I'd like to put out there (along with millions of other Americans) that I'm dismally appalled and ashamed of the comments Bush put forth in his latest State of the Union address. It's great for buzzword study; all he did was mash some historical facts together (a.k.a. we won WWII, beat the Russians to Auschwitz and other labor camps, and apparently he refers to himself as a Jedi by saying "faced down an evil empire,") and top it off with idealistic fancies of individuality, compassion, freedom and democracy.
To see the speech for yourself, check out http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/31/AR2006013101468.html. The "Post" also has a great tally-chart at the beggining of the article catalogging the number of times Bush mentions the words freedom, Iraq, AIDS, democracy, and other gems. Enjoy.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
Allegro
Walking in I find you, already inside;
I guess I left a window open.
I still can't abide just standing inside
and letting you walk in whenever you want.
And I breathe a sigh when I catch your eyes.
You know how they say that the eyes never lie?
I throw you a wave, but there's someone behind me,
then I see...
you're looking over my shoulder.
This place is so old, it's thin and it's cold,
I don't know why I sometimes come back here.
It'll never be ours, it's already sold -
a small man in glasses bought it.
He says it's all right, it gets enough light,
but sometimes it leaks when it rains.
It just ain't the same as his old place in Spain,
where he spent his youth in a studio,
that belonged to a girl,
who was sunny and sharing,
who he loved very much,
who sold all his records...
And I breathe a sigh when I catch your eyes,
I see you smiling and I see
your mouth moves around without making a sound,
and then I see...
you're eating an apple.
I guess I left a window open.
I still can't abide just standing inside
and letting you walk in whenever you want.
And I breathe a sigh when I catch your eyes.
You know how they say that the eyes never lie?
I throw you a wave, but there's someone behind me,
then I see...
you're looking over my shoulder.
This place is so old, it's thin and it's cold,
I don't know why I sometimes come back here.
It'll never be ours, it's already sold -
a small man in glasses bought it.
He says it's all right, it gets enough light,
but sometimes it leaks when it rains.
It just ain't the same as his old place in Spain,
where he spent his youth in a studio,
that belonged to a girl,
who was sunny and sharing,
who he loved very much,
who sold all his records...
And I breathe a sigh when I catch your eyes,
I see you smiling and I see
your mouth moves around without making a sound,
and then I see...
you're eating an apple.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Response Paper to "The Little Prince": Drama 252 (2004)
“The grown-ups are very strange…”
-The Little Prince
Oh Antione –
scraping the depths of human reason
with naught but your hands,
you bring up from the deep
the simple gift of worth.
Matters of consequence mean
naught to matters of heart;
thus spake your golden-haired angel
to one who’d forsake the roads
of virtue and beauty.
To the hapless soul who met
your Little Prince upon the desert sands,
you dissolved the false mantel of pride
he wore about his shoulders so piously,
never knowing what truths he missed.
You gave the pilot wings on which
to travel the realms of simpler planes of thought,
that, no less complex than matters of consequence,
should teach us more about ourselves and life
than numbers, figures, and objects of material.
These values you taught us:
Take not seriously words spoken without import;
they glimmer and glow when first uttered,
but their light fades and their fire burns, quick,
leaving nothing but dead ash behind.
Never run from your doubt;
journey till your travels yield to you what you need to know,
to understand what you need in order to return.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you;
one must require from each only the duty they can perform.
But don’t require from someone
things you have no need for.
Pay no attention to the vain, for the vain pay none to you -
nor do they lend an ear when it would be
the most helpful to another than he.
Substituting a problem
to overcome another problem,
does nothing but add to your problems.
Take pride in what you have.
Appreciate the value in what you have.
But leave the unobtainable where it lies,
if it truly cannot be claimed by you.
That which is beautiful in meaning
is truly useful.
Beauty can be found in many places;
don’t judge value by what you see, but rather
by how it may be applied.
Knowledge is nothing without experience.
Even when the mind has knowledge of the experience,
it cannot possibly substitute for what is felt through the body itself…
…and you always know less than what you think you know.
Don’t overlook values;
only through experience and reflection
can you truly learn about the world and yourself.
“Hold fast to your friends,” your Little Angel spoke,
“not everyone has had a friend before.”
Friends may come in the strangest of guises,
but it is not guise which makes a friend,
it is love and need.
Friends shed new light on old shades of life,
add new depth to old memories,
dredge fresh love where old love glossed itself over.
