a waking world

So, here is the world

that thing of atoms and magic

and then I, having just woken

see it like in a womb

of sleep

and lately I’ve not been

wanting to wake

despite the nightmare in my dreams but

here I am

an aching back and gooey eyes

yawning and stretching and rolling over

trying to wrap sleep around me once more

trying to pass the day into a day into a day

into a second in an hour of

time passing

but nothing will ever get done like that

and life will pass strolling by laughing

stepping my sleeping toes into the gravel

that will all-too-soon be graves

and you

you sit there watching

and I wish I didn’t put thoughts in your

mind

instead I read your silence like a novel

and remind myself

that I will not react.

Advertisements

Throw words into the air

Like glitter-dust confetti, and watch

-watch, how they fall onto the ground in an explosion of ideas

a kerfuffle of meaning. Watch, watch

how its alphabetic matter disintegrates and separates like

form from dust or dust in wind. Or wind.

Like wind, it breaks, it cannot be caught, it cannot be still.

It fades beneath more words beneath time beneath travel and

experiences. It fades until there is nothing left but a memory, then

a memory of a memory and then -something- so distant and so brittle that

even the act of trying to grasp it will destroy it, will destroy it smithereens.

So be careless and careful all at once. Because words need to spill out of and over themselves to become something healthy. Something real.

Like the perseids shower shimmer above us now we are only fleeting,

so let words fly with motivation, until they find their meaning,

let them stretch unframed into this universe, adorned with a comet-chaos-consciousness

where they can breathe.

 

The mushrooms are off

a day early

Google told me tricks about the slime on their surface

that was a tale of that tell and now

the bin is more full than the fridge

I slept with a nostalgic sadness over me

a blanket of old memories like a fragmented movie screen

replaying the tracks that tug at my gutt and make my heart thud heavier as

if anchoring it into all of what was once happiness, and only bringing back the bitter of

the sweet

Of light and shadow and happiness, pain. Or love, and hate. These are but two sides of the same coin.

And these are all coin tricks, these distilled memories that collectively sieve through almost as the anti-remedy of healing

we are all coin magicians, sifting through our moments and organizing our memories in feelings

revealing only the good parts and the taken-for-granted moments. I wish. I wish. I wish.  I could pause and select and keep forever the best parts of it.

Now again the water is over my head and the thuddud of this heart is sinking, and so I must keep swimming

swim past the memories into the present now;

it is time to make new memories.

What is democratic governance?

(because prior to this I did not know what the word meant)

The independence of branches

A separation of power

an order

a respect

a transparency

an accountability

a dance of differences

without the barring of rhythm or the

blocking of ears

A voice to minorities

A humility from the majorities

a protection of the rights and dignity of everybody

 

 

reference: http://unmit.unmissions.org/Default.aspx?tabid=12071

 

 

 

 

 

Restless Air

anger electric energy dancing from the wisps of

forgotten integrity left out humanity careless ego and

lowered self esteem. Taken from the place where steps stood

on cracked concrete and stumble-walked and mumble-talked a mist

layer of existence minus the clarity. Taken from a place where fog hung heavy

like the eyelids over our eyes that irritate, with lashes stuck in grit and the inability

to contemplate before we speak. The inability to blink. We stare, casually unaware that we are hurting until we hurt another in the tone of our voice and the choice of our words.

We walk, carelessly and with a bitter energy that tells the other to ‘watch where you are going’ and forgets, all at once, where we are coming from.

We talk, louder than is necessary, hoping that the words we speak so clearly still those quiet whispers in our heart,

-but if we were to listen to that thuddud pulse that teller of the soul that all-for-you crown and captain of our whole

-it would tell us to follow those footsteps which our hearts have etched. To follow with courage and that being tired, doesn’t necessarily mean rest.

So onward, onward with humility and an apology to the anger I have felt in these few days. Onward with an opening of heart and a stilling of mind, emotions were just passing clouds but beyond that I understand that the sky is me.

