0 comments Sunday, February 18, 2018

i resolve not to pine
over the apples
not to let tart
comments get to me
to set the dust dogs free

to find someplace
that produces those
love letters
or perchance somewhere
one can roost
free range

in the middle of this spring
clearing
to find some time
to watch the sky turn
orange


0 comments Sunday, December 18, 2016

an ode to takotsubo

getting to know you
i'm going to have
a really big heart
by the time it ends

i don't feel
shunted just rather
short of breath
wondering why i can't

read the traces of your heart
all the adrenaline in the world
isn't going to save this
it probably doesn't help

that i can never figure out
how to work the defibrillator


*note: Takotsubo cardiomyopathy
** note: since the writing of this poem, i have since learned how to work the defibrillator ;p

0 comments Tuesday, November 24, 2015

"I feel sad, write a story to cheer me up!"

I looked over the tops of the stacks of books at her pout, almost comical in its childishness. Time didn't leave its trails on her; her eyes twinkled as tender as the day we met. Mine were perhaps a little duller now, but she thought nothing of it. I shifted my gaze back to the books, glanced across the gilded letters on the worn leather spines.

"Well, there are many stories here that are nice to read..."

"No! I want you to write one!"

"Surely you haven't read them all?"

"I haven't! But it doesn't matter, and my name's not Shirley!"

I chuckled and shook my head, and the beginnings of a smile crept into the corners of her lips. It took hold soon enough, and she couldn't bear to hide her glee.

"So, are you going to write one? Mmmmm?"

How could I refuse? But then, I thought, she ought to work a little herself.

"Come over, why don't we write a story together?"

It must have been her plan all along. With a grin from ear to ear now, she lightly stepped over, drew up a chair, and sat down beside me.

"Alright, where do we start?"

A story is a strange thing, fragile as a fledgling, beautiful as it buds, grotesque as it grows, silent in its suffering, and divine in its death. I wanted the story to be hers, as much as one might "have" a story, anyway.

"Well... we need to start with the sad parts, I think."

"Why can't we start with the happy parts? Hey, this is supposed to cheer me up, you know?"

"Yes, but everyone knows what the happy parts feel like, mmm? It's the sad parts that are different for everyone."

"Can't I have just happy parts, anyway?"

"Well... if you don't know what sadness is, how can you feel really happy, instead of just... pleasure?"

While she was mulling that over, I pulled up a piece of paper and two pencils, and drew a little dot in the center.

"That's our beginning."

With a few flourishes, I drew a few spokes from the spot.

"And that's where our sad parts are going to be."

"Shouldn't we have a line instead? Like, a... time... line?"

"Memories don't work like that, you know. They don't go in a straight line. They obey their own laws... and since you're making the memories, you get to decide what happens to them."

She took the sheet of paper from me, squinted melodramatically at my crude drawing, then turned the sheet to the other side. She drew another point in the center, but instead of spokes, she drew a two-armed spiral coming out from it.

"I think I want these memories to... to circle out from the... back into the beginning."

She held the pencil up, and, staring into the air, absentmindedly touched it to her nose. Then she looked down again, and put a little cross on the arm on the right.

"That's where the sad parts are going to start."

Her forehead scrunched for half a minute or so before she turned to me again.

"What sort of sad parts do you usually put into stories?"

I sighed. It wasn't quite easy to describe.

"Uh, as I said, the sad parts are different for everyone..."

She rolled her eyes and pouted again, but turned back to the sheet of paper, still pensive.

"I think that I'll put in... loss."

"What sort of loss?"

"I don't know! Mmm... loss of... you said that time doesn't matter when we're writing it, right?"

"That's... right?"

"Alright then. I'll put in a loss of the future."

I raised my eyebrows at the thought. She stared at me and sighed, as though I were a silly skunk.

"You know, when people make decisions, that's it. That's a loss of all the other futures that might have happened. And you know what's worst? It's that you don't know what you've lost, and you never will. And you'll always wonder."

I paused in thought, my hands almost-unconsciously finding each other, and my gaze fell to my lap. She soon went back to smiling and sketching on the sheet, the scratching of the pencil soothing the strands of my senses. At length, I looked up with a little worry in my eyes.

"How could anyone be happy like that?"

She laughed at me (and she said, said she) with a smile like the rose in June.