But most of all a friend will fill you,
and not leave you beautiful and empty.
“It is only with the ear that one can see rightly;
what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
After blessings of friendship were breathed into a newly-met stranger,
your Little Prince ascended back to Heaven in a flash of yellow,
so much like the hair on the wise head of the young boy,
so much like the golden scarf that graced his youthful neck.
And with that he passed away from this world,
this hellish world of material needs,
and returned to his things of beauty, his life of meaning.
And we are most grateful to you, Little Prince,
for showing us just how grand life can be.
“…Children, watch out for the baobabs!”
--January 29th, 2004, Drama 252 Response Paper: “The Little Prince”
-The Little Prince
Oh Antione –
scraping the depths of human reason
with naught but your hands,
you bring up from the deep
the simple gift of worth.
Matters of consequence mean
naught to matters of heart;
thus spake your golden-haired angel
to one who’d forsake the roads
of virtue and beauty.
To the hapless soul who met
your Little Prince upon the desert sands,
you dissolved the false mantel of pride
he wore about his shoulders so piously,
never knowing what truths he missed.
You gave the pilot wings on which
to travel the realms of simpler planes of thought,
that, no less complex than matters of consequence,
should teach us more about ourselves and life
than numbers, figures, and objects of material.
These values you taught us:
Take not seriously words spoken without import;
they glimmer and glow when first uttered,
but their light fades and their fire burns, quick,
leaving nothing but dead ash behind.
Never run from your doubt;
journey till your travels yield to you what you need to know,
to understand what you need in order to return.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you;
one must require from each only the duty they can perform.
But don’t require from someone
things you have no need for.
Pay no attention to the vain, for the vain pay none to you -
nor do they lend an ear when it would be
the most helpful to another than he.
Substituting a problem
to overcome another problem,
does nothing but add to your problems.
Take pride in what you have.
Appreciate the value in what you have.
But leave the unobtainable where it lies,
if it truly cannot be claimed by you.
That which is beautiful in meaning
is truly useful.
Beauty can be found in many places;
don’t judge value by what you see, but rather
by how it may be applied.
Knowledge is nothing without experience.
Even when the mind has knowledge of the experience,
it cannot possibly substitute for what is felt through the body itself…
…and you always know less than what you think you know.
Don’t overlook values;
only through experience and reflection
can you truly learn about the world and yourself.
“Hold fast to your friends,” your Little Angel spoke,
“not everyone has had a friend before.”
Friends may come in the strangest of guises,
but it is not guise which makes a friend,
it is love and need.
Friends shed new light on old shades of life,
add new depth to old memories,
dredge fresh love where old love glossed itself over.
But most of all a friend will fill you,
and not leave you beautiful and empty.
“It is only with the ear that one can see rightly;
what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
After blessings of friendship were breathed into a newly-met stranger,
your Little Prince ascended back to Heaven in a flash of yellow,
so much like the hair on the wise head of the young boy,
so much like the golden scarf that graced his youthful neck.
And with that he passed away from this world,
this hellish world of material needs,
and returned to his things of beauty, his life of meaning.
And we are most grateful to you, Little Prince,
for showing us just how grand life can be.
“…Children, watch out for the baobabs!”
--January 29th, 2004, Drama 252 Response Paper: “The Little Prince”
Passing Fancy
We are but a scance to fairer lands,
a passing race entwined
to fancy’s brief desires, changing
ceaselessly with time;
The briefest glance of sun upon
the morning mists, so pale and grey,
that yearn for one to bind them whole,
upon the break of day.
The passing years change not the lands,
they yield no crop to sway the plagues.
The likes of we, who steal the seeds,
are scratched by thorns upon our legs.
Until a river split the fields in
twain, we cannot say
that hope for beauty’s flower
has been lost to us again.
--for Farran
a passing race entwined
to fancy’s brief desires, changing
ceaselessly with time;
The briefest glance of sun upon
the morning mists, so pale and grey,
that yearn for one to bind them whole,
upon the break of day.
The passing years change not the lands,
they yield no crop to sway the plagues.
The likes of we, who steal the seeds,
are scratched by thorns upon our legs.
Until a river split the fields in
twain, we cannot say
that hope for beauty’s flower
has been lost to us again.
--for Farran
Nameless-Faced Stranger
You look to me as if you need
A friend or helping hand.
