Worlds Away

what the nomad brought home

Invisible Tattoo

Revealed along the journey of a vernal, crescent moon,
He displays the backwards/forwards evolution
That brought him to the great meridian
Of the bed where we repose.

Like twin suns twisting ’round each other as we blaze
Our trail through the cosmos,
He and I go spinning off the sparks that glow with what we’re made of.
A crimson heat to speak for me, expansive…
My counterpart, a fuzzy, compact ball of fire,
Burning white and blue
And charging East
From here within my arms…
I reignite
For just a fleeting, cosmic moment;

My lover draws the same celestial banner I once twirled like a ribbon
As I spun from star to star.

With a crook of his poet fingers and laughter in his eyes,
He teases out the threads that weave forever
In the space-time fabric that envelops us this night,
And his incandescent flicker whispers on my skin
The tales he carries written on his own.
Shining brighter in his brilliance,
I burst with wonder
At his Red Giant reverie.




When the universe was new,
I too
Got lost like this.





So I beam as I incline my head over my renegade companion,
And here with tongue and fingertips,
I trace my silent prayer upon his back:


May his dreams not burn out red!…










*  Just as a brief explanation, despite the fact that I haven’t been too active on here in about half a year, this poem woke me up at dawn, and I felt compelled to post it here today.  It’s an autobiographical metaphor about, on the most basic level, discovering an unexpected affinity with someone during a casual encounter and remembering forgotten aspects of yourself.

I hope to get back to WordPress within the next few weeks.  Still very busy with my doctoral program, but I’m looking forward to reading what you’ve been up to, and I promise to answer the questions and respond to the comments you’ve left in my LONG absence.  Miss you all, and hope that everyone is well!

Cheers!
Laura

May 22, 2010 Posted by | Memories, Nostalgia, Poetry, Sex, Travel, Uncategorized, Woman | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Learning How to Speak

“Le gustaba el español, y aunque lo hablaba poquito, tenía esos ojos bonitos que hablaban muy bien…”

Here she comes.
A subtle gesture and he’s captured her attention.
Have his hands done as she wanted?
Will his tongue leave her impressed?
He needs her to appraise his work and help him
Find the words he wants to say.

Here she is.
A bashful flash of icy blue shoots up to search her face.
Is he mastering this lesson?
Is he learning from her lips?
Shy smile lingers just a fraction of a second
Longer than it should,
Before it dives for cover, flustered,
To the frozen fingers that await her patient lead.

What’s she thinking?
For a minute,
He has her where he wants her,
And he’s never been so anxious,
But he tries
To hide the truth;
He doesn’t realize his stumbling, tongue-tied charm
Puts him a class above the rest.
He gives it his best shot, and she evaluates his efforts.

Good, she’s smiling.
And she forgives what he’s forgotten,
Sees the promise in his errors,
Drops some hints,
Gives him some time to find the answer
— Silence —
Moves along. He manages to steal a sideways glance
Before he’s left to work out what’s unfinished.

There she goes.
And everything is backwards.
Will he get another chance?
Good intentions aren’t enough
If when she’s there,
He just can’t seem to say what’s in his head.
He doesn’t know
That he can melt her mother-tongue into a muted mess.
Instead, he’s stuck there with an English thought:

I blew it.

But he’ll play himself the fool,
Dig up some lingering confusion,
And suggest an
Unarticulated
Question
That he knows will lure her back

Every time he lets her walk away.

Y me daba una sonrisa, ¡y yo me quedaba loquito! Y después en el examen, lo ponía todo al revés.”

My native language is English, but I used to teach Spanish. It was kind of weird, at times, to be on the other side of the desk — I was only 22, but my students were college kids. I have a lot of fun memories from teaching though, and I often miss it. Ironically, I’m comfortable presenting a lesson in front of a group, but, one-on-one, I’m really timid with people I don’t yet know very well. From what I’ve been told, my shyness doesn’t come across when I have an “audience.” But life’s most important interactions usually don’t involve an audience. It’s those moments when all the languages in the world can’t help you, and it doesn’t matter how articulate you are — what matters is finding the courage to say what needs to be said. Hence, my thoughts on “Learning How to Speak.”

