Category Archives: Loneliness

How To Love A Flower

 

Many a manner of flowers, bewildering in their beauty
were passed through your hands, encoding zeros.
At such time, I was the one.
perfect beauty
no other flower could emulate.
A stunning blossom, grown from your desire.
The moment you reached for me, the darkness ceased.

You picked me from the womb of earth, and
I was given this new birth.
In that fatal moment your eye flickered,
and the sun screamed for me.

narcissi….

Your appreciation
is the weight of the rock
Sisyphus knows…
constantly pushed uphill,
until it rolls down
too heavy to bear
Itself.

Your eyes were immortal orbs of power, which melted molten into ash…

Tell me we can have them back…
!!!
Take the obsidian,
make it shine again..
make you mine again.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Poem, poetry, travel, writing

Reflections on Nursing 

 

You are like me, it’s how you’re supposed to be, so smile and be free says the bird in her, to the cage in me, creaking silver rusted memories. Abduct and adduct arms fast like wings, to fly on out of this place. Your mind is without limit, flapping like a fish on earth inside your body, and as such your spirit laughs in the face of this absolute powerlessness, the absurdity of a weakened system, which fails to reflect the stirrings of a child within, who knows eternal strength, uplifting. Infantile and so, deemed useless, without the ability to prove oneself worthy. Yesterday centennial celebrations, in a society who is not keen on decay. “I’m lonely,” lady of Italy, who spits out the soup in distaste as I spoon feed her lies, in an attempt to comfort her, silence her, in the kitchen, where they gather our incompetence’s, small checks in boxes indicating our failure to thrive. She says she is lonely, this is the pathos of the human plight, and I without ability to heal, provide the most basic of human needs, company, and a spoon, where her hand has failed to hold, and her mouth refuses to open save for spitting obscenities, which amuse me. Hot blooded Italian from the old country. Her family come to visit, and her granddaughter gives me the once over, a power dyke, and me in white, all white, as though I were pure.

Leave a comment

Filed under Aging, Alone, Loneliness, Loss, Malady, Medical, Memory, Mortality, Nursing, Pain, Poem, poetry, travel, writing

The Resurrection

I need time, time to know you, because time is sacred, sacred as the sun which shines behind you through the window, lighting up your dark eyes, so that the retina of all my need is fulfilled through your smile. I study the release of hormones, in the endocrine system, to their receptor sites, and think of how the grey matter of a spinal section from the thoracolumbar region, causes my heart to race, my pupils to dilate, my breath to quicken through the synapse of cholinergic to adrenergic cells, and how this release is then tempered parasympathetically, a collaboration of body systems combine, to bring me a sense of attraction, a chemical stimulation, and then the sudden release of oxytocin, when you say you wish to hold me, say you wish to hold me, though you may not say these words so precisely, and a calm sense of the world being right, for the first time in forever, makes me believe that hope is not wasted, on two uncaged birds, who have all the sky as their own, to fly wing to wing, then tell me this silence was nothing, it was only a small abyss, meant to be crossed, on our way to each other, and I will take the ache of past hurts, past trauma, and make the music a bird longs to sing, deep within myself, my own crushed cadence will be synchronous with beauty, with laughter, and the forgetting of pain. In a place so rare and mystical, an innocent space, where we meet, reaching joy and discovery, timeless and eternal, like a magnolia tree, or my desire to make you blossom, incarnate, reincarnate, bud, bud off, spindle fiber, leaf, vein, cyclic season, protein chain, long, complex, regeneration, cell death, recovery, nourishment, deep and enduring, oblivious of clock and counter, moon rise, sun set, encounter with God, a new religion, a ritual in time of repetition, a broken pattern, a bad habit dying, a new cycle being born. Goddess and Gaia, wolf and messiah, blood, blood orange, the way she drank slowly in the midday heat, and when I spoke her mind was far away, so far away, a grove of new oranges grew in place of the empty cup she held, and when that colourful bird peered from it’s nest, I remarked, how exotic it was, no place on earth should be worthy of a bird with such colour! The green, aquamarine, crystalline water, was as clear and lucid as the dream as it lay dying, while we walked together through emptiness, footprints in sand, lateral was my hand to hers, I should have seen, it was not your hand, your smile, your dimple of elation in the bleakest moments of longing, that made me want to die and come back to life again, a new person, a free person, without the anchor of the Aegean. Cycle, rhythm, zodiac, cyclic, Cycladic, but her heart was Ionian, deep and cold, as the coldest sea in the world, and when Neruda said he wanted to do with you what the spring did to the cherry blossoms, it was my thought he echoed, decades ago, when you were being born for the first time, in an immortal country, where loneliness ate through hunger, and I as a small child, walked along the Pacific coast, contemplating regrowth, through the arms of starfish.