I wake up in the morning and hear your
Silence greet me every time.
The open window like a porthole
Shows me thoughts you’d never release.
I only wanted to ask you if everything was okay, once or twice,
Or ask about your day
As you puffed on another cigarette, another breath to face the world
And bobbed your head to unspoken conversations, proving your point with talking hands.
You’ll never know this song was meant for you,
My nameless faced neighbor, who labored by her stairs
To make sense of the world around her.
--for ?
A friend or helping hand.
I wake up in the morning and hear your
Silence greet me every time.
The open window like a porthole
Shows me thoughts you’d never release.
I only wanted to ask you if everything was okay, once or twice,
Or ask about your day
As you puffed on another cigarette, another breath to face the world
And bobbed your head to unspoken conversations, proving your point with talking hands.
You’ll never know this song was meant for you,
My nameless faced neighbor, who labored by her stairs
To make sense of the world around her.
--for ?
Looking at the World through a Straw
I focused on a smaller part of life,
ignoring the rest that gapes so wide.
A circle drawn on life material,
a hole cut in the world outside.
And through this shrunken view,
the shadows lighting up my eye,
I glimpsed through time to grasp
this bit of pain you keep inside.
Opposed to the open mind,
no breath of life for wandering eyes.
A little glimpse of loneliness,
a little taste of what is blind.
Perhaps I could have looked at
this small view of yours before,
and perhaps you’ve shown it too me
at a time, and shown me more.
So after all this time has passed,
all this time I’ve thrown away,
all the chances I could get to know you,
all the chance to let you be,
your light has been extinguished
through this telescopic view of mine;
and burned out from too-bright hope that never
found a means to share a life.
I apologize; my choice has led
its way to your demise.
But choice was choice and I forsook
the higher path of staying kind.
Yet I’m sorry that I looked at all
the face around your eyes,
and missed that little glimpse of pain
you’ve always kept inside.
--for Many
ignoring the rest that gapes so wide.
A circle drawn on life material,
a hole cut in the world outside.
And through this shrunken view,
the shadows lighting up my eye,
I glimpsed through time to grasp
this bit of pain you keep inside.
Opposed to the open mind,
no breath of life for wandering eyes.
A little glimpse of loneliness,
a little taste of what is blind.
Perhaps I could have looked at
this small view of yours before,
and perhaps you’ve shown it too me
at a time, and shown me more.
So after all this time has passed,
all this time I’ve thrown away,
all the chances I could get to know you,
all the chance to let you be,
your light has been extinguished
through this telescopic view of mine;
and burned out from too-bright hope that never
found a means to share a life.
I apologize; my choice has led
its way to your demise.
But choice was choice and I forsook
the higher path of staying kind.
Yet I’m sorry that I looked at all
the face around your eyes,
and missed that little glimpse of pain
you’ve always kept inside.
--for Many
Wings
Friendship gave you wings with which to fly.
You triumphed over the bonds of iron and chain that shackle so many,
like paltry fools, into the dismal plane of acquaintance,
and conquered the wind and sky.
You showed me that friends can matter more
than anything else in the world,
and with these wings you soared above and let the world see
how beautiful a friend can be.
--for David, 2002
You triumphed over the bonds of iron and chain that shackle so many,
like paltry fools, into the dismal plane of acquaintance,
and conquered the wind and sky.
You showed me that friends can matter more
than anything else in the world,
and with these wings you soared above and let the world see
how beautiful a friend can be.
--for David, 2002
Casual Tones
In my moments of reflection
I think of what I felt for you,
one time,
and how that emotion is now changed.
Once you were mine. Once you were everything;
my light, my flame, that which comforts in the midst of deepest shame,
the inspiration for notes struck gently in the dark...
and now we talk in casual tones.
The fingers of my heart no longer reach out
to touch your skin,
to graze your cheek,
to cup your face;
they hang now, slack at my sides,
or locked together in folds upon my lap.
We didn’t end in tears, or half-choked voices filled with grief.
We made a new beginning, you and me...
and now we talk in casual tones.
I sat by our fountain for a time,
laughing softly to myself,
plucking wishes from the water and rubbing away the copper covers
that hid the dullness inside both them and me,
while meandering thoughts traced themselves in the dust,
my fingers trailing the words away...
I laughed at my foolishness,
my false pride,
the irony of unused freedom won,
and the gloom my shackles, lost, retain.