In any case, the Spanish lines are from a song called “Carito” by Carlos Vives, about a boy and his language teacher. It’s a fun little song. Hope you enjoy it as much as I always have:

December 4, 2009 Posted by | Poetry, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

This is Treason

 

Sometimes, war is silent.
And he advances in the night to hide his crimes.
His teenage consort — stoic, young, and good
At keeping secrets — is unwilling,
But adrenaline confounds before she can distinguish friend
From foe.
Surprise attacks disarm as he takes
Mountains first, then valley, and insists
Her pounding heart and quickened breath
Bespeak the thrill of conquest.
These are missions that he can’t complete alone.
Against her flesh, an unmistakable contour
Threatens as he orders her to come;
Only cowards walk away, she tells herself,
And tries to prove she’s strong enough
To hold the line unaided.  No one wants to be discovered
So exposed.

But then,
He draws his sword and stares her down.
His weapon at her throat, knees on her chest,
An unexpected standoff,
While screaming eyes beg why? for lips that wouldn’t dare
Pronounce their protest;
If she parted them, she’d gag.
I’m weak, he pleads,
Then binds her arms
And reprimands the prisoner:  you know we have to stop.
He charges south along the fertile warzone of
Her body, slides a hand into the quiver, and she arches
Like a bow about to snap.
Once more, she tries to swing a weak defense —
He grabs her wrist and laughs…
Too dazed to be convinced she ever really fought at all,
She shuts her eyes, demoralized by guilt, and time
Suspends

….for years.

A heavy hand is placed over her mouth to snuff resistance
  —  Shhhh!
Defiant legs are trembling as they strain to hold the distance —
Then muffled cries subside
As she goes numb.
She turns her head.
The war is lost.
And a smile
Surveys the spoils as betrayal burns her face.
He compensates her efforts with a devastating kiss.

We’re accomplices, he whispers.
See what you make me do?
Take our secret to the grave because

She’d kill you, if she knew.



Consider this my contribution for Women’s History Month.  But remember, men are violated every day as well.  The song I chose to accompany this piece, “El duelo” (“The Duel”), is a chilling acoustic duet between Chilean group La Ley (male vocals by Beto Cuevas) and Mexican singer Ely Guerra, about intimate violence, confusion, and pain.  It set the mood for my writing process this time but has actually been a favorite song since high school.

But on to an issue more important than music.  For you, I wish two things — first, that you find this poem completely unrelatable.  Truly, I would love for everyone to be able to read this and think, “I don’t get it.”  But if, instead, you hear yourself saying “Never again,” then I wish, by God, that you may be right.

Absolve yourself.  Peace.



Regrettably, I’m still on a work-induced hiatus from WordPress, but I felt that these were words that needed to be spoken, and spoken now. I look forward to returning in coming weeks and catching up on everyone’s inspiring writing.

March 9, 2009 Posted by | Poetry, Sex, Uncategorized, Woman | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Conquista / “In Tongues”

I find you on the edge of dreams.
Your open arms receive me in the night.
So self-assured
You wrap me in a robe of southern stars,
Pull back the veil,
And vocalize a vow to claim me as the queen
Of this paradise you rule outside of time.
You take my hand and lead me down
Through swirling mists and emerald vales
Into a church whose taste of dripping gold
I find in blood and tears
Upon the wounds you make me lick.

And so I labor on my knees here while you watch,
Until I choke out prayers

In tongues.

 

Alright, so this isn’t a pleasant one.  This was originally the intro for a longer poem (not published here).  It’s tough to deconstruct in any concise manner, but the tags offer a decent explanation.  To get really simplistic though, it has to do with violence, churches built on blood, revelations of various kinds, the allure of the exotic, and a deep sense of pain for people other than yourself.  It’s also about finding your own spirituality at the breaking point, where prayers escape your lips in a language other than your own.

Ooooor…..you could disregard everything I just said, get a little creative, and read this through the perspective of different generations, centuries removed from one another.  😉

(la) Conquista = the Conquest
conquista (common noun) = conquest, or the endeavor of conquering
conquista = (in an interpersonal sense) a female you decide to seduce/overtake (or whom you’ve succeeded in seducing/overtaking)

December 13, 2008 Posted by | Memories, muse, Nostalgia, Poetry, Travel, Uncategorized, Woman | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

