Thursday, April 8, 2010

Hallelujah Questions

At every point,
That I have turned,
I have been disappointed,
As I struggle to comprehend,
How I end up this way,
Searching and not finding,
Leads to problems of the spirit and the soul,
As Leonard Cohen,
Tugs at my heartstrings,
As picturesque and subtle beauty,
Only comes in black and white,
And the only word I can spare,
Is Hallelujah?

At every point,
Of this tragic life,
I have pushed on,
Figuring out,
What I know,
And what I don’t,
Knowing that the latter is winning that battle,
Returning still to the faint hope,
Of the sun as it reaches a cross,
Just as it has in my life.

At every point,
I have reached toward the heavens,
Spiritual and not religious,
As I thrash about,
Cohen beckoning me to believe,
Just not sure what,
Nor is he.

At every point,
I have found,
That I am lost,
Wandering list fully,
Attempting to know,
That which refuses to be known,
In a useless quest,
That will only leave me,

At every point,
One way here,
Another way there,
Lonely and yet surrounded,
The clouds,
My tears reveal,
And again,
Leonard pulls me back,
A giant,
Pulling out of me,
Everything I have left,
But can I show it?
Did he?

At every point,
Loathing saves for when I love,
For who I love,
Is like an angels choir,
Many voices united,
In prayer,
But to who or what,
Is not so clear,
And if it were would it still be so majestic?

Leonard says he’s done his best,
And I know he has,
As I have,
To begin the process,
Of healing,
And yet,
For us both,
It is vain,
That we wait for something we’ll never know,
At least not in this life,
Could we?

At every point,
My cross screaming out to be seen,
Wanting to be felt,
Longing to be known,
For what I am,
For who I am,
For when this life is over,
My words will remain;



Sounding Board

A sounding board revealed,
I contain my own melancholy,
Through a divine inspiration,
That you provide.

The music of my soul,
At least to me,
As I can see the corner,
And soon turning I will,
Find the answer,
For what I seek.

A sounding board revealed,
I have been discreet,
With feelings that have torn at my flesh,
Leaving wounds that none but I can see,
Deep inside,
The vacuous fighting the emotions,

The magic of this moment,
One note at a time,
As I know,
That soon I will see a shining light,
That even I cannot sully.

A sounding board revealed,
I know I’m in trouble,
Like a little school boy,
Beaten but not broken,
Looking into the future,

Knot so Funny!

In this world,
I see endless struggle,
And feel for those that are caught in the crossfire,
Which of course we all are,
In the end.

I have found meaning,
In attempting to explain my position,
Making it clear,
That I am here,
For you?

I have lost meaning,
At points when I am low,
Where I struggle to be,
What I know I was meant,
To be.

My Buddha beads,
On my wrist,
Counting my blessings,
Knowing that the curses,
Must end.

My stomach in knots,
As scatterbrained,
I continue down a path,
That few travel,
But all must find.


Ghosts of the Past

My revolution,
Began the day I was born,
January 11, 1975,
A child of the light,
Through my youth,
The intense,
Scattered my thought,
From war to war, revolutionary to revolutionary.

In them I found a simple kindness,
Something that perhaps,
None other saw.

My revolution began,
When I opened my eyes to the world around me,
Unhappy with its displeasure,
I retreated,
Into words,
My private surrender,
To that which was not right.

In my revolution,
I sought friends,
Quiet ghosts,
That had long been done,
Asking them questions,
Of what to do.

Always on my mind,
As he had given up comfort,
As I wish I could,
For still I am comfortable,
In my revolution.

The romantic notions aside,
Gave freely of his soul,
For all people,
Longing to create a better world,
And doing it the best way he knew how,
Which doesn’t mean that it was necessarily right.

Che came to me,
Perhaps as young as thirteen,
When in my adolescence I related,
To something that I could empathize with,
I found simple kindness,
In his advance,
Toward a more just society.

In Korda’s vision,
Che has been immortalized,
Iconic now,
So that kids where his image,
Without paying the price,
If understanding the 5 w’s of him,
Which even now elude me,
At least in part.

In my revolution,
When my skin touched those storied sands,
Where Americans played restless,
Fast and loose,
With a people so beautiful,
It is where I long to be,
Hemingway knew it,
And my revolution found a home.