So I wept,
and sang,
and hoped for you again;
but I wrap the fingers of my heart around you, still...
amidst our casual tones.
--pour Camille, 1999
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Christmas Break Rap
So on the flight home from Maui, my brother and I decided to have a "Rap-Off". During the first 45-minute flight (followed by the six-hour flight to Seattle, thaaaank God for drinking all day that induces sleep on a plane) ;D, we decided that we would each write a rap about our holidays and compare at the end of it. Fun times. *Ahem* So, without further ado, here is my "Flight Tangent; New Year's 'Wrap'"
Lookin' out the window, glancing at my watch,
hopin' to catch a view of Santa Claus
'cause Im' flying on Christmas Eve (sleigh bells),
flying on Christmas Eve (in da air!)
Through the air I'm soaring, bustin' out a phat
rhyme on a dime 'cause it's Christmas time,
while the North Star this metal bird follows,
spreading my verse of peace like my man Carlos
Santana: when will this metal bird landah?
I'm heading to the beach of Maui,
hookin' up wid hot honeys and chill wid-da-family,
and these Maui girls got me crazed, I'm just starin
at the little-hoola-skirts they're all a shakin' and a wearin',
to feed my erection as I stare at her body; perfection'
she's got that little taste of island that make me
wanna get down with guava, baby, uh -
get down with guava.
And as this little plane lands I'm right out on the sand,
rollin' wid my brotha and my best-made-man
and we're taking the island by storm (take it easy),
like Katrina we break up the norm (too soon?)
As I walk, I give a shout "Hey girl, Mele Lalikemaka,
come here and lemme show ya how to throw a REAL 'shaka'!"
And all my island peeps call me their number-1 'brah',
'cause I'm the best thing to hit since Haleakala.
:D I think it's fun.
Lookin' out the window, glancing at my watch,
hopin' to catch a view of Santa Claus
'cause Im' flying on Christmas Eve (sleigh bells),
flying on Christmas Eve (in da air!)
Through the air I'm soaring, bustin' out a phat
rhyme on a dime 'cause it's Christmas time,
while the North Star this metal bird follows,
spreading my verse of peace like my man Carlos
Santana: when will this metal bird landah?
I'm heading to the beach of Maui,
hookin' up wid hot honeys and chill wid-da-family,
and these Maui girls got me crazed, I'm just starin
at the little-hoola-skirts they're all a shakin' and a wearin',
to feed my erection as I stare at her body; perfection'
she's got that little taste of island that make me
wanna get down with guava, baby, uh -
get down with guava.
And as this little plane lands I'm right out on the sand,
rollin' wid my brotha and my best-made-man
and we're taking the island by storm (take it easy),
like Katrina we break up the norm (too soon?)
As I walk, I give a shout "Hey girl, Mele Lalikemaka,
come here and lemme show ya how to throw a REAL 'shaka'!"
And all my island peeps call me their number-1 'brah',
'cause I'm the best thing to hit since Haleakala.
:D I think it's fun.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Falling Down the Rabbit Hole
I met a Stranger yesterday,
his house was esoteric and his way was strange.
He asked if I was buying,
I told him I was visiting a friend I'd only met moments before.
He showed me through the door.
My bare feet touched the stone,
and breathlessly I stepped without a sound;
He said, "Come inside and look around,
the best view's six feet underground."
Raven met a Rabbit,
fixed his beady eyes upon the shiny face of Rabbit's pocket watch.
Rabbit knew his time was near -
all he could hear was the tumultuous sound of Daddy's ticking clock;
and upon the door he knocked.
He was greeted with a groan,
and hand in hand we danced the circle 'round;
He said, "Come inside and look around,
the best view's six feet underground."
his house was esoteric and his way was strange.
He asked if I was buying,
I told him I was visiting a friend I'd only met moments before.
He showed me through the door.
My bare feet touched the stone,
and breathlessly I stepped without a sound;
He said, "Come inside and look around,
the best view's six feet underground."
Raven met a Rabbit,
fixed his beady eyes upon the shiny face of Rabbit's pocket watch.
Rabbit knew his time was near -
all he could hear was the tumultuous sound of Daddy's ticking clock;
and upon the door he knocked.
He was greeted with a groan,
and hand in hand we danced the circle 'round;
He said, "Come inside and look around,
the best view's six feet underground."
