
Territorial fights
An instinct, devoid of reasons.
Childlike, uninhibited... I break into an Impromptu
Following the rising sounds and stepping in sync with the measures, halting where the melody breathes
The notes are flying bullets that were strung into music
And the horror of their smallness, speed, destruction vanishes.
The circle is noose that hangs their spontaneity
Hang them like wet clothes
In sunless days
Until they smell of mold,
Their freshness yielding to decay
To a state tattered
Battered
Old
Frayed.
While I danced away .... ¶ 5:24 PM 0 Comments
Ouch! Two bullets from different directions and more to come,
I stepped inside the human circle and into the minefield,
Still smiling, my upturned lips they thought a crescent axe
My dancing feet kick boxing stand.
No more than arrows that pierced, but their directed words shattered nonetheless as metal on impact
Loudly their barks traveled the distance like canine chorus, imitating each other's sounds
Feeding on fears
Territorial fights
An instinct, devoid of reasons.
Childlike, uninhibited... I break into an Impromptu
Following the rising sounds and stepping in sync with the measures, halting where the melody breathes
The notes are flying bullets that were strung into music
And the horror of their smallness, speed, destruction vanishes.
The circle is noose that hangs their spontaneity
Hang them like wet clothes
In sunless days
Until they smell of mold,
Their freshness yielding to decay
To a state tattered
Battered
Old
Frayed.
While I danced away .... ¶ 5:24 PM 0 Comments