"How could you ever feel really happy, knowing that you would be happier or sadder in the future? Mmmm? When you don't know what will happen, then you're free to enjoy whatever you have as much as you want to."

It was my turn to smile. I knew then that she would be a great writer of stories.

"Well, I think I can leave the rest up to you now."

She looked up and smiled at me, and those eyes!- as tender as the day I lost her mother. I rose and stretched a little, and went to get myself a drink. After all, stories don't just have a beginning- you have to watch them as they grow up.

-~-

Written for a writing prompt on Reddit:
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3u2e9u/wpi_feel_sad_write_a_story_to_cheer_me_up/cxbaj8e

0 comments Sunday, November 01, 2015

sometimes you can tell
it isnt meat to be
some are too nutty
others are always in a jam

sometimes it's obvious -
someone who sets
the lab on fire
isnt good at baking exactly

true, life's not a picnic
and anyway
there's always the threat
of dengue

sometimes all goes smoothly
but the glucometer reads HI
or you discover
a cavity

sometimes you find the perfect
gingerbread
but the season is over;
it's too latte

0 comments Thursday, October 29, 2015

Russet leaves and sunset eaves
Calm the heart and quake the knees
Like some melodious disease.

Always the first iniquities
Are the sovereign bonds and the equities
That titillate the intellect
With just enough of fict and fact,
A mediocre tease.

And then, with promises of ease,
The deeds and debts to properties
That one half-willingly contracts
And half as willingly forgets
Upon the payment of the broker's fees,

And the termination of the lease.

---

The spilling amber paints its ease
Upon the cracked mahoganies.
First your hands, and then your eyes,
And then your mind will tell you lies,
Even your gilded vanities.

And with their careless vagaries,
Years on years in every crease.
Clouded eyes and candleglare
Trace each callus, trace each care
Measuring your disabilities.

When did you turn your faculties
To petty things as these?

---

Beside the bottles and the lawyer's sheaves,
Familiar faces, faded memories:
The hanged man, Justice, Temperance,
The hierophant, the empress,
And the lovers- now the divorcees.

Tender laughter, ever may it tease
Your pains away.
Let it linger, let it stay
With the comfort that it guarantees.

Still- wherefore, whence, and whither these
Pangs and pains, o these regrets,
With your philosopher's degrees?

---

Rugged hands that wait on ragged knees
Warm themselves upon the sunset leaves.
Moving with their careless vagaries,
Years on years in every wrinkled crease
As they trace the cracked mahoganies.

Beside the bottles and the lawyer's sheaves,
All I have left are faded memories
And half-forgot philosopher's degrees,
The measure of my disabilities.

Just ask the lovers, now the divorcees-
Only comfort has its guarantees,
And those are merely gilded vanities.

Always like some melodious disease,
Tender laughter- ever may it tease.

1 comments Wednesday, February 19, 2014

occasionally i 
miss your tempura
it did go so well
with the soba

and the crabiness

even if the
menu claimed
'soft shell'

the prawns did

ebi and flow
but what really did me in
was the wasabi

which i thought

was
green tea
ice cream

0 comments Saturday, January 25, 2014

Tears drop in the rain
I want to lose again,
see what things are really there.

fold
the stars into consciousness
and the sand into the sky
and see what things are really there.

Tomorrow
is another screen
for the projection of today
Go into that sweet sleep,
remember,
remember,
I will carry your wave into the future.

two signals
converging on NOW
now bright,
now then,
soon we will remember
to see again.

Salt.
Inside of me
dead like the sea,
better than aphrodisiac or pain
shrivel in sun
water gets between my toes,
salt, in the core of me and surrounding me.

I let salt go into the cycle that gives my molecules momentum
Let go:
the rivers flow to the sea
and remember salt, the basis of body
and its temporal inheritance.

Soon,
when we're sitting by the TV,
stars explode,
burning solar systems
streaming neutrinos through our skulls
while we, unbeknownst, munch on
peas

Cosmic wind, give the sight
that remembers how to pass
untrammeled through the universe,
stopping only to be born
and to die.

Someone asked if there was a teapot
floating around Mars - well, orbiting,
which is like falling on nothing.

Mr. Teapot:
I am sorry we left you there.
There are comforts in the dim sky
the red glow is a friend,
there will be a beginning,
a return to peace,
an end.