Sunday, November 27, 2005
The Root of All Evil
A crying woman, water-soft,
was clinging to a lamp
to hold her from the grasping hands
that tugged to pull her pride away.
She wept for naught, the morning clear
cared not for both her cries or fears.
‘Twas only me, upon the street,
that witnessed hateful lust of man.
She glimpsed a worried glance and turned,
to rake it with her pleas;
it turned its face to walk its way away,
and never looked again.
Now ‘oft I wonder what took place,
behind that sallow frown and face;
I beheld this terrible thing to see
and gained my lack of empathy.
was clinging to a lamp
to hold her from the grasping hands
that tugged to pull her pride away.
She wept for naught, the morning clear
cared not for both her cries or fears.
‘Twas only me, upon the street,
that witnessed hateful lust of man.
She glimpsed a worried glance and turned,
to rake it with her pleas;
it turned its face to walk its way away,
and never looked again.
Now ‘oft I wonder what took place,
behind that sallow frown and face;
I beheld this terrible thing to see
and gained my lack of empathy.
Second Year of Suffering - Juliet, you Heartless Bitch
Within a tangled web I lie,
ensnared, and in the spider’s eye
I see a glint of pride; and I do wonder
why I led me here.
A gentle tug against the web
proves unmatched by the strength of thread;
I lie, ensnared, and wonder whyI ever led me here.
A gleam of light both penetrates
and intrigues like a burning flame
that burns a moth to shame while dying,
brightly lit in candlelight.
A gleam in spider’s eye I see,
a gaze transfixed onto me
bringing sharp, painful reality
into clairvoyance wrought by ash -
I taste it in my burning mouth,
I smell it in my burning lungs,
I feel your sting through all the veins
that run dead cold from blood now gone.
Provoke me, implore me,
ignore me, seduce me,
but shame affixed on what you sow
will reap it’s death on you for woe.
Your misdeeds will not find me here.
Your web I will escape.
Your foul-mouthed chattering -
a craft of which I won’t partake.
Fie, fie! foul creature of spite!
I hold you unto home, the like
of which I care to spit upon
and might, perchance, transform alight
into dark candles.
Light the night afire with holy aftermath!
You shan’t escape, your tangled web
will prove a trap in bitter end.
My groggy fire burns it out.
I wake myself with scream and shout.
I struggle with the lamp, and beneath
a tangled mass of sheets espy
a morbid form, so finely wrought,
a prize I shan’t hold forth again;
the pillow squeezes breath from me,
alike to you at tragic end.
Your fire, quiet now, I snuffed.
Your bosom now I quiet clutch.
I’m sorry, babe, so sorry.
A thief caught in the act could not
provide a better motive just;
turmoil ends with single thrust,
and softly do I die akin
to morbid form entangled thus.
ensnared, and in the spider’s eye
I see a glint of pride; and I do wonder
why I led me here.
A gentle tug against the web
proves unmatched by the strength of thread;
I lie, ensnared, and wonder whyI ever led me here.
A gleam of light both penetrates
and intrigues like a burning flame
that burns a moth to shame while dying,
brightly lit in candlelight.
A gleam in spider’s eye I see,
a gaze transfixed onto me
bringing sharp, painful reality
into clairvoyance wrought by ash -
I taste it in my burning mouth,
I smell it in my burning lungs,
I feel your sting through all the veins
that run dead cold from blood now gone.
Provoke me, implore me,
ignore me, seduce me,
but shame affixed on what you sow
will reap it’s death on you for woe.
Your misdeeds will not find me here.
Your web I will escape.
Your foul-mouthed chattering -
a craft of which I won’t partake.
Fie, fie! foul creature of spite!
I hold you unto home, the like
of which I care to spit upon
and might, perchance, transform alight
into dark candles.
Light the night afire with holy aftermath!
You shan’t escape, your tangled web
will prove a trap in bitter end.
My groggy fire burns it out.
I wake myself with scream and shout.
I struggle with the lamp, and beneath
a tangled mass of sheets espy
a morbid form, so finely wrought,
a prize I shan’t hold forth again;
the pillow squeezes breath from me,
alike to you at tragic end.
Your fire, quiet now, I snuffed.
Your bosom now I quiet clutch.
I’m sorry, babe, so sorry.
