poem/14

the air that remains in the lungs
the last low bit
stubbornly hangs on
arms crossed, humphing that
the bottom is something
inviting "depth" as a euphemism

the fool forgets to breathe
and chokes stale
you with eyes are meant to rise
pick life up in pieces with fingers
these pieces easily slide through

hold on to the depth
it will only get darker
damp and clammier
to surrender is not to lose
but to choose risk, hope
in new eyes, wonder, surpise

poem/13

its been one of those days
that nudge me into the slippers of God
humility bows to grace
at the edge of the bed
at the days end the bones rest
to live again
i let go my guess
and walk softly

poem/12

(this is rambling idiocy not a poem)


reading posts from a year ago
seems to locate me square one
lost, at times, lonely
confused
and curious how to stretch
myself beyond comfort into experience

what changes?
everything and nothing
generalizations swoop
and a head splits
when the fissures in winter
pull farther apart
justification: they will rescind
when the chill wind dies down
and such and such happens
and i do this
and go here
and make the most out of
and forgive and pray and humble
myself into one interconnected
human who used to believe in a resurrected
man
and now
my heart beat's a shout
every hour devout serenity
and now
courage
and then
wisdom
and the twelve steps is not vertical
its circular, continuum
and not in a vacuum

still i stand on square one
one one one one one
chance, love, world, hope, life

dont read this
do not
it is babble
there is no enlightenment
just a rocky ramble down the mountain
burning feet and freezing hands
the body wants to understand
and walk and talk and stride
along a ride like a boomerang
leaving knowing
i will return home
home is me with you
it is what it is
that you eschew
the bird that never flew
the one that sat in the nest
whose squabble would not rest
and wings had to test
every wind, way, branch and feather

and i am her kind
ha
perched on the line
pecking a border design
just before i find
a way to leave the
square one mind

poem/12

borrowed from Rilke:

SONNETS TO ORPHEUS, PART ONE, IV

You who let yourselves feel: enter the breathing
that is more than your own.
Let it brush your cheeks
as it divides and rejoins behind you.

Blessed ones, whole ones,
you where the heart begins:
You are the bow that shoots the arrows
and you are the target.

Fear not the pain. Let its weight fall back
into the earth;
for heavy are the mountains, heavy the seas.

The trees you planted in childhood have grown
too heavy. You cannot bring them along.
Give yourselves to the air, to what you cannot hold.

http://myinneredge.wordpress.com/category/rilke/

poem/11

words are puzzle pieces
a box opened on a table scattered
dull cardboard backs and
color clues, edge pieces too

attempts at coherency
legitimacy
fantasy
gutsy
try
putting this piece with this
word next to this word
period, done.
can a puzzle be won?

play games with words until
there is no beginning
no end
life spirals and you are fool
to think all the same pieces will
still be in the box next time

poem/10

where do words come from
where is the well
and how can i get the buckets
to stop dropping down

i say too much because
i am afraid to not
as result, i self-tie
myself to knots

if only the rope would
knot
the length stop
short of the water source

the well would lay
still
and the rope would reach
till
it could
and i would no longer
be tangled in diction
wrestling with lexicon

no bucket down
just silent sirenity

poem/9

we are not machines
sterling and practical

we are human and bending
along the arc
cracking like dry plaster along the day
and still, foaming like soapy oceans
blind in the search for power
gazing at the sun in wonder
to accept with serenity what cannot be changed
living with courage to break by dropping
yes, go on and let this light in
this fresh air pour into your lungs
this sun absorb into your iris
burn like coal the impurity from yr needs

bend and break and feel the life flow
from the fissures
these veins
that don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
love*,
love
rise burning
this is you facing the day alive
beating and broken open
to the greatest source
yourself

poem a day/8

bake and break bread
together in Janu, damn you
cold winter weather
yet you turn this skin stronger
and the heart beat harder
for longer sun days
this heart prays in beats

daily streets are lessons
walk and fall and get up by choice
the sidewalk doesnt end it swerves
and serves a didactic learning curve
if yr ears bend humble, and yr eyes stumble
open
channels of hope bubble
through veins blue to useful
and yr heart starts to recreate
a thought to not berate the cold
feel the gold as eyes say hello

as you go through the day
into the night
treat yrself kind and rewind memories
while casting a refined light
through your tenacity

how does the present moment sound
echoes of gratitude
ripple belief to attitude
now and here
pray in beats
break bread and feast

poem a day/7

dust on the desk
rust round the heart
clean a cluttered room
tis a good start

poem a day/6

'america, i'm putting my queer shoulder' to the wheel
as a fall off of a bike
smash a sigg in half and skin scrape
declining the car ride
whatever i said equated useless
this is a banal confessional
warning
this is a waste of your time

i do not know what to believe
when i heed the heart
i do not know what to trust
when the best intentions bust

tack one up for another smother
of love like butter over bread
its smooth but it can kill you
if you engorge

and it is quite possible
i have died



from 'America' by Allen Ginsburg

poem a day/5

literally cannot write anything

i choose Rumi to fill the gap



My Worst Habit

"My worst habit is I get so tired of winter
I become a torture to those I'm with.

If you're not here, nothing grows.
I lack clarity. My words
tangle and knot up.

How to cure bad water? Send it back to the river.
How to cure bad habits? Send me back to you.

When water gets caught in the habitual whirlpools,
dig a way out through the bottom
to the ocean. There is a secret medicine
given only to those who hurt so hard
they can't hope.

The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.