The Essential Winter Soundtrack

No, this is not a holiday playlist.  It’s a selection of songs meant to help you channel the essence of winter for your own creative endeavors.  The feel, the scent, the sultry darkness of this season are all too familiar to someone who’s grown up in the northeastern U.S..  Winter definitely has a feel; it’s cold, forbidding.  And yet it’s sexy, mysterious, intense.  It reminds you of the force of the elements.  These songs were chosen because they’re evocative of a number of winter moments — some call to mind only one type; others, a combination:

  1. looking out the window on early evenings, down onto the gray street where everyone is bundled up against the cold as they rush to get home
  2. actually being one of those people out there in the frigid air on a winter’s afternoon, shrinking into the self-contained heat of your layers of warm clothing
  3. walking at night down snow-covered paths hung with icicles, as the glistening white powder reflects the glow of streetlights and bestows a temporary life on all the barren trees that line the way
  4. savoring the warmth of someone else’s breath and body, and defying the chill in bed all day

The list follows, in no particular order.  Please add your own suggestions!  You’ll see words like “chilling,” “haunting,” “dark,” and “gray” repeat because winter can be all those things.  I hope this selection can help you wrap yourself in the allure of the season, even if you’ve never experienced this type of winter yourself.  Enjoy!

  1. “Again” — Lenny Kravitz:  Dark, and relentlessly melancholy.
  2. “Deep Inside of You” — Third Eye Blind:  The title evokes a warm place, but there’s a chill in the song that makes it the perfect soundtrack for walking through the city in the cold.
  3. “El duelo” — La Ley ft. Ely Guerra (Unplugged version — trust me!):  One of the hottest songs ever.  Hauntingly passionate.  The darkness makes it perfect for this time of year.  “Sin dolor no te haces feliz.”  Wow.  Like nothing you’ve ever heard before.  (And I’m going to make a confession; I’m in love with Beto Cuevas’s voice.)
  4. “Silence” — Delirium ft. Sarah McLachlan:  Beautiful and mysterious.
  5. “The Flame” — Cheap Trick:  “Touching heat, freezing on my skin…”  A classic.  For some reason, this feels wintery to me.
  6. “I’m With You” — Avril Lavigne:  Good for people-watching and solitary strolls.  “It’s a damn cold night.”
  7. “I Am Made of You” — Ricky Martin:  Again — dark, cold, mysterious.  You can practically hear the emptiness of the setting and feel the fire of two kindred souls coming together on the frays of some barren, wind-swept no-man’s land.
  8. “You’re Beautiful” — James Blunt:  Memorably mellow.  Good for a stroll under a blanket of leaden, winter clouds.  You’re taking your time, while the rest of the world rushes on by.
  9. “My Immortal” — Evanescence:  There’s no need for me to try to explain what makes this song cold and lonely enough for winter.  Just take my word that it belongs on a winter playlist and have a listen.
  10. “You Can Still Be Free” — Savage Garden:  Another haunting selection.  Definitely evocative of some cold, desolate hideout on the margins of life.  This is a song to listen to indoors, as you watch the world move past from a distance.  “Sail through the wind and rain tonight…”
  11. “She Will Be Loved” — Maroon 5:  Sounds like dusk, in the damp air of approaching snow — the calm before the storm.  You’re at home, or you’re getting there.
  12. “Here Without You” — Three Doors Down:  Nightfall in winter.  In bed.  With someone you’ll soon be missing.
  13. “Bittersweet Symphony” — The Verve:  Just like the video.  You’re walking, walking, walking…Nothing stops you.  Now, add the element of snowfall; the flakes are catching on your hair before inevitably melting.  The day is cold.  The sky is so gray it’s almost white.
  14. “Sexo, pudor, y lágrimas” — Aleks Syntek:  Another one for talking a walk outdoors.  The snow is crunching underfoot.  You’re in absolutely no hurry at all.
  15. “Here With Me” — Dido:  Pretty damn awesome.  It’s like an addiction set to music.  There’s a subdued yet formidable passion in this.  When it’s so freezing outside that it feels like the air has punched you in the face, this track meshes pretty well with the ambience.  (Or you could just stay in bed…)  “And I won’t go, and I won’t sleep, and I can’t breathe…”
  16. “Gray Sky Morning” — Vertical Horizon:  That would be every morning, from November through March.  This is good for people-watching from a café, where you warm your hands with the steaming richness of your coffee, and you drink the sights of life from the other side of a frosty window.
  17. “Yellow” — Coldplay:  You’re walking along, tending to your errands, and it’s chilly and drab.  Or you’re sitting at your desk, looking down through the snow at the cars that carefully navigate the slick roads below.  Maybe you see the yellow haze cast by the flashing lights of a salt truck.