2 Comments

Filed under Adventure, Alone, Beauty, Bird, Birth, creative, Dedication, Distance, dreams, Eternity, Greece, Greek, Grief, Immortal, Infatuation, inspirational, Journey, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Medical, Memory, Past, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Science, Seasons, Silence, Soul, Time, travel, Uncategorized, writing

Stalemate

I don’t understand chess, I never learned it, but I do get that there are Queens and Kings and pawns, and I understand the concept of a stalemate. I think all my past relationships ended that way. “I can’t make any moves, seems like a dead-end here, you copy?” “Over and out I read you, no moves to be made, all possible moves cancelled out.” It’s like being on a two-way radio playing chess. How the hell did this happen? Fuck my life as they say. I’ve never had luck with women and I never had a real desire to learn chess. To me it seems like something old people do, like golf, golf, chess, and ballroom dancing. If I ever get that stale mate, check me off the board. I’d rather not continue, I’d rather find myself at the end with no more moves left to make and a pocket full of memories of how things used to be fun, and I’ll take those and sit in the sun with a drink and a book, and stare at hot young Greek girl’s asses by the beach in Mykonos, no wait that’s something my ex girlfriend did when I was with her in the sun on a Greek island. She told me quite frankly, as we watched a young woman walking on the beach. “she has a nice ass,” and I thought this girl sure doesn’t hold back her thoughts, but she was right, I suppose, only those things never much mattered to me, maybe when I’m really old I’ll miss being young enough to imagine waking up in a spoon position with some Greek girl’s tight ass against my pelvis, but if she’s one of those carefree bitches, I’ll feel worse rather than better, and if she’s got too much of a tortured mind to have fun, then I’ll be equally tormented, so who cares about her ass, it’s only good to look at and imagine something better. But I got her back later at the café that evening, a lovely waitress came out to serve our coffee, and as she walked away I declared “wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman so hot in my whole damn life, what a Goddess!” And my ex just looked at me and said “thanks a lot.” I aim to please I guess, but then you know, we hit that place of no going forward and no going back, and as I reflect, there was never anything for us to go forward to together, and never a reason for me to go back, except maybe to sit in the sun, on a gorgeous Greek island, and enjoy the view.

10 Comments

Filed under Aegean, Alone, Break Ups, Challenge, Cleansed, Comedy, Conversation, creative, Greece, Greek, Humour, Lesbian, Loneliness, Loss, Memory, Message, Poem, poetry, Prose, Relationships, travel, writing

Feeling less alone, (on the nature of depression and butterflies)

Today I learned that the deep depression on the inner center of a human skull resembles a butterfly. Peering within, it’s as though at some time, this transitory beauty was meant to forever imprint upon us the delicate nature of a fleeting journey. Only if the skull is cremated or destroyed, does the memory of that gentle flower-seeker disappear. Within the hemisphere, the pituitary signaler of hormones, transmits chemicals to her butterfly mate, who lives innate in our throats, where the ability to speak, from time maternal, depends upon the migration of the one butterfly, straying south, and the other staying north, for without their separation, the vital energy it takes to live would cease. Such sacrificial love in nature creates brilliancy, but what’s more, it is the lack of electrical current that defines depression, as inhibitory. If this myopic view excludes further truth, it may one day be discovered that the real origin of our cranial pain, and mental suffering are related to this separation, to this lack of excitation within the neuronal center. It’s not the fact that there is a lack of stimulation, it is instead a lack of attention, a lack of response. “Soak me in serotonin, and watch me cry,” sings the butterfly. “No,” cries the other butterfly, “you are mistaken, I am that shadow, existing within the grey area, where the cloud formation never dissipates, do not think I can dissolve into elation. I journeyed once, more than a day, which in my time was forever, and I knew feeling and taste as vividly as each step one takes. Although I live in the echo from phonemes breaking, my real truth lies in the upper regions, where words form in synaptic response to thought, dark, enduring thought, which keeps my soul from dying, much like your heart beat keeps your body from flying. Through resonance and dissonance I am cocooned inside of you, always.”

