poetry

soul speak

in ,

I’ve got a ribbon in my eye

and it speaks truthfully of the soul

that lies beyond.

It’s holding my ocean at bay, merely

monitoring your ebb and flow.

It’s

cradling something capable

of explosion,

graceful detonation

into something mysterious.

But what do I know

of something I cannot see?

Even the reflections lie;

if left is right, then what

is wrong?

Play with the grains, toss them together

as you will

but hold yourself at a distance from me

just to remember that I am my own entity,

not simply your puzzle of whole pieces.

I am me without you-

without your hands.

So see me, I beg you, without you

and let the impressions left between the

lines of my

fingerprints

breathe on their own.

In, out, ebb, flow.

Pull the ribbon from my eye,

gently as to not disturb

the peace it keeps within the seas inside me,

gently,

so you see me outside my conscience.

Whisper, read it like a fortune, let it

dance in the wind while held

between your fingertips,

only if you trust them like they are the fibers

holding the circuit of your heart whole,

keeping the current

bringing air into your own blood.

Hold my soul

and name it not crimson or violet

let it simply

speak.

A Ritual to Read to Each Other

in

By William Stafford

If you don't know the kind of person I am

and I don't know the kind of person you are

a pattern that others made may prevail in the world

and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

 

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,

a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break

sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood

storming out to play through the broken dyke.

 

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,

but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,

I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty

to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

 

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,

a remote important region in all who talk:

though we could fool each other, we should consider--

lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

 

For it is important that awake people be awake,

or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;

the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--

should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

plastic

in

[excerpt]

She was made to be surrounded

by the plastic that she was made of.

She didn’t need any of it.

I didn’t know how to say it then,

but I couldn’t stand that synthetic,

fake, forced, pink lip-parted smile of hers.

She didn’t know,

but she wouldn’t understand.

no one with that much "plastic" in her head

could understand a world of virtues; like

Beauty, what is Beauty?

i have– beautiful... things, she says.

she sat with eleven other clones

in a crate in my closet

carelessly clothed,

surrounded by herself

without a brain or a personality.

She was perfect

but I already knew

that the world wasn’t.

She bored me

so I

abandoned her.

4_realsizebarbie

4_realsizebarbie

makikawakita304

makikawakita304

Photos: "Life-Sized Barbie" by Maki Kawakita

wordplay

in

so you like to string together words, tossing promises,

nice things on a string

like a kite in the wind,

papery, fragile, flimsy.

i thought they were solid and

pure like rocks falling from the sky;

i'd pick up each pebble and examine

every side and detail

feeling all surfaces and textures

as if

they were real

promises like bubbles,

floating sweet and clear as glass but

every time i draw near,

each time i reach out to

grasp one in my hands,

it bursts and vanishes without a trace

of having ever existed..

and is it foolish to stand

silent with empty

hands,

holding the invisible remains

of empty promises?

until denial creeps in and argues

with my imagination.

you were there, but as if a ghost,

to leap behind and hide before the silence

after a gust.

you were there,

but nevermore.

Diving

in

So here I am, wanting so badly to spring forward,

to leap out

and feel the thrill of falling

head over heels;

to feel the exhilaration

and the butterflies of cascading

into the unknown.

I want to fall fast,

to tumble and twirl and

Dive

head-first into the depths

of your soul

and swim up to your eyes

to see the pools where I reflect

and where I get lost.

I want to kick to the surface and know that

I can say

that I’m no longer afraid of heights

or depths,

to say I have no fear of sinking

because you make me feel buoyant.

You got me to climb, to feel so far,

and here I am at the top of the ladder,

but where did you go?

My heart keeps me from jumping.

It’s keeping my toes curled

at the edge of this board

because there’s too many unknowns and

the sun is staring me down,

blocking your rays and

all I see is yellow

as if you are the sun and

I become lost in your silence

and hesitant at my feet,

looking down into

where I want to be.

My knees quiver,

all I needed was a nudge.

But I’m backing down now

Finding your confidence in this

was a lie.

"keep your feet on the ground when your head's in the clouds..."

in

Small voice loud

Thumbalina sat

waiting on her sill,

dreaming of the outside

that she could only view.

Wondering why her,

why must she

be a prisoner of a life of

miniature confinement.

A little spec of joy

in a big, big world of oblivion.

The seasons change

with monstrous, lengthy hours

that contrast the quick breaths

of her frail existence.

All she wanted

was to be free.

To explore;

to linger and observe and see.

All she wanted

was for someone

to hear her small voice loud;

to sweep her off her feet

and make her feel

taller than the mountains.

All she wanted to do

was to spread wings

and fly.