What could you have done,
Knowing the full extent,
Of what you did,
I wonder what you would think of now,
As you are a Ghost from the Past,
That many would prefer erased,
Where I would prefer,
To see your revolution embraced,
With words.



As my Algeria holds fast to truth,
Rewards me,
With a clever phrase,
Or a not so subtle word,
My passion tied,
To a sense of reason,
Absolutely unreasonable,
For my life,
My crazy vida,
Must stop being a vida of pain,
Loosened from trustees,
By Leonard Cohen,
Calling me,
As everybody knows,
Except me.


My Secret Garden

In my secret garden,
The flowers speak to me,
Begging me for sunshine and rain in equal parts,
They ask me to nourish my soul,
With their fragrant rebellion,
Singing Hallelujah,
With every step I take toward them.

In my secret garden,
There are bees at every turn,
Sucking nectar from my talking flowers,
And each wish me a good day,
In proper English style,
Tilting their antennae,
Pointing the way,
For me to advance.

In my secret garden,
A snake,
Less that subtle,
Tempts me to eat the fruit,
And angrily shouts,
When I say the same thing each day,
I will not submit.

In my secret garden,
The cobblestones,
All giggle with delight when barefoot I walk over them,
Each saying that today is a new day,
Can you feel the suns blessings on your flesh?

In my secret garden,
The poisonous venom,
That tried to eat away my soul,
Now becomes the fall of rain,
That pleases my not so secret friends.


Numb Offense

I think to myself,
In circuitous logic,
And irrational circles,
That my defense,
Was in fact an offense,
To all that was reasonable,
As bruised,
I discovered that I was alive,
The pain so pungent,
That it stung my nose,
Like a rotten egg,
Or a decomposing corpse,
Finding that I was alive,
I had no choice,
Kicking and screaming,
In those infinite circles,
Circles infinitely,
Tugging at my soul,
That I had to fight back,
As demons tried to rob me,
Like a thief in the night,
Coming at all hours,
Sending shivers down my spine,
But I did not give in,
For though numb,
I found,


Dylans Echo

The wind blows,
As I hear Dylan and my times are changing,
And keep me tangled up in blue,
Though the sunshine breaks the monotonous despair,
Allows my dream,
Floating free,
finding the strength,
To finally allow myself,
What for so long was true,
But avoided,
As the knocks on the door of my own sanity echoed,
I had no choice,
But to submit,
Give myself the generous permission to visit darkness,
As Dylan says creeping,
As I gasp for air,
And acknowledge I must take it,
One day at a time.


Personal Odyssey

As I stare out into the abyss,
I consider,
Yet hurriedly at the same time,
The language of my own discontent,
My mother tongue if you will,
Finding that the universe keeps sending me to the fatherland,
To consider,
That which dares not be considered,
Stepping back from the abyss,
I discover again and over again,
That words are my language,
Regardless of their romanticism,
And I delight in that,
My personal odyssey,
Messy and unconstrained.



As I gargle words,
Like a juggler juggles knives,
I discover that a snork,
Can be as moving as a belch,
I catch a whiff,
Of my own stink,
Called passion.



Stop now,
A cautionary tale,
Go write you fool,
It is an inextricable part of you,
And that’s okay,
Its better than ok,
It is what you are meant to be,
Stop lounging in desolation,
For your superfluous gifts,
Are calling out,


Inspire -

I seek sunshine,
In the place of darkness.

I take chances,
For I know not what else to do.

I seem change,
Because stagnation is death.

I long for adventure,
Because I have wanderlust.

I want to inspire,
You to be who you are.


Daily Spell - Double Entendre For Lavinia

A waterfall of my mind,
Drenches to the bone,
Where inside me I feel a beast at work,
That presents itself,
In every moment,
By an uncontrollable urge to write.

Peering through,
The window to my soul,
You must find me equal parts,
And free.

Smudging my own ego,
With peppered dismissal,
Of what I have so close to the surface,
I penetrate my soul,
To profess my sanity,
If only to myself.

I will be free,
I will soar,
I will become,
I will be,
I know I am,
I know I can,
I know I should,
I know I will,
My daily incantation,
Uplifting and fearfully true.

With mucho gusto,
I know I have let go,
Finding equal parts,
Of me.


Off the Rails!

Both literally and figuratively true,
I have found myself,
Off the rails.

My life,
On a tragic crash course,
And it all was caused,
By a lack of truth.

