Tag: memory

Categories
Poetry

I am

I am not
       a shadow of the past

a constant reminder,
       the feeling, sound, the smell,
only a bit kinder
          still capable of perfect hell

how could it be
       an appearance keen
hair a mess and eyes uncanny
       feels like something that should have been

left in yesterday
       so why should it appear
         it couldn’t then stay
             yet the similarity’s now here

I cannot be a shadow

       I am solid, tangible

taste me
       don’t waste me

fated to meet often
         fated to part again

please me
       don’t tease me

fated to laugh together
         fated to get better

keep me
       don’t creep me

fated to fear each other
       fated to love some other?

I cannot be a shadow

       I produce sound, reflect light
I am more than imagination
                                    and yet,

no more than mind
still too kind
fuck that noise!
you have no idea
until the pedestal falls
and it always gets knocked over
amidst the crimson & clover
tracking texts, relentless calls
you have no idea
distrust that poise
I mean, no one’s that kind

I cannot be a shadow

except of a doubt
to ponder and wonder
what’s she about
of course, lacking solid evidence
the conclusion is drawn
at least a vestige
at times a reflection pool, drink
but rarely so calm, that image manifests least
marshmallow fluff, and not serious stuff
ephemeral, that’s for sure
immaterial and yet a painted city girl
because it’s a capitalist material world
she is a shade, phantomed, reduced
for that is what our minds will do:
                   concoct and reduce

and so
              I am
though mostly
              I am not
while this grasping persists
                           truth resists
and my reality is rot
        mind-made, illusion-caught
please stop!
            and see
                    the light in me
    though with delusions fraught
            and sad!
how sorrowful and absent glad!

the shocks are shot
       stability knocked out
as if by a naga-induced wave
  such a close shave!
        moments of despair
        threatening to take a life away
        only through blessings can one remain
        believe it or not
please stop!
            and try to see
this element of humanity
made of five elements, impure
air, water, space, earth and fire

try me
       don’t buy me

fated to come home
       yet still fated to roam

kiss me
       don’t miss me

fated to touch hearts
       fated to loathe parts

adore me
       don’t ignore me

fated to be shaken
       please let us awaken

I am not a shadow of the past

perhaps I am an apparition of the future
       if I were anything at all

but what am I?

moment by moment
       who am I?

if I am anyone at all

Categories
Dreams Poetry

Feels Like Summer (poem)

It’s funny now to think
of all the things that bothered me
of all the pain and suffering
of all the time, temporary
of all the boredom and writing
                     (there was a lot of it)

of all the clouds that passed me by
of all the insults I let fly
of each and every teenage guy
that harassed me – pretty damn good
                    I gotta say

of all the humdrum slow sales days
of all the ones who got away
of all the patrons that did play
of all the couples, straight and gay
                    (had to use the rhyme)

of all the goddamn wasted time
of all the lemons and no lime
all of the coke, the hash, the crime
of getting the nickel not the dime
of all the puke, and dye and slime
of all the nights I spent awake
of all the pictures I did take
of all the muffins I did bake
of all the calmness I did fake
all for the goodness’ sake!

It’s funny now to think
that all that suffering
had its purpose and its place
carried me through this time and space
with a name I tried to lose, but stayed
with an identity that just won’t fade
with a childlike quality that wants to play
believing summer starts in May
wearing bare feet in the stream
ever remembering the dream
       (I’d never lose the Buddhist theme)

for while it helps me to escape
it helps me to survive
it helps me to help others
it helps me to be kind
it helps me be of service
it helps me to be strong
it helps me to be happy
it helps me to get along
it helps me every when
it helps me every where
it helps me every how
it helps to simply care

and certainly, when we met
It was my summer reappeared
all the pain and suffering
all the heartache, all the tears
all the happiness, the joy
all the hope and possibility
all the sunshine and noise
all the soft tranquility
all the disappointment
all the vanity
all the goddamn fears
all the animosity
all the craving and the yearn
all the cash I couldn’t earn
all the parties and the crash
all the littered trash
how did these memories appear
      dependent upon you?
how did all my hopes and dreams
      dissolve in summer’s blue?