  18. “What Would Happen” — Meredith Brooks:  Sexy, dark, chilling, fiercely hungry, and deceptively composed.  This song was released late in the year, which reinforces its winter status.  It’s a nighttime walk in the snow with a partner who embodies the mysterious.  A muffled winter tryst in a dark alley.  The heat just building on the doorstep, your gloved fingers are fumbling with the buttons on each other’s coat, and you’re desperate to get inside…  “Would you run away, would you stay, or would I melt into you?”  Choose your own adventure.
  19. “Underneath Your Clothes” — Shakira:  Nowhere is warmer than this.  You just need to be able to get past Shakira’s gutted-cat vocals, or else it’s not going to be pleasant.  But — if you can put that aside, this song calls to mind gazing out at streetlights and snowflakes, or walking around amidst all the wintery whiteness!
  20. “Angels” — Robbie Williams:  Go for a stroll.  Be pensive.  That’s exactly what this feels like.
  21. “Losing My Religion” — REM:  This calls for a walk too.  But not a leisurely one; a wintery one when you’re frustrated, and your pace is actually quicker than the rest of the world’s.
  22. “Stirb Nicht Vor Mir” — Rammstein:  Chilling, mysterious, haunting — and yet warm and sort of seductive, in an unexpected way.  This sounds like the blizzard that confines you to your apartment, and you’re perfectly happy to be trapped inside.
  23. “December” — Collective Soul:  “December” sounds the way December looks.
  24. “Possession” — Sarah McLachlan:  “Listen as the wind blows from across the great divide.”  Amazing.  This is good for a blisteringly cold night when you’re braving the elements and heading out to an intimate gathering.
  25. “Entre los Andes” — Cristian:  The sound of utter desolation.  It’s cold.  You can hear the bitter wind rustling the dead grass and brittle branches of the frigid landscape.  Even if you can’t understand the dark sex poetry that laces the original lyrics, there’s a slow, erotic thrust that carries you along.  It will haunt you.  Only if you dare.
  26. “Lamento boliviano” — Los Enanitos Verdes:  You throw off the blankets and face the cold air of your bedroom.  You’re alone.  And you’ve woken up mildly angry about something — probably the damn weather.  Screw it.  You boil some water, and the tea burns your throat as you cup the mug with both hands, staring blankly ahead.  “Adentro hay un volcán que pronto va a estallar.”  Probably won’t muster up the motivation to leave the house today.
  27. “The World I Know” — Collective Soul:  It’s close to dusk, and you’re on the streets.  Snow gently flutters to the ground.  Time to go home and be with the people who matter.
  28. “Extreme Ways” — Moby:  Lonely and dark, with a slight, bitter cool.  Another good one for taking a walk through the city and just thinking.  The lyrics are incredible.
  29. “Ice” — Sarah McLachlan:  It sounds just like the title.  Good for being outside in the cold, but somewhere more removed from the urban scene.  Potent and raw, but far from uplifting.
  30. “Insatiable” — Darren Hayes:  Mostly, this song has a fragile vulnerability and a propensity to melt that remind me of ice.  Sounds like nighttime at the close of the year.
  31. “Eres” — Café Tacuba:  Smooth, sensual, and warm.  People-watching from your apartment, walking outside alone at any time of day or night, warming to the scent of coffee, or simply resisting the freeze all day by playing with someone in bed.  This is a very versatile song.
  32. “Say It Right” — Nelly Furtado:  Hollow, haunting, cold.  It’s a gray day, no snow; the crisp air invigorates your lungs, and you want to relish the feeling of being (temporarily) alone in the world.
  33. “Nada es para siempre” — Luis Fonsi:  Decidedly melancholy.  Another good one for walking around outside, staring down at your boots.  Or huddling under the comforter as you sink into the warmth of a partner you know you’re losing.
  34. “Tardes negras” — Tiziano Ferro:  Cold, tormented, beautifully fragile.  It’s good for chilly, overcast mornings.  Or afternoons, as the title suggests!  This sound is the start of the weekend in winter.
  35. “Wonderwall” — Oasis:  Shivering, obstinately lonely, accidentally lost.  Take a walk, clear your mind, feel the wind lash your face, the freezing rain soak your hair, the fiery sting of the sleet numb your skin.  Breathe deeply, and smile — you’re alive.  “And all the roads that lead you there are winding, and all the lights that light the way are blinding…”  The sleet subsides, and a wet snow is just beginning to dust the ground.  Slushy footprints mark the steps behind you, before melting back into the pavement.  Your tracks vanish.  There’s only the brilliant blank canvas of the road ahead.  This moment is immortal.