Look as long as you can at the friend you love,
no matter whether that friend is moving away from you
or coming back to you."

poem a day/4

(poem a day/4)

i don't know what to do
i don't know who to believe
i don't know if to send money
i don't know how you are
i don't know the hunger
i don't know the added strife
i don't know the last time you laughed

this is a confession
not a poem


my heart a gong, the beat a deep song
Ayiti Sere nan ke'm toujou

poem a day/3

thousands dead photos over twitter
the mess melange deluge
Petit a petit l'oasieu fait sonid
little by little the bird makes its nest

until an earthquake
until an earthquake

what happens when there is no nest
because there is no tree
because there is no soil

thin limbs can carry so many children
before snapping

oh my god years of debt cooperating corruption
complexity (history-economics-politics)
not understood through the reference line
"haiti, the poorest country in the western hemisphere"
why do you think that is
the imported pigs and USAID white rice
driving down prices for decades
farmers forced off years of habit ritual work pride
land country soil trees homes schools streets

until an earthquake
until an earthqaue

Ayiti Cheri, m pa janm bliye
Dear Haiti, i never forget

tap tap, sweat, little mopeds to the mountains
sweat and dust
and unrefined stamina
Haiti Haiti Haiti Haiti
saying is praying and
i am on my knees
remembering Jose, Ansito, Gabie, Jovenel, Vivianne, Andre, Dadou, Liaute, Antonia, KC, Mama, Anita, Coleen,
mwen sonje ou
mwen renmen ou
delicate language may we wrap ourselves in
honor respect and feed on fresh mangoes

until an earthquake
until an earthquake

radical changes: the killing of haitian pigs
and the replacement of american pigs
spelled catastrophe before the letters could be written
white rice has no nutritional value

chains of debt from oppressive rulers
more than 90% walked over by the feet of the 10%
controlled even in their dreams by the arm of the elite

and the american dragon has blown its fire too
while shaking hands with the IMF and World Bank in the back room
drinking rum
so good
lets forget about all the people and sail away wherever
and keep these dirty secrets smudged in our back pocket

until an earthquake
until an earthquake


do you know what degaje (de-ga-zhay) means?
degaje - Haitian Kreyol for "make do"
how do the hungry make do with charcoal buried in earthqauke

no land, 98% deforested country
fire, water, protein precious
because why
this is not a self-made poor
chains on most are forced
go to the city to sell what you can and try to make it

poverty beyond the Haitian people's control

until an earthquake
until an earthquake

do not forget what a small group of committed people can accomplish
in suits, in lighted rooms, on international phones,
with literacy and greater life expectancies

the cost of wealth is death
the cost of wealth is life

profit by extortion, dispossession
reduces homes to slums
trees to charcoal
women and kids to submissive
i am ready to scream
global economic, international trade laws
debt cancellation stipulated with infinity clauses

until an earthquake
until an earthquake

wake up
wake up
no wonder i yell and kick my sleep
this is a nightmare
Haiti in the Caribbean, cruise around paradise
right, go on enjoy the ignorance, bask in stereotypes and justifications
stay safe and don't ask questions
keep drinking and soon we'll be in the DR
"where its safer"

and to all the garbled up shit on the walls i say

fuck you misrepresenting shrinking media
fuck you self-centered tourists
fuck you lies, corruption, deceit, slavery, sex slavery
fuck you gnawing poverty, death from diarrhea

before the earthquake
beyond the earthquake

with genuine support without strings attached
may struggle be met with resilience
may ability to reach deeply and heal be practiced
may mistakes, greed and injustice never be overlooked or dismissed
may it not take another earthquake to peel back these layers




Summer 2008 I worked and lived with an incredible Haitian family and made strong lasting relationships with several men and women from Cap Haitien (largest city in Northern Haiti). I worked with Sonje Ayiti (www.sonjeayiti.com) on several projects rooted in sustainable rural community development. At this time of crisis, if you are able to donate any funds, please visit the Sonje Ayiti website and contribute online or with check: PO BOX 83/ Grayson, GA 30017-0002.

Poem a day/2

11 Enero- Dos Mil Diez

i want to take it back
like peeling off wallpaper
do over
scrape, sand, prime
paint on a renewed blank canvas

the stupid mouth is an open whole
looking for diggers

gaping, excuses lunge out
no, it is not what you think
but, if you...
and then i think
hey past hey
cant make you go away
i've no mode to erode fossil bones
there is no room to redo
i am just a soft hearted fool
with good intentions that leave my hands quicker
than crumbs

to work on me is one thing
i'm human remember
there is distance in the space between*
and, so
to she who was never her, i cannot
and i dont even have
no wall paper
no money to buy paint
no time
and you no desire to even know
i rearranged
the plums and vines to a warm clementine
color illuminated by sunshine
a sunrise is hope
without hope the world shivers petrified

i want to take it back
the way the morning does sunrise
and sand the long salt tide
the way night invites the moonlight
it is two way reciprocity



*lyric from "Telling Stories" by Tracy Chapman

poem a day/1

10 janvier 2010

water would freeze in this room

write out directions with a spoon
carve curves of letters into
the soft places of the brain where
hearts once walked

one line funny jokes of all
your lovers, messages
as for me
i cannot run as fast as you
an asthma, some crutch, wont let me keep up

go on and clean up your
cold room
barefeet on the knots
both flat from years of wear
laugh and command like sisters
what the fuck are we doing
keep laughing
the nerves sneek out like
butterflies from cocoons
(beautiful release)
why is flight destiny?
it is innate to leave
whether or not you plan on returning
the path is made by walking
directions through air must be given
by someone with experience
yet on the ground its the sound
of your own heart pumping its way around the stumps
and layered wet leaves fallen
don't let gravity pull you down like that
my sisters

walk to understand
scrapes scars burns and callouses
strengthen the tissue
and provide the "i know what you mean"
and so the heart softens the mind space

that when you burst and fly
because to go and do is hardwired destiny
i know you know we have been walking
revealing directions with
spoons
the carves of curves of letters

spell love, yeah i love you mujer