NEW!
Listen to the poem on Youtube

Categories
Poetry

Lost

I lost your number
a long time ago
— right away

after the lock broke
it was clear
I couldn’t be trusted

how things have changed
and mistaken memory
makes you
bigger, then smaller than
you were, are

who are you now?
I wonder

I lost my privilege
to know

the you
grown in moments
now passed

Categories
Buddhism Poetry

Absent Slam

The lid closed slowly —
it used to slam,
startling you

lots of loud noises
offended, scared you

one day, I saw
I had become a loud noise

now I’m quiet,
tamed and evenly tempered

my mind is trained,
practiced, wise

the very things you wished
by the very method you hated —

blessings.

I see the toilet seat
fall — slowly
silently

and wish blessings
upon you
still

Categories
Dreams Saturday Expressions

Three Dreams | Session 13

I’ve had four to five memorable dreams over the past year. Here are three of them.

Chapter One

In the first dream, I was back in a student house.
I had to pack up and be out by the next day.

Too tired to do anything that evening,
I went to bed in a sleeping bag
on a mattress on the floor.

A recent partner was spending the
night in the other room.

I had a large upturned couch
in the next room and spilled
jewellery and beads all over the carpet. 

The next morning, he got up to leave.

Aren’t you going to help me? I asked.

No. I just needed a place to stay the night.

Oh. Disappointment.
Also thinking, how the hell
am I going to do this alone?

When are you going to get it?
I’m not here to help you.

He emphasizes
what should have been obvious.

Chapter Two

In the second dream, I was walking
down the street to my mom’s house.

He was walking back to a van
parked outside her house.

I was surprised.
Surely he would have told me he was in town.
Disappointment.

He gets in a tour/camper bus. He is with his ex,
some girls from work and school, and a new face.

Without restraint I put my hand on his crotch
and aggressively groped him while choking out
Nice to see you. Thanks for saying hi.

I exited, lacking any shred of dignity.

Chapter Three

In the third dream,
I was walking through mist.

He came out of nowhere.
Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to talk?

I tried. Do you want to now?

Why didn’t you tell me?
He faded back into the fog.  

Predictable.

Categories
Poetry

The Worst Thing

written in 2013

It’s selfish and conceited, but sometimes I like to think I was your worst.
I’m the little period in your life you swallow pills to forget.
I’m the worst thing to ever happen to you.

I kept you up all night, tossing in your bed,
while thoughts went ’round your head,
like:
who the fuck is she, and
did she mean what she said?

I’m a little piece of nightmare that got stuck in your dream teeth.
I’m the ghost devil on your shoulder, that you thought you’d shed.

Every so often you recall what I did,
and think:
shit, what did I get into, and
can it never happen again?

I was conceited when I loved you; I was selfish when I left.
I tossed words without abandon; I belittled what we had.

Misery loves company, was my battle cry.
I hung the phrase on all my banners, and
let harsh words fall from my lips.

Each second I felt scorned, I thought would be my last
Every teardrop that fell from my eye,
you knew I blamed on you.
I stuck a dagger in your chest, hoping to rake through
your ribs and crack them down to dust.

I love to imagine how I was the worst thing to ever happen to you,
and in that I will be immortalized.

I’m the slanderous tale told at the cabin, and ghost story for the young.
A cautionary tale of psycho bitches, and what can come undone.
A warning for your friends, a comedy for the bored,
a thank-your-lucky-stars-it-wasn’t-you for the unappreciative ignored.

I will outlive all the rest, based on my infamy of awfulness.

And then I feel downright bad.

Because I loved you in the moment. I treasured what we had.
I trusted every word you spoke, believed each lie you said —
I think we both did —

and when I started believing I was the
worst thing that could happen to you, that I was crazy and insane,
I ran away and still blame you, even if it’s all in vain.

Because I was the worst thing to ever happen to you.

Categories
Poetry

Good Grief

Charlie was a good boy
zig zagging over creeks, through fields
a time long gone yet still remembered

some folks willing to keep memory alive
while children’s minds burn away
the fire stoked by fatigued parents

no longer packing lunches in their poverty
abandoning maternal urges in ugly rebellion
against nature instead of society

how cruel that Charlie’s world is gone
a fantasy a child shall never more live
the cool grass beneath bare feet now plastic turf

upon which lolls a kid, game controller in hand
and channel changing between two minute videos
five minutes now too long an attention span

for the precious lives establishing
our future, autodidactic meets idiocracy
I miss nature, and civil society