*Others’ recommendations*
Nick Drake — “Northern Sky”

November 11, 2008 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Woodworking

Hunched over your work,
And low to the ground,
Meticulously, you chip away
At the scepter
That will one day make you king.
You’re carving an unwitnessed masterpiece —
Starting outside at the roughness,
Moving dutifully in.

I stumble startled over you,
Confounded,
When I pull open a familiar door
And find it was a portal
Where a stranger sits in wait.

Patient, pensive, out-of-place,
You hang your head,
Impervious to the siren breeze of summer
That calls to me
And dances on the air
Just yards from where you sit.
Yet still you stop to lift your gaze
In recognition of the child
Pondering your presence.

We need no introduction,
Yet we don’t know any names.
Does either of us know why you are there?

And so we meet in knowing silence at the threshold,
Somewhere in between
Dark and light,
Work and play,
Indoors, outdoors,
Maturity and youth,
Confines and boundlessness,
Artifice and truth.

You smile a greeting through the stillness
Before returning to your curious craft,
And I drink this vision in.
And though I skip away to carry out my childhood,
Turning back to the silent stranger
I have always never known,
I realize some accident of fate
Has crossed the years,
The miles,
The laws,
The lives
That disconnect
Again when I wake up.

But I’ll grow up remembering
That I forgot you between lifetimes,
Always wondering
Which you it was I saw,
And understanding
That I’ll stumble into you again
When I
Come back from my adventures,
And you
Have finally finished freeing
The all-consuming masterwork
That brought you to that stoop.

 

This poem tells the story of a dream I had as a child.  Consequently, it’s somewhat strange and probably makes little sense.  But I’m sure some of you can relate to the experience of waking up from a dream and feeling, “….Something important just happened.”  Or having encountered a stranger or received some bit of information in a dream which you’ve never been able to forget.  Well, that was my experience way back when, and that’s what this is about.

The image of this stranger and his serious, dignified dedication to his carving work, juxtaposed with my carefree childhood spirit, was so powerful to me that I decided to attempt to honor it by writing these lines over a decade later.  So, for what it’s worth, this piece isn’t too refined, but I believe it’s time to put this out there.  Here’s to the woodworker I stumbled over years ago.

“And through a fractal on a breaking wall, I see you my friend, and touch your face again.  Miracles will happen as we dream.”  Seal — “Crazy”

September 2, 2008 Posted by | Memories, muse, Poetry, Reincarnation, Time, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

One year older, ten years wiser…

Now, there’s a very good chance I have it all wrong.  I’m no sage.  But who’s really brimming with wisdom at 24?  (Hey, I’m technically 23 as I write this.)  Anyway, just for fun, these are some of the lessons that solidified themselves for me in the last twelve months.  Some (or all) of them might sound silly.  A great many of these things, I actually learned from my experiences this year with writing recommendation letters.  Others, I learned from friends, from failure, from unexpected success, from delayed reactions to events that played out years ago, and from those simple moments where all you can do is just smile to yourself and slowly nod…

So, here’s to 24.  I thought I’d share my thoughts here to see how you feel about these ideas.  Or even how I feel about them months and years from now.  My apologies for the lack of articulate expression, but this isn’t meant to be a literary classic — just a way for me to reflect.  By all means, weigh in with your reactions.  I enjoy a good debate, or a philosophical conversation, so, in no particular order, let us begin!  🙂

