Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Tree Love

Tilted tree, my limbs break for you.
My heart is cut by your metal leaves and my
skin feels rough like your bark.
You may swallow the water out of the nearby
pond. The rain will not come anytime soon.
You might die cold and lonely, but I will come
visit in any season, storm, or shades of grey
in the overcast blown sky...

When you loose you glitter patterned leaves,
I will pick them up for you.
I have an intention to use them...
To meld them into a sculpture.
I will transform into a tree.
Myself was meant to be you.
No medium could be more
grand then an old oak trees' wood.

My skin layers in more burnt umber, jagged,
shingle like shapes. My feet loose form and are
morphing into long and slender snake like roots
which weave through rocks in the healthy soil.
My arms are raise as boughs so birds to land on.
Smaller twigs grow into hefty branches budding with blossoms.
I will smell the sweet scent of flowers.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010


The further away you are,
the closer my mind feels
to the warmth of a bed of hot coals.
We seek out definitions to those we cannot
control our fate to.
We exploit spoiled oceans that are soups of waste
and yet we fail to contain an answer for hope.

The distance of land between us is not as far as
the underworld or as stars.
I reach for what is tangible such as a tangerine
or a cosmic dream.
I would pay gold for a ticket to a destination
that could be a possible utopia
to be truly alone since no one has reserved a
place for me in their lives.

Obsessive Daydreamer

Trapped in my own thoughts
of words left unsaid.
I wish to speak of them to a friend,
but they are nowhere near.
How can I function in a society that
involves action when all I do is
sit and think too much?
I entertain my imagination as I have a
continuous circus performing daring tricks
and astounding backflips.
I dizzy myself with images of flight, death as reality,
running free in flower fields, giving speeches, hosting parties,
contortion acts, opening my own gallery, skiing down a mountain,
hiking mountains, a marathon finisher, fashion designer, publishing a book,
dream Victorian house, conquering higher positions then men, traveling to everywhere,
doing everything
and anything.....
wait I daydreamed too much within this poem
I lost site of what I was writing about.

Does not matter anyways.
Aztec poetry is really amazing if you want to read something better.

Moth Fluff

Called once or twice.
You did not budge.
Touched and poked you.
You did not budge.
Waved my fingers in your face.
You did not blink.

Were you dead?
I did not think of the cause.
I did not call nine nine one.
I did not budge.

Did I sit beside you?
Yes, I did.
To be one with you.
To be still and silent
and to be strong.

Was I strong?
I was not strong as you.
I broke down in tears.
I drowned in sorrow.
Your expression was as blank
as my white gessoed canvas.

Twisted Tangles

Oh what tangled webs we tend to weave within the forgotten lives we did not lead.
And what can surpass this heap of breathing mass
to out do us all in the end?
My language is different from your thinking,
your thoughts may twist and turn until they burn.
The bell the rings from steeples on high,
dislocate crumbling to the ground.
My lies have been set in stone.
My eyes have not yet shone
a true tear since you have flown.
Your departure makes my purpose worth while.
I have announced my suicide
upon this dirty linen bed.
And no more shall I bend
the rules around slippery corners.
Nor shall I ever be here to take you back.
I will not even listen to a whisper
from your brain and back again.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

At an End to Bee Colonies

There is nothing as joyful as a bright and chipper bee.
At every flap of her wing, her heart races thousand times more at a race to catch the sun.
She can fly to the highest tree tops and look down upon the velvety lime green grass
and think about the mistrust in the hive that causes quite a rush.
Every time the queen snatches a drone he might leave just as quick
and never return again.
Many of the lady workers buzz away with irrepressible shame,
lockless love drawers, hexagon in shape.
To support the hive, one must be the honey.
But we can't tame the buzz
when all is lost and gone.

*It is unfortunate that bees abandoned the hive. They are a very important insect to this earth and no one can figure out why the bees simply leave. One factor I have heard about was the cell phones or certain kind of radio waves the cell phones use.

Friday, September 10, 2010


Wishing of a world unpopulated
so that no hatred or memories could thrive in.
Sanatoriums scattered to those wandering life forms.
Hallucinatory steeples form where trees grow so tall
to form trapezoids.
They give one the feeling of contradiction.
Free birds roam weaving the seeds of life,
and the two feet of a woman run faster and farther
then a car once did.


Access denied. You may not have a reprise
Of the home you once occupied in your mother's womb
Be wary of the knives

You have to carry on with life deprived
From comforts of that room
Access denied. You may not have a reprise

Try to swallow the lies
That clog the wound
You are slashed by the knives

And bleed to no surprise
To your incomplete tasks you swoon
Access denied. You may not have a reprise

You are closed and left to surmise
Contemplate the feast of mushrooms
Cut away the excess worry with the knives

Like sharks' teeth strive
To kill you in your watery tomb
Access denied. You may not have a reprise
Be weary of the knives.

Surreptitiously Discovering Thoughts

Mapping of the mind.
Intwined in foil shines
flexible to the stiffest of twigs.