And the Next
Something about the way he shook his head
That made me think
About what I'd said
And how he'd feel
The next day
And the next.
Before long,
Years would disappear
No emails, calls or texts
To prove our love had been here
Oh how we build up our castles
Just to watch them fall
The next day
And the next.
So shortly after
We resurrect the dead
for the next chapter.
Breathing life into dry bones,
Trying to find some peace of mind
For our choices,
The ones we'll analyze
The next night
And the day after.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
I'm posting some of my favorite poetry today...poems that have opened up the world to me in ways that only music had done before...the first one I actually wrote and recorded a song to a few years back.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Desert Places
by: Robert Frost
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it--it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less--
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars--on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
From "A Further Range", 1936
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Like This by Rumi
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.
When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
Like this?
If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God's fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.
Like this.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.
Like this?
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don't try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
Like this. Like this.
When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.
This tall.
The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.
When someone doesn't believe that,
walk back into my house.
Like this.
When lovers moan,
they're telling our story.
Like this.
I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
Like this.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.
Like this.
How did Joseph's scent come to Jacob?
Huuuu.
How did Jacob's sight return?
Huuuuu.
A little wind cleans the eyes.
Like this.
When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he'll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us.
Like this.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Desert Places
by: Robert Frost
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it--it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less--
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars--on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
From "A Further Range", 1936
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Like This by Rumi
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.
When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
Like this?
If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God's fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.
Like this.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.
Like this?
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don't try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
Like this. Like this.
When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.
This tall.
The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.
When someone doesn't believe that,
walk back into my house.
Like this.
When lovers moan,
they're telling our story.
Like this.
I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
Like this.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.
Like this.
How did Joseph's scent come to Jacob?
Huuuu.
How did Jacob's sight return?
Huuuuu.
A little wind cleans the eyes.
Like this.
When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he'll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us.
Like this.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Do You Know?
With a smile on his lips
He asked me,
Where are you going?
If you even know?
Currently, I replied
I’m caught in the middle
Of the straight and the narrow
Thinking backwards
Moving forward
Sliding sideways
And tripping over
The tune of a melody
That only I can hear.
Recovering from
That winter solstice storm
Still with my wits, legs and arms
Yet in all his thunder
And tempests profane
I’m stumbling away
Not quite the same.
My destination, I’m sure
Is a location
Of no importance to you
I’m just a girl
Unfinished at best
In this story
Of where East meets West.
With a smile on his lips
He asked me,
Where are you going?
If you even know?
Currently, I replied
I’m caught in the middle
Of the straight and the narrow
Thinking backwards
Moving forward
Sliding sideways
And tripping over
The tune of a melody
That only I can hear.
Recovering from
That winter solstice storm
Still with my wits, legs and arms
Yet in all his thunder
And tempests profane
I’m stumbling away
Not quite the same.
My destination, I’m sure
Is a location
Of no importance to you
I’m just a girl
Unfinished at best
In this story
Of where East meets West.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
So hi there!
Of course I've found a new, fun way to procrastinate and prolong the inevitable...writing poetry.
Here are a few that I wrote this past week. Enjoy.
September
Time waits for no man
Or so I've been told
That must be why I
Feel so old today.
The history book continues
Its perverse repetition
Of follies and crimes
All the while smirking at my recognition.
Well yes, I am growing older
Each day slowing a little
Dimmer through my eyes
And richer in my mind,
Lovelier than the rose you gave me
That day, don't you remember?
The day we stole September
Put it in our pockets
Always to forget
Or remember
I'll never know which.
You and I
If I was a bird
I would fly to where you were
Or would I?
Would I spread my wings
The taste of salty sea wind
On the tip of my memory?
On the tip of this precipice
Would I fly?
Or would I fall
Into the warmth
Of the deepest green in my dreams
Into the spicy smells of your doorway
Would I come?
Or would I take my thoughts
To my grave
Only for them to be reborn
In another place
Another’s face
reminiscent of this pain
The pain is not ordinary
It's the acute struggle of all
Who think
And wonder
Who sigh under the blanket
Of the night and his stars
When all the world slumbers
But you
And I.
Only He Knows Why
A mellow breeze
Two willow trees,
You with your covering
And me, without mine.
How did I get here
This open place
Underneath a burdened sky
Of vultures and tomahawks
Razors cutting high
He who has not love
Shall die in this blessed place
Where all do waste
And only the devil lies
Eli Eli Lamma Lamma Sabacthani?
Only He knows why
We all wander
They all lie
To save their souls
To cover our crime.
Beauty
When gazing
Upon the face of beauty
What will you see?
Her eyes, her lips
A fantasy?
Or will you see the gnarled hands
Of a life well-lived
A toothless smile
As radiant as a day with no end?
What will he see
When his own
Is drawn with stories
Of forget-me-nots and I told-you-so’s?
Will you see me?
For I must admit
I saw yours from afar
You’re older than your years
But blushing like a child bride.
Beautiful.
For yours, there is no equal.
Yet some things are better left unsaid,
And with a glance,
You knew what that meant.
Of course I've found a new, fun way to procrastinate and prolong the inevitable...writing poetry.
Here are a few that I wrote this past week. Enjoy.
September
Time waits for no man
Or so I've been told
That must be why I
Feel so old today.
The history book continues
Its perverse repetition
Of follies and crimes
All the while smirking at my recognition.
Well yes, I am growing older
Each day slowing a little
Dimmer through my eyes
And richer in my mind,
Lovelier than the rose you gave me
That day, don't you remember?
The day we stole September
Put it in our pockets
Always to forget
Or remember
I'll never know which.
You and I
If I was a bird
I would fly to where you were
Or would I?
Would I spread my wings
The taste of salty sea wind
On the tip of my memory?
On the tip of this precipice
Would I fly?
Or would I fall
Into the warmth
Of the deepest green in my dreams
Into the spicy smells of your doorway
Would I come?
Or would I take my thoughts
To my grave
Only for them to be reborn
In another place
Another’s face
reminiscent of this pain
The pain is not ordinary
It's the acute struggle of all
Who think
And wonder
Who sigh under the blanket
Of the night and his stars
When all the world slumbers
But you
And I.
Only He Knows Why
A mellow breeze
Two willow trees,
You with your covering
And me, without mine.
How did I get here
This open place
Underneath a burdened sky
Of vultures and tomahawks
Razors cutting high
He who has not love
Shall die in this blessed place
Where all do waste
And only the devil lies
Eli Eli Lamma Lamma Sabacthani?
Only He knows why
We all wander
They all lie
To save their souls
To cover our crime.
Beauty
When gazing
Upon the face of beauty
What will you see?
Her eyes, her lips
A fantasy?
Or will you see the gnarled hands
Of a life well-lived
A toothless smile
As radiant as a day with no end?
What will he see
When his own
Is drawn with stories
Of forget-me-nots and I told-you-so’s?
Will you see me?
For I must admit
I saw yours from afar
You’re older than your years
But blushing like a child bride.
Beautiful.
For yours, there is no equal.
Yet some things are better left unsaid,
And with a glance,
You knew what that meant.
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