  1. Don’t make plans; have experiences.
  2. Never pass up an opportunity to help someone else achieve his or her dreams.
  3. Leave no kind word unspoken.  And there’s always at least one kind word.
  4. Our experiences make us grow, but they never make us deserve anything — good or bad.
  5. If something is repeatedly getting in the way of your being genuinely happy, then you probably still didn’t learn your lesson.  This lesson usually tends to be one of two things:  “Stop doing that” or “Walk away.”
  6. Where women are oppressed, men are often suffering a deeper hell than many people bother to consider.
  7. A compliment needs no motive, no reason.  We’re all looking for reassurance, so be liberal with praise where praise is due, and you’ll make someone smile a little brighter.
  8. Soccer serves a VITALLY important emotional need in some areas of the world.
  9. No pain is so great that you can’t put it aside to heal someone who’s hurting even more.
  10. That said, sometimes, it really is best to be selfish.  Do not abuse this, but be able to discern which of your needs are not to be compromised.  Those are the ones you should honor.
  11. Sometimes, a door stays closed so that you’re forced to talk to the gatekeeper.  The gatekeeper can (and often will) lead you to a door which falls open on its own.
  12. No amount of denial achieves anything; it just keeps you from the path your soul is trying to walk.  Denial has never solved a single problem, so if an issue is significant enough that you feel inclined to invest your energy in pushing it out of your mind, then that bull is almost certainly worth taking by the horns (or the cojones — have it as you please).  ¡Olé !
  13. The most personally significant things you’ll ever do will probably have nothing at all to do with your own life goals and will mean much less to you than to the ones they touch.  If you have the chance to perform such an act, dedicate yourself to it in earnest, and consider yourself very blessed.
  14. The day you look in the mirror and sincerely say, “This is good enough,” that’s what everyone else sees too.
  15. A few minutes of your own time may be the rest of somebody else’s life — and this, in ways you can’t even fathom.
  16. If all else fails in life (or you just don’t know what the hell to do with yourself), it might not be a bad idea to consider dedicating a year to the project of riding Greyhounds around the country and making a book of it.  (Hey, if you decide to run with this one, you MUST send me a copy!)  🙂
  17. Whether or not you take the suggestion directly above, please be aware for your future adventures in public transportation that wearing a hat, a sweatshirt, and long pants still doesn’t ensure a pleasant bus ride for anyone with two X chromosomes.
  18. When life leads you to say, “WTF?!,” open an interesting book to a random page (You’ll know which one to pick up.), and you just might find your answer.
  19. In all reality, when it comes down to it, there’s usually no good reason to curb your enthusiasm.  Obviously, there are times when displaying your excitement is not appropriate, but, being objective, these instances are few and far-between.  Life is short, so show it when you’re happy!  And you’ll weed out any sticks in the mud in the process.
  20. If you keep waking up at the same time of night, do something creative in that hour; you might be pleasantly surprised to find that it’s well beyond what you produce during the day.
  21. If you’re convinced you can achieve something, you probably can.  But ask yourself how much effort it’s going to take and whether you’re going to feel like claiming your prize by the time you’ve won.
  22. There is a breath that whispers when we’re not listening.
  23. This same breath also tends to yell when you put your hands over your ears.
  24. Things will always fall into their proper place once you open your hands.

July 18, 2008 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Vagabondage

I wasn’t so innocent when,
Sleeplessly rapt in the throes of
A virgin
Wanderlust,
I cried out to you
On instinct
From worlds away.

A shameless amateur
In the art of survival,
I confessed my desperate hunger
For the instant when you,
Laid bare of your own volition,
Would thrust me
Past the point of no return so that,
Indelibly marked by your tempestuous
Yesterday,
I could secure tomorrow’s consummate
Salvation.

Recklessly announcing my
Coming,
I pleaded that you impress upon
Your wide-eyed initiate
What only the chosen learn
And that you reveal that
Naked, primal self
I longed to know
With an abandon bordering on the
Predestined.

I came to you in the night,
A pilgrim unwittingly sacrificing
The flesh
To obtain transfiguration through
Your touch,
And you,
Wasting not a minute–
Though I fell damned by their abundance–
Anointed me with unbridled
Authenticity
As there in the fervor of my devotion,
You forced yourself
Ravenously into my
Soul.

Taken down by a spear you shot
Through centuries,
I was pinned
Like all the others who pray
In your bed
That with morning will
Come
Mercy.
Your brazen lust
Drove me to the edge
Of reason when,
Over and over,
You threw me
Breathless
To my knees
In a violent embrace that
My iron will
Refused to unbind.

My God,
You literally shook the ground
Beneath me!
And you rose to meet me at every
Unforgettable peak
Where you taught me
How hard
I could take it,
Satisfied
No less than I had asked for,
And provoked
Far more than I had ever expected.