A thief caught in the act could not
provide a better motive just;
turmoil ends with single thrust,
and softly do I die akin
to morbid form entangled thus.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Mother Courage Musings
Feel your pulse and rise up out of bed
wake up now and live outside your head
the city street, it calls you out,
strut the beat and walk about, saying
shove the rest and come with me instead.
Crawling down the Avenue one day
looked around and smiled at what people say
kept your laughter to yourself,
siftws the crowd to see what's left,
and said shove the rest and come with me instead.
Give your mind to you and no one else
show them it's okay to be yourself
screw the street and walk the road
less traveled, come and let me show you
how to shove the rest and be yourself instead.
wake up now and live outside your head
the city street, it calls you out,
strut the beat and walk about, saying
shove the rest and come with me instead.
Crawling down the Avenue one day
looked around and smiled at what people say
kept your laughter to yourself,
siftws the crowd to see what's left,
and said shove the rest and come with me instead.
Give your mind to you and no one else
show them it's okay to be yourself
screw the street and walk the road
less traveled, come and let me show you
how to shove the rest and be yourself instead.
Friday, September 30, 2005
It Won't Do: In the Spirit of Bobby Dylan
It won’t do no good to carry on and smile, babe,
since you’ve done it all before.
And you’ve spent all your dimes calling early,
but I won’t answer anymore.
I’ve been sitting and contemplating thinking ‘bout the past,
looking through our photos wondering why it didn’t last,
it all happened just a little too fast,
but now we’re back to where we’re at.
And I know you’d hate for me to pity you, babe,
but you know I really do.
and I know I told you that I really loved you,
you know I really meant it too.
But in the end there’s nothing left for me to feel but used,
you came and went so fast you left me dazed and confused,
your love is pretty strong, but pain’s the only tool you use,
and you’re the reason why I write the blues.
So long honey babe,
here’s to what we’ve said and done.
I realize now there wasn’t much before this,
and I think we’ve had our fun.
I wish you hadn’t left me alone in the rain,
I thought this time was different, it was the same old thing,
no regrets from me, but never again,
and no song for you’s been written since.
since you’ve done it all before.
And you’ve spent all your dimes calling early,
but I won’t answer anymore.
I’ve been sitting and contemplating thinking ‘bout the past,
looking through our photos wondering why it didn’t last,
it all happened just a little too fast,
but now we’re back to where we’re at.
And I know you’d hate for me to pity you, babe,
but you know I really do.
and I know I told you that I really loved you,
you know I really meant it too.
But in the end there’s nothing left for me to feel but used,
you came and went so fast you left me dazed and confused,
your love is pretty strong, but pain’s the only tool you use,
and you’re the reason why I write the blues.
So long honey babe,
here’s to what we’ve said and done.
I realize now there wasn’t much before this,
and I think we’ve had our fun.
I wish you hadn’t left me alone in the rain,
I thought this time was different, it was the same old thing,
no regrets from me, but never again,
and no song for you’s been written since.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Escape from Binary Land
When you found you could leave your problems
you conjured thoughts of soaring, free from everyone,
wide delight as your sky
and I found myself looking up at the bright clouds
staring at the wake of your passage
left behind.
I’d sacrifice my perception to
join you in your sublime conception,
your Escape,
but to my feet the ground is unyielding
clinging casually with strength unmatched
Thus a dismal reality of time, this doleful reality of mine
Abides.
I used to wait on the hilltop from whence you took flight
to linger till your return to our lives
plucking at grass stems that sighed in the winds
giving voice to my thoughts.
As grains of sand trickled between my fingers
counting the seconds we were apart
I’d watch the light glinting off the solid stones in my path
weighing them in my mind against the starlit clouds
and think of your departure…
the solidity of Earth to me
was plentiful reality,
not to be deceived by me.
How you see if for yourself
remains, to all but you,
a mystery.
Since that day when down I toiled from rocky pinnacle to cold, damp soil,
I lift my head not to moon or cloud, fallen star or blazon sky.
And when the morning sun arises, its glamour diminished through a haze of morning fog,
‘tis down I cast my sight upon the streets of stone
and raise up not my eyes.
Yet when I chance to risk a glance upon a bird of flight
my thoughts cannot elude thoughts of you
and upon the bird I do espy
that wings of fancy are given at birth
not freely granted to meandering minds
and hence I cast my eyes down cold
to walk this granite path of mine.
you conjured thoughts of soaring, free from everyone,
wide delight as your sky
and I found myself looking up at the bright clouds
staring at the wake of your passage
left behind.