Glorious truth,
The full surrender to self,
Righting the past,
Writing the past and future,
Off the rails.

An upward spiral,
Now finds me,
As I discover self,
One second at a time,

No longer railing or reeling,
Against a torment,
That has haunted my past,
And shaken my future,
I have found solace.

In your love and light,
I have found,
Destiny and stared fate in the eye,
Restless and wandering.

Revealing themselves,
In a beautiful truth,
Glorious truth,
That is the lubrication,
For my renewal.

Off the rails,
I have discovered,
That my destiny,
Is not a straight line,
Or a white one.

Off the rails,
Life begun anew,
An upward struggle,
To self,
I will be true,
As you have been,
To me.


Photo by Erika Van Dam

Amorphophallus Titanium,

Avenging my own unrelenting despair,
I and I,
In the same moment of space and time,
Looking on myself from the outside,
Purging toxic stress,
Leaving me rattled and shaken,
Yet I know,
Each day… survival is the name of the game.

Presupposing that I was meant,
To feel this pain and suffering,
That it was mine by birthright,
Not knowing what is in store,
Though knowing that it involves words,
Words from you,
That propel me on.

These words,
To you may seem nothing more,
Than something which defines life,
But to me,
A word is power,
An unnerving power that rattles my cage,
And causes,
Sobering thoughts.

And reclusive,
I sit in the darkness,
Pondering a world I’ve left behind,
And a new world,
Unfurling right before my eyes,
Amorphophallus titanium,
Ravishing to be sure.

You have honoured me,
And I in turn,
Honour you,
Acknowledging those imperious,
But leaving them,
As I go forward,
Will you come with me?


Survivor Butterfly - For my New Friend Tisa

Sweet and innocent Tisa,
I empathize with your current struggle,
Though I can hardly know your pain,
Nor your journey,
In this time of renewal,
I know that you will see,
These healing words,
That you will feel their warmth,
Despite our not knowing each other,
Until now,
Blessed to be a part of your struggle,
I so too know,
That you can draw strength,
From this compassion,
And fully realize,
That life is a journey,
And not a destination,
That your life is destined for greatness,
Further allowing yourself,
The beauty of a spiritual light,
To ignite the flame of your own surrender,
To hope,
The beauty of life,
Not always as we planned it,
Nor as we want it,
Yet in our acceptance,
Of the many gifts that come when we most need them,
We together discover,
The triumph of will,
In so doing,
Realizing the full power,
As a survivor,
As a fluttering butterfly,
Found in the breeze,
Sweet and innocent Tisa,
Catch the wind,
And soar,
With me,
Into your bright future.



As I transfer sadness for joy,
Pain for light,
Anguish for love,
I find energy,
Feverous as I devour,
From far and wide,
That pulls me from my disability,
Into a world of possibility,
And hope,
Unearthing an extraordinary design,
That plucks me from the monotonous cycle,
Of hellish decent,
Filling me with my sense of purpose,


Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Just a Tree?

As I walked down a street,
With nothing to offer,
But grey and drab,
My mind wandered,
And then,
As sudden as my birth,
I saw before me what seemed,
At the time,
Like the most beautiful tree I had ever seen,
Perhaps it was the change of scenery,
Or maybe,
Just maybe,
It was a beacon,
Of fuchsia and white,
Begging me out of depression,
Asking me to spring into me,
I wonder.


Found in Buddha - Lost in Thought

In light of all kinds of bad news,
I found a strength,
That allowed me to dare,
I collected thought,
In beads,
Friendship in amount I never thought possible,
New and old,
I swear by the light of the moon,
That the way you care,
Has shown me,
That I must dare to live,
To go on,
Regardless of whether life is fair or not,
I owe it to you all,
And I am now aware.

Comandante SDM

1000 Words

I’d asked for five,
And in your generosity you gave me 1000 or more,
I look at the shadows cast,
And envy your children.
For when they grow older,
They will rejoice,
In the beautiful spirit that is their mother,
Who so flawlessly captured the moments in life,
Splendid Moments,
That I wish I had,
As I fall deeper into your shadows,
I see a glimpse of all of us,
In the implied curiosity,
And the gentle wisdom,
Of your kids at play,
I’d asked for five,
And 1000 more flood my consciousness,
As I consider,
Exactly what they are pondering,
And I know,
That in their innocence,
I can,
For a fleeting moment,
In their splendor!

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