My love, in truth,
It was not a novitiate but a mystic
Who designed the wager
Against her own self-preservation
That allowed you to
Find me inside,
Crush down upon me ever
Harder,
And press deeper

….Deeper!

Deeper….
Into my memory.

May 30, 2008 Posted by | Poetry, Sex, Travel, Uncategorized, Wanderlust, Woman | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Haunting

You said, “Who’s at the door?”
     I said, “Your slave.”
You said, 
 
“What do you want?”
     “To see you and bow.”
“How long will you wait?”
     “Until you call….”
Why
did you come?”
     “The musk of your wine was in the air….”
(“Talking Through the Door” — Rumi)

I discovered the above poem two weeks after having written what follows and thought I’d include it because it seems to possess a similar theme.  On that note, my own musings follow….

           I hear your voice,
           Turn my face toward the whisper
           That for a second was my name
           And with eyes closed, I inhale a vision
           So unmistakably yours
           That I realize I don’t know who you are.

           Unaware of your restless soul’s digression,
           You visit me as would a teenage lover
           Whose gleeful anticipation eclipses conscious thought
           And we meet in an embrace on this spot we chose
           Lifetimes before.

           You enter through my breath–
           So predictably exotic!–
           And descending upon this flesh,
           You roll over my tongue
           In every language I have ever known
           Only to slip off my fingertips
           And leave me empty-handed,
           Never having seen the thief
           Who robs my reason
           Leaves not but a footprint
           Sows poetry in his wake
           And doesn’t even know that he was there.

March 16, 2008 Posted by | muse, Poetry, Reincarnation, Uncategorized | , , , , , | Leave a comment

She Is

Las voces vivas del recuerdo se disfrazan de intuición.”  Bacilos — “Caraluna”

She is
A breath,
A whisper, if you will….
The scent of summer,
That intangible cue
That, unknowing, drifts parallel to a capricious wanderer,
Alights on a singular breeze,
Reveals its presence to the senses
And just as quickly vanishes.
Yet something about it has lightened your step,
Made you aware of a new season,
And announced itself in ways so subtle and accidental —
And undeniable —
That it almost seems like magic.

She is
A melody
So ancient
That your desires always carried her song
And the pulsing in your veins, her rhythm,
And you are surprised to find yourself aching for more of this familiar aria
Which your ears have never perceived.
But you tell no one — because there is nothing to tell.

She is that shadow
That indisputable stray reflection
That you catch in a careless glance
And never actually saw,
Yet you seek–
So stupid, foolish, crazy! —
Hoping to touch its ethereal fibre
By locking it in the casual gaze of coincidence.

She is the muse
That follows the inspiration,
Not a crazy, fevered obsession,
But a perfectly logical burning
That makes you doubt reason itself.

She is the rain
That lands only one unassuming drop at a time,
Yet of course, almost immediately, you find yourself drenched
In confused exhilaration,
And dripping, shining
With the most absurd of drunken certainty.

She is
That subconscious river flowing through your thoughts,
Which slowly, imperceptibly, but without fail,
Carves the most immutable of mountains into new landscapes;
Transforms the hardest of rocks into a powder fine enough to float on the wind,
And, with a fire to burn her, will seem to vanish from before your eyes,
While you breathe her in without knowing that you’re doing it
Because it is instinctive.

She is the dream you carelessly paint every night,
Half sleeping and barely alive,
In clumsy, frantic strokes
Tinged by the pathetic fury of free will
And the merciful finesse of fate,
And you know she’s real —
Because you never actually envisioned her.

She is
The exotic, so familiar!
A timeless truth
And a fleeting brush with myth.

She —
Elusive and stationary,
Fantastic and mundane,
Invisible and obvious,
Sublime….

She is
Your echo
Carrying words you haven’t uttered.
Your breath
Reaching lands you haven’t explored.
Your memories
Of adventures you haven’t had.
Your scars
From battles you haven’t waged.
Your pulse
In a body you haven’t touched.
And your footsteps
On a path you haven’t tread.
She is yesterday
And never before.
She is now —
But only in delusions.
She is the essence, the aura, of always.

December 19, 2007 Posted by | muse, Poetry, Uncategorized, Woman, Writing | , , | Leave a comment

Mi lista

Si pudiera vivir nuevamente mi vida

Pasaría más tiempo afuera de niña.