I’d sacrifice my perception to
join you in your sublime conception,
your Escape,
but to my feet the ground is unyielding
clinging casually with strength unmatched
Thus a dismal reality of time, this doleful reality of mine
Abides.
I used to wait on the hilltop from whence you took flight
to linger till your return to our lives
plucking at grass stems that sighed in the winds
giving voice to my thoughts.
As grains of sand trickled between my fingers
counting the seconds we were apart
I’d watch the light glinting off the solid stones in my path
weighing them in my mind against the starlit clouds
and think of your departure…
the solidity of Earth to me
was plentiful reality,
not to be deceived by me.
How you see if for yourself
remains, to all but you,
a mystery.
Since that day when down I toiled from rocky pinnacle to cold, damp soil,
I lift my head not to moon or cloud, fallen star or blazon sky.
And when the morning sun arises, its glamour diminished through a haze of morning fog,
‘tis down I cast my sight upon the streets of stone
and raise up not my eyes.
Yet when I chance to risk a glance upon a bird of flight
my thoughts cannot elude thoughts of you
and upon the bird I do espy
that wings of fancy are given at birth
not freely granted to meandering minds
and hence I cast my eyes down cold
to walk this granite path of mine.
Friday, July 08, 2005
An Invitation
In a world of walls and barriers, people are overlooking out simple connections. We are consumed by our fear of what is different. We have a long history of fearing the unknown. Douglas Adams said something along the lines of "...it's a sad world when you suspect a neighbour's wave."
I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.-You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long.-You come too.
-The Pasture, Robert Frost
I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long.-You come too.
I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long.-You come too.
-The Pasture, Robert Frost
Frost
The creator, the artist, the extraordinary [person], is merely the ordinary [person] intensified: a person whose life is sometimes lifted to a high pitch of feeling and who has the gift of making others share their excitement. The ordinary [person] lives by the creative spirit. [They] think in images and dreams in fantasty; [they] live by poetry. Yet they seem to distrust it. [They] cling to the notion that a poet is a queer and incompetent creature, a daydreaming ne'er-do-well, an eccentric trying to escape the business of the veryday world, a soft and coddled soul.
Almost the opposite is true. History is the record of [people] who were not only poets but workers, [beings] of action, discoverers, dreamers and doers...
[A]ny account of Robert Frost's life must being with its curious contradictions. Descended from a long line of New Engalnders who were rooted in the region since 1632, Frost was born in California. The most American of poets, he was first recognized not in his own country, but abroad, and his first two books were published in England. He has never entered a competition and does not believe in prize contests, yet the Pulitzer Prize for the best poetry of the year has been awarded to him four times.
Robert Frost's ancestors were Scotch-English. His mother was of a Scottish seafaring family of Orkneyan origin, a scho0olteacher whose name appears in most records as Isabelle Moody. Frost was more than fifty when he learned the correct spelling from a distant cousin in New Zealand; the relation from down under informed him that the proper spelling was "Moodie." A few years later the poet acknoledged the correction in a poem which serves as "mottoe" for A Witness Tree, a poem playfully signed "The Moodie Forester."
-Excerpt from Louis Untermeyer's introduction to "New Enlarged Pocket Anthology of Robert Frost's Poems"
Almost the opposite is true. History is the record of [people] who were not only poets but workers, [beings] of action, discoverers, dreamers and doers...
[A]ny account of Robert Frost's life must being with its curious contradictions. Descended from a long line of New Engalnders who were rooted in the region since 1632, Frost was born in California. The most American of poets, he was first recognized not in his own country, but abroad, and his first two books were published in England. He has never entered a competition and does not believe in prize contests, yet the Pulitzer Prize for the best poetry of the year has been awarded to him four times.
Robert Frost's ancestors were Scotch-English. His mother was of a Scottish seafaring family of Orkneyan origin, a scho0olteacher whose name appears in most records as Isabelle Moody. Frost was more than fifty when he learned the correct spelling from a distant cousin in New Zealand; the relation from down under informed him that the proper spelling was "Moodie." A few years later the poet acknoledged the correction in a poem which serves as "mottoe" for A Witness Tree, a poem playfully signed "The Moodie Forester."
-Excerpt from Louis Untermeyer's introduction to "New Enlarged Pocket Anthology of Robert Frost's Poems"
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Everything Must Go
You left me with some things:
a spoon, a tie, some socks.