You can take a fish out of the sea

 

but you can’t take the sea out of the fish

Like the ocean flow beneath its gills I am my own

like oxygen is to the air and

I can only carry on

in the way that’s right from me.

in the notes from my own song

I always thought it was an obligation to myself

to live from the centre of my heart and

with all of my soul

So maybe I won’t return home

because home is where the heart is and my heart is

everywhere

and for a while it’s felt like I’ve been on my own

maybe home was never mine for many years

I might need to step on that untrodden path

explore the universe like a national geographic journalist

tell the refugee’s stories from the inside out

see real things with fresh eyes and no screen to compromise

my attention

I might need to live closer, and be further

I might need to do this and more, to find me.

I’m sorry for not being able to fit into the frame

you had called my destiny before I was born

I’m sorry that I’ve been away so long that sometimes- I don’t recognize my family

I’m sorry that you never call, and when you do- I don’t feel you love me at all, unfortunately

I’m sorry if my place as a sister has become an obligation from both sides.

This feels like the right time to step up and find my own path.

maybe our journey began together and what pulled us apart was pride

maybe our journey began apart and what kept us together was family

we will always be a part of one another in our hearts

but for now, it’s my own place I need to find.

 

 

 

Well done Sun Yang

So you won

and behind that win

an effort

of tired days and sweat and tears

of one step after the next even when your feet

were aching and your breath -almost out of itself- was breaking

They were your dreams, far away and near all at once

which you tried to reach which you didn’t know that

you could touch but you still tried, with every inbreath

to upright your posture every out breath to extend your stretch

You stretched yourself towards it until there was almost nothing left

-and then you Won

You won the Gold, and earned it

and when you tried to show that moment to the crowd in glitter exhilaration

it flew into the pool-  and so what?

– is that what we will celebrate? is that what we will stand on to crush you?

What happened to our pride, our nurture what happened to our best costumes?

Why have we become the bullies in a make-beliefe school-ground waiting to see what you are not, waiting to judge you a lot.

No, don’t let the media win. we are humans first, and you had the best swim!

Well done Sun Yang.

And to those that focus on the ‘cap throw’ gone wrong,

I think that is where the media fails.

 

 

A poem to my boots

To the boots;

the ones that have been, for so long, an extension of myself,

those boots that wrapped themselves so perfectly around
these insect ankles- when none other would fit. To the boots that helped me trudge my way in comfort; that withstood sun and yet still let in air, that braced the rain without damp without wear, even if once a year it still needed its zippers repaired. To the boots that made a mountain goat out of me, as I walked up crumbling rocks so carelessly; knowing they would hold and keep my feet exactly where they needed to be,
To the boots that survived everyday for 3 years and still looked fresh enough to wear hiking or dancing or climbing or to my graduation. Yes, the boots that pulled through on every occasion,
-that never left my socks damp or my feet or ankles in a cramp.
Yes: those perfect boots. That let me trudge and stomp and hop everywhere in confidence without a care,
That now I can’t find again anywhere! And so-
I think I will repair your zippers -yet again.

On beating social anxiety

What is brave?

What are steps?
What are steps towards unbeing that awkward unconfidence that hyperventilating mess that chaos in a kerfuffle of unnecessary distress?
what is breath? what is meaningful, mindful breath?
is it signing up for a too-close-for-comfort tango class?
or going to that discussion forum all on your own?
-is it eating alone in a crowded restaurant?
or learning to be still on a crowded train without escaping to your phone?
-is this work? or is it just me being absurd?
will it work?
will it help me be the me I want to be, I need to be, before I become the me that can be heard?
-is this work?
or is it too much effort minus harmony? a self-induced discomfort- is it too far against the current- maybe I’m meant to live life quietly?
what are steps? what are paths? and will these aims reach out to make more sense out of the past?
what is flow? will it make me be the me that in the future I want to know?
is this trying? or is it just a crying baby?
a no-problem-is-a-problem situation, am I just ungrateful- maybe?
It is a challenge. It is rough. If it is tough. does that mean it will change me?
will I become that outspoken person, will I learn to lose my anxiety?
These are steps, and I hope they are walking to the right place
as I wash then brave my face again and again in some invisible race
against my growing age and who I want to have become: That unafraid one.
because I feel, that only when I break through this invisible current-
-only then will I be real.