No me pelearía con mi familia.

Mostraría más el orgullo que tengo por mi hermanito.

Compraría menos maquillaje y más libros.

Tendría más paciencia con los que me quieren

          — y menos con los que nunca valían la pena.

Aprendería a valorar mi propio tiempo.

Pasaría menos de ello en el compu, y más en la gente que me importa.

Llamaría a más amigos.

Tomaría lecciones de voz.

Y continuaría con las de violín.

Andaría sembrando sonrisas

Y no sería tan seria.

Haría más yoga,

E iría a más fiestas en vez de estudiar tanto.

Tendría sexo más joven para no tener que preocuparme por mi inocencia

          – y no quedarme con un chico que nunca me valoraba.

Y encontraría al que quisiera amarme en vez de no más poseerme.

Compartiría más con amigos, y trataría menos de lidiar con toda clase de problemas sola.

Escribiría, como siempre quería.

Diría “no” frente a las responsabilidades que me ahogaran y me estresaran,

Y en cambio, disfrutaría más el tiempo pasado en quehaceres simples

como cocinar, o limpiar.

Pasaría menos tiempo creyendo en un Dios que juzga

Y más creyendo en uno que ama sin condiciones.

Dedicaría más tiempo a los videojuegos

          y a los libros interesantes que reúnen polvo ahí en mi estante

En vez de en las tonterías que tenía que leer en el colegio, y en la universidad.

Bailaría más con mi sombra

Y trasnocharía más con amigos o amantes y menos con el trabajo.

Tendría menos planes y más experiencias.

Haría más ejercicios y menos tarea.

Tomaría menos sol artificial y más sol natural.

Pasaría menos de mi juventud llorando y pensando;

          la pasaría siendo joven y actuando alegre.

Podría curar a los que lo necesitaran

Y buscaría más abrazos yo cuando yo necesitara consuelo.

Si pudiera vivir mi vida nuevamente, yo la viviría de veras,

Despierta,

Y no dormiría hasta la tarde.

Y si que sí me quedara en cama todo el día

Sería para explorar el cuerpo de mi amante.

Viajaría más

Y al regresar a la casa de mis padres, no estaría tan ocupada.

Aprovecharía más oportunidades para bailar en la lluvia,

Para sorprenderle a un amante con un beso apasionado bajo un farol,

Para correr como loca por las olas en la playa,

Para comer más fruta con chocolate,

Para ser, en cada momento, más sensual

Sin excusas,

Porque así se vive la vida  explorando, demorando, saboreando, y abandonándote a lo que te eche.

Básicamente, no más sería yo

          sin disculpas y sin medidas.

 

 *Esta lista fue inspirada por un poema que tuvimos que leer en la universidad.  Me puso a pensar en lo que haría yo si pudiera hacerlo todo de nuevo, y, pues, aquí lo ves.

December 16, 2007 Posted by | Español, Nostalgia, Uncategorized, Writing | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Ch’aski

“Déjame mirarte por esa ventana que por las mañanas yo veo en tus ojos — el brillo de tu alma, ¡color solitario!  Déjame decirte que en mis pensamientos, yo llevo tus sueños y tus sentimientos — y mi alma siente morirse pequeña….”  Kjarkas–“La ventana”

A million miles, my footsteps pounding
Across the invisible stretch of sky,
Lighted by stars,
Dodging the cries of babies,
The slamming of car doors,
The music of neighbors,
And the sound of searing silence.
Every night, running, sprinting
Through time, through space, to your side
With my feet nailed to the floor
And the moon’s gaze turning each tear to liquid silver.
My heart racing,
I see you,
Lonelier than you know,
In an embrace you never felt.
Every night, I chased the stars—so close—
Up there
To touch,
Running with my peasant’s bag of magical whispers
To bring you a song
And go back again to my hell
Where I could burn the feelings out of myself with the same melodies.
I took flight into the night
Once I allowed myself to break the chains,
Carried safely back into a morning
That didn’t dawn over you.
For you, who traversed time, traversed space
With your child’s bouquet of magical promises
To bring me a kiss
Never met me where the stars meet the ground.

*Ch’aski, in the Quechua language, means “messenger” or “courier.”

December 10, 2007 Posted by | Poetry, Solitude, Travel, Uncategorized, Writing | , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment