Friday, August 12, 2011

Watch me

The hairs on my body start to rise
as I feel at first what can only be described
as a low thrumming vibration
and then a discernible rush of blood
to my head, chest and hands.
Face heating, eyes blurring
the muscles in my scalp contract
my whole body stands on end
and I feel like the Universe is watching me.
The night sky bares Her soul,
and between the stars
I see the questioning arch of Her brow
the unflinching mirror of Her gaze
both whispering a challenge

Show me! 
Let me taste the breath from your breast! Let me see what lies inside your chest!
Is that a heart on a countdown, less alive with every beat?
Or a ticking time bomb--waiting to go off and burst through the prison of your shell and explode out through your lips, hands, and feet--every time you hear a sound that reminds you that you are alive?!
and I whisper back
"...Watch me"

Monday, August 8, 2011

Break your vows of love

If your eyes say yes
I will become less and less until I disappear from myself
I will die to myself and that broken basement of regrets.

If your eyes say yes
I will tear my heart out my chest
I will forfeit my king-piece in this cosmic game of chess
I will love them no less that you have left me so blessed
And before I return this body's lease, I will ask for wings from my dreams
To fly my soul to that final destination before death takes me there senseless

If Your eyes only say yes
The four cardinal directions I will bend
Until the past of the East merges with future of the West

If Your eyes only say yes
I will cut out the pattern of the constellations on my breast
Until the stars themselves in my hollow spaces coalesce.
I will go back in time to assassinate the past and pre-emptively kill the future
So there will be nothing but the present left.
I will trample Time and stamp on Space's head.

If Your eyes only say yes
All of this, one day, one day, I will contest
Because today I am compelled to confess
That it is only Man who can leave himself dispossessed
From that which even the stars haven't been blessed.

You see, Love and choice were never made for the mountains, oceans or heavens
Love and choice were never made for even the angels to invest.

...But tell me, truly, dear wonder of the universe:
How can something borrowed love another like itself?

I am a temporary flux--the smallest vibration of a red blood cell
Coursing through the human veins of god.
Everything about me is conditional!
I did not say "Be!" and simply decide to exist.
My every moment is borrowed
Even the intangible between my heart and mind are on lease to me.

How can I make any of these borrowed parts the object of undying Love?
How can I make a vow of Love under the temporary roof of this halfway home?

Are you beginning to see why the ultimate goal of our Love cannot be one another?
We are borrowed beings and we owe ourselves to Life.
We are receptacles for Her blessings.
All of us, in all our differences are Her children.

So you see, I can not give you my heart
It is not mine to give away, and neither can I accept yours
Because our hearts--those mirrors of light
Ultimately only belong to the source of all Light.

Come, throw off those chains around your ribcage
Stop making a gift of your alchemist's stone
To the Earth's passing travelers.
Come, unveil your heart
For a jewel is still a jewel
Even if it is wrapped in the rags of mortality
And auctioned in the marketplace of yesterday's desires and tomorrow's demands.
Come! let us leave this throng of clinging hands!

Let us burn through the frozen shores of our half-loves
And sail past this bay of endings forever born!
Let us stay up all night just to tell the Dawn
That we remember our birth among the stars!
With hearts broken open, let us turn to the sky
And reflect those rays until we flood over with light
So that we just might be like the Sun for one another
Even if it is just for one moment.

Friday, August 5, 2011


I could stand here
and tell you everything about myself
I could tell you
that I am a child of the revolution.
That I have lived
through both religious and material ideology.
That I was born on the longest night of the year
and that to this day
I spend almost every hour of the night awake.
I could tell you
what keeps me up at night.
We could talk of love stories
that put the ink on paper to shame.
I could tell you how the night
is secretly an alchemist
how She turns my tears
into pearls of laughter.
But how will you really know
what drives me?
Or what lies at the heart of my heart?

We see the world as we are

and so I ask
Where is one who has the being, the presence
to see beyond their self? 
Where is one who can close his/her eyes
and see things as they are?
Where are those remnants of stardust, shining
and watching the sea of the universe
without so much as a judging glance or lingering gaze?

confessions p. 11

I don't come to these pages
to write poetry, or any such thing.
And yet, sometimes my words
seem so strange and familiar to myself
in a way only a poem could describe.
I come back to this pen and paper
to reclaim my sanity
which is itself an act of insanity
in the confines of this language.
In reality, I come back to discover a new language
so I can go out and use it in the world.
I come back
through the late hours of the night
bouncing thoughts off the wall facing me
building up the muster to ask
what I am too afraid or busy to ask during the day
and in the company of others.
Sometimes I am transported by a flitting face
in a wave of memory. Sometimes
I see the spiderwebs of my intentions.
Some nights my heartstrings are unloosened
others, they are fine tuned
for the impossible harmony of beauty.
The night is always my confidante.
She is the keeper of my hearts' secrets.
She is my unforgiving mirror.
She knows my words so well
I can only speak to her in haiku poetry.
I whisper to her, yell at myself
and sometimes she reminds me to laugh
and I do, until the sky shakes
and the stars become blurred streaks.


I am a mere passerby
I can pack my life in a bag
and hit the road with a bit of money
and a ready supply of smiles.
I am blessed by the gift and generosity of a sister
by the strength of character of a father
who is also a great story teller
and by the love of a mother
at whose feet lie the doorway
to the only heaven I will know.
I am a wayfaring stranger
a witness, and a recipient.
I am blessed by the ability
to see with my heart.
I am blessed to witness
this sea of being and becoming.
Though I am but the smallest detail
in a tapestry far too intricate for words
I am blessed by the ability to create
instill, and interpret meaning.
And though I am but the creation
of forces and influences
far beyond my understanding
I am blessed
by the ability to think
reflect and make manifest.