I kept the old shirt you'd wear at night
when we'd climb into bed and turn out the light.
They're all piled in the corner now,
and everything must go.
You made me mighty blue,
so I'd used to look around at day
and see what'd take this hole away.
Your favorite color poking through
the sheets would drop my spirits low;
now everything must go.
I kept your letters and your face
embrodiered on a sleeve of lace
as memories of happy times
and shallow grace;
but now they feed a hungry fire,
and everything must go.
a spoon, a tie, some socks.
I kept the old shirt you'd wear at night
when we'd climb into bed and turn out the light.
They're all piled in the corner now,
and everything must go.
You made me mighty blue,
so I'd used to look around at day
and see what'd take this hole away.
Your favorite color poking through
the sheets would drop my spirits low;
now everything must go.
I kept your letters and your face
embrodiered on a sleeve of lace
as memories of happy times
and shallow grace;
but now they feed a hungry fire,
and everything must go.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
My Friend Dab
"Sleep Paralysis (SP) condition in which someone, most often lying in a supine position, about to drop off to sleep, or just upon waking from sleep realizes that s/he is unable to move, or speak, or cry out. This may last a few seconds or several moments, occasionally longer." (http://watarts.uwaterloo.ca/~acheyne/S_P2.html)
A sensation of not being able to move, even in the slightest manner, your muscles. Sometimes a twitch is accomplished. Sometimes I lie for several minutes trapped inside my own body and completely aware of it. Whether this is a fully concious or semi-concious state is something I'm struggling with defining - I'm concious in the sense that I can look out through my eyes and perceive color, recognize my surroundings, and focus my attention, but it feels like I'm caught halfway between The Dreaming and The Wakening.
"People frequently report feeling a "presence" that is often described as malevolent, threatening, or evil. An intense sense of dread and terror is very common. The presence is likely to be vaguely felt or sensed just out of sight but thought to be watching or monitoring, often with intense interest, sometimes standing by, or sitting on, the bed. On some occasions the presence may attack, strangling and exerting crushing pressure on the chest. People also report auditory, visual, proprioceptive, and tactile hallucinations, as well as floating sensations and out-of-body experiences (Hufford, 1982). These various sensory experiences have been referred to collectively as hypnagogic and hypnopompic experiences (HHEs). People frequently try, unsuccessfully, to cry out. After seconds or minutes one feels suddenly released from the paralysis, but may be left with a lingering anxiety. Extreme effort to move may even produce phantom movements in which there is proprioceptive feedback of movement that conflicts with visual disconfirmation of any movement of the limb. People may also report severe pain in the limbs when trying to move them."
(http://watarts.uwaterloo.ca/~acheyne/S_P2.html)
A sensation of not being able to move, even in the slightest manner, your muscles. Sometimes a twitch is accomplished. Sometimes I lie for several minutes trapped inside my own body and completely aware of it. Whether this is a fully concious or semi-concious state is something I'm struggling with defining - I'm concious in the sense that I can look out through my eyes and perceive color, recognize my surroundings, and focus my attention, but it feels like I'm caught halfway between The Dreaming and The Wakening.
"People frequently report feeling a "presence" that is often described as malevolent, threatening, or evil. An intense sense of dread and terror is very common. The presence is likely to be vaguely felt or sensed just out of sight but thought to be watching or monitoring, often with intense interest, sometimes standing by, or sitting on, the bed. On some occasions the presence may attack, strangling and exerting crushing pressure on the chest. People also report auditory, visual, proprioceptive, and tactile hallucinations, as well as floating sensations and out-of-body experiences (Hufford, 1982). These various sensory experiences have been referred to collectively as hypnagogic and hypnopompic experiences (HHEs). People frequently try, unsuccessfully, to cry out. After seconds or minutes one feels suddenly released from the paralysis, but may be left with a lingering anxiety. Extreme effort to move may even produce phantom movements in which there is proprioceptive feedback of movement that conflicts with visual disconfirmation of any movement of the limb. People may also report severe pain in the limbs when trying to move them."
(http://watarts.uwaterloo.ca/~acheyne/S_P2.html)
Friday, April 29, 2005
Borrowed
The following quotes are often attributed to Mandela, but in actuality have been borrowed from another source:
Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone. And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
Actual Source: Marianne Williamson [1994 Inaugural Speech]
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