The nurse sits with the patient as they discuss the power of non-verbal communication, ie; touch. “When you hold my hand,” she tells her, “I know you are there, it’s like a flower growing in my spine, I can feel it, I can sense it growing there, and though I know it will die once you let go, it helps me to feel less alone, it’s like a thousand astrocytes lighting up the dark sky inside of me.”

2 Comments

Filed under Borderline, Butterfly, Conversation, creative, Death, Depression, Distance, Drowning, Identity, inspirational, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Medical, Memory, Message, Mortality, Nostalgia, Pain, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Science, Self, Shadow, Sorrow, Soul, travel, Uncategorized, writing

Paradox

Nostalgiacytes in the diaphysis of my soul, in the places where your love left lacunae holes, comparable to the absent ache I anticipate from your touch. The barren trabeculae of what in me was once so solid, disintegrates, like a sugar cube into a hyposmotic cup. Come fill me up, the way a cell is filled by fluid before hemolysis. The way ions open channels through retinal expansion, that dilation of chromatic glare the moment you are there in my line of view. The sinew between us lights a fire in the axons of a bipolar wire, transmitting diabolic signals. What I mean to say is “I crave that which will destroy me,” for ultimately it is that which gives me life.

Leave a comment

Filed under Death, Life, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Medical, Poem, poetry, travel, writing

Violation

A voice is an echo on the shores of a river, cry of the loon. It is a new moon, a full moon, followed by the long snows moon. Ice encapsulates our memories as we tread the surface of a deep forgetting. To remember is to drown. My heart lives in this perpetual spring, melting into currents that violate the very rhythm of this cold season.

image

.

Leave a comment

Filed under Ice, Identity, Introversion, Journey, Life, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Memory, Mortality, North, Poem, poetry, Relationships, Seasons, Silence, Snow, Solitude, Soul, travel, Winter, writing

Love Crisis

“What do you think? I’m not a starfish or a pepper tree. I’m a living, breathing human being. Of course I’ve been in love.”—Haruki Murakami–

And that’s why I get tense when you ask me who I love, who I have loved. I wish I could take your hand and lead you to a secluded place far above a big city, looking down I’d tell you, “that, over there!! I love the way the moon shines full and rustic in the shadows.” If I could become a particle of light or an ion of black, I’d marry that moon. Look, look over there where strangers walk, the one with the gaze of sadness, you know that feeling of being alone and distant even though you are right next to someone? I could marry that girl. I love his red car, the one he worked and saved so hard for to impress her. I love the way the bakery smells at 4am when all the city sleeps and this warm sweet air wisps up to me as I stand on the terrace, smoking a cigarette, drinking a strong cup of coffee that I made in the French press as my girlfriend slept. I love the way she is unaware of my awakeness. How if she heard me, she would wake up and scream as though she were facing a life crisis at 4am. I should not be awake, don’t I know the time?! But back home on another continent I am at work, punching the clock, tolling the hours, working so hard to make my way back to her again. I arrive on her birthday, it’s nearing Christmas and I’m sick. I’m sick and I have been through holiday travel hell, but I did it all for her, and when morning arrives too soon, and the time zones haven’t worked their way into my system, all I’m asking for is a little consideration. Just a little understanding baby. That’s all I want. I love everything and then when it becomes too much, I empty my cup in the sink and laugh at her dramatics. I love no one and everyone and nothing at all. But am I in love? I am in love with the way I imagine your eyes as they search mine for an answer. That’s what I most love. I love your searching, the way you seek meaning, as if to say, all this, all that we love which is going to fall and shatter like a broken cup on the street below us, would suddenly matter somehow, that the break, the injury would be tolerable as long as it held meaning, as long as it didn’t lie or become enraged and strike you when you got out of place. As long as there was hope of loving further, loving more, loving always.

2 Comments

Filed under Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Poem, poetry

Myth

What is it I want to tell you? That this red throb is nothing, that this air can perpetuate without your breath, either inhale or exhale. That you exist in a swirl of random chaos like a flowing current of fierce rhythm that pulls you further down into the black miasma, or the blood stained sky. That there is no you and I. No nothing there where honey flows from crafty hands of chemosynthetic mind, longing for something, untouchable, unnameable, blind. Creating energy out of dark, when there is absence of sun light. That you are a rare night blossom, whose jasmine scent permeates all it touches with the potential of hope, of meaning, of a calm receding, where all life draws in it’s chaotic tides, and the swell of the sea inside releases me, frees me to love you in dreams. In dreams I am a stranger to myself, mirrors cast back reflections of lies. I close my eyes and draw in the darkness, emitting red beacons across the islands that separate us, blink and they dissolve, breathe and they depart. Her small hand heals my infinite ache. Her soft lips take me in, her searching tongue is without speech, in my mouth, where silence falls between two disarmed warriors, with their sharp thrusting. Your eyes are my shelter, they shine on this sorrow, penetrating where nothing else ever could. I leave you as quietly as I arrived, on a bitter winter night, bound for an arctic city, far from the magic and myth of your body with it’s warmth and it’s velvet reprieve. Returning again to the scrape of these lonely hours, the raw, the red, the crimson that throbs under this empty facade.

3 Comments

Filed under Alone, Arctic, Distance, Identity, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Poem, poetry, writing

Synesthesia

On a red Wednesday far away.
How far must one feel before it is real? The smell of vanilla reminds me of the creamy sky when the shape of a dinosaur floats by, reminding me then of old caves deeply unearthed, vapour clouds and the reach of Everest the cataclysm of continents drifting and shifting. I think of you who existed in the same world where eggs were fertilized. The time when our species made the great leap, structurally adapting our homologous bodies, from wings, to fins, to the epic void of these empty arms that never held you. We breathed the same air during the same era and yet it’s as if you are a character in a book that existed in a time I can only imagine. So it is that blue is synonymous with the mountain crest where the roaring Pacific faultline pulls like two magnetic forces, an entire separate continent into the arms of another, that time when cultures collide and adapt into common ancestors of different origins, and you smile that orbital smile as the ozone of your affections protects me from the radiation that threatens complete eradication of our species. I love you duplicitous flower, love you black tar highway whose deceit makes the sky appear deep.

1 Comment

Filed under Earth, Environment, Evolution, Geographical Cure, Heroin, Ideas, Identity, Illusion, Immortal, Indigenous, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Overdose, Pain, Past, Poem, poetry, Sea, Self

Eternity

Can the lizard crawling out from the wall, refuged in coolness be a transformation of the stone, from which it emerges? Is it possible my heart surges with the voltage to ignite a storm, but not the velocity required to light up a city? With enough electricity it could black out the entirety of our world. Lightning crash of black over vision of future. Apocalypse of heart under glare of sun flare. Or is it merely stillness through a crack, where the perception of feeling jolts us back to the presence of this power, thunderclaps through scorched synapses, fusing where the heart clenches, heavy like the fist of Poseidon? Take the heart out of the equation and there is only the still and cool observation of things that emerge and return, seeking asylum from the vagaries of these moods, the inhale and exhale of cyclic energy repressed in the psyche. What does it mean to miss me? What transformation occurs between head and heart when I hear the succour of your voice in child-like tones, asking if I miss you? What does it mean to miss someone who has curled in the alcove of your most ardent organ? What of the restless reptilian that molted through the heart’s eruption and shapeshifted into the skin of a cold blooded amphibian crawling out from the wall on the balcony, overlooking Eden? Would you know to avoid the temptation, else would all the world turn black again? Would the obsidian shores of Santorini crystalize under the sun, whose bright rays lay buried beneath the blistered basalt of a solidified flow? We might never know more than what draws tide to shore, what causes spark to ignite, what kills the light of our universe, yet the mystery of that most vital organ, remains as arcane as the flint of our gaze through a crack in the wall of eternity.

