Many a manner of flowers, bewildering in their beauty
were passed through your hands, encoding zeros.
At such time, I was the one.
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.
is the weight of the rock
constantly pushed uphill,
until it rolls down
too heavy to bear
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.
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.
Filed under Aging, Alone, Loneliness, Loss, Malady, Medical, Memory, Mortality, Nursing, Pain, Poem, poetry, travel, writing
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.
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
“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.
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.
Filed under Alone, Arctic, Distance, Identity, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Poem, poetry, writing
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.
Filed under Earth, Environment, Evolution, Geographical Cure, Heroin, Ideas, Identity, Illusion, Immortal, Indigenous, Loneliness, Longing, Loss, Love, Overdose, Pain, Past, Poem, poetry, Sea, Self
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.
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
words grow feathers
coo in soft spectacle
eyes flicking fast
checking flight path
scanning path of
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
with this heart.
Crystal Kinistino and Candice Daquin
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.)
Filed under Conversation, creative, Desire, Erotic, Fantasy, Humour, Loneliness, Longing, Needles, Poem, poetry, Sexuality