1 Comment

Filed under creative, Distance, dreams, Earth, Emotions, Greece, Greek, introspective, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Memory, Poem, poetry, Prose, Relationships, Self, writing

When You Are Far

A Distance
Exists

When you are far
words grow feathers
coo in soft spectacle
eyes flicking fast
checking flight path

Longitude, latitude,
aerial distance,
scanning path of
least resistance.

When you are far
silence jars wings
suspended in want
the heart feels fluent
this voiceless truancy

When you are far
a distance there is
from North to South
where lauded affection
migrates mute mouth

We rise for a moment
Land for an eternity
in each other

for my love..

When you are far,
your closeness felt
like music,
Deafening
all distance,

when you
are near
Sings,
in harmony
with this heart.

Crystal Kinistino and Candice Daquin

7 Comments

Filed under Distance, Loneliness, Longing, Love, Poem, poetry, writing

Stained Thoughts

Never thought we’d dance together, the way your eyes gazed through me, leaving me to squirm self-consciously, wet from my walk in the rain. And you smiled that really dumb blonde smile, that said “blonde enough to have fun, but brunette enough to know better.”  The element of danger, the risk when I tightened my fist and you smiled the know better smile and chatted about the weather, the obvious, yes it’s wet, yes then, yes now, still. I pulled a pained face and your hand ran down my arm as I stared at the photographs on the desk, three grown children, your phone vibrating, the certainty of that gleam where I knew better this time, and I wondered how does one stay in a marriage so long, subdued. You penetrated me right through to my veins. I felt it up there on the makeshift mobile bed, spinning it’s wheels to a far away land, through the green blue heaven of your eyes, and the stillness of your lipstick silence, hiding the crease of age under beige. There in the travel clinic, with images of exotic world’s,  never ventured to, and the smell of coffee on your breath, taking me back to eleven, when I had a crush on the school librarian. Questions of where I’d planned to go, and when I might return again. From you, who vaccinated my body and contaminated my thoughts.

(About a travel clinic nurse.)

7 Comments

Filed under Conversation, creative, Desire, Erotic, Fantasy, Humour, Loneliness, Longing, Needles, Poem, poetry, Sexuality

The Distance Between Two Hearts

What couldst thou be that enters me
then fades away at close of day,
a sudden storm,
a bee swarm in my heart
where love departs,
the sad, slow twinkle of stars,
whose light evades
my brightest wish for thee-
leaving me in dismal dark;
(the distance between two hearts.)

1 Comment

Filed under Loneliness, Loss, Love, poetry

Literary Love

You slam shut like a book, a world to me, I lay open on the bed, unread my hand is the great thief turning pages. Tearing them out, binding them between the covers, like torn lovers, illiterate to eachother. In every story there’s a beginning, middle, and end. We wrote an epilogue to an epic on the verses of love, spanning two continents nearly a decade, and many bad reviews. One girl used it as kindling to carry her through countless cold nights. I had it revised once, edited to suit the publisher’s vision, but it still collected dust in the clearance bin. Finally they removed it from the shelves and we were back to ourselves again, with a bad case of post publisher’s remorse. You swore to never let it go and you don’t, you’re still snatching glimpses of what could have been. I’ve started hitting the used bookstores again, looking for something new to read. I frequent the public library, but I can never seem to find one worthy of dog- earing, once you’ve creased it, you’re pretty well comitted. I even joined a reading challenge and met my goal, a book club, a new set of shelves, a yearly membership, you get the point. Just like you said, you live in the parentheses.

1 Comment

Filed under Break Ups, Broken, Challenge, creative, Freedom, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Memory, Poem, poetry, Reading, Relationships, Truth, writing