Poetry By EmJay

Hype

2012-01-20T05:33:00.001-08:00

When the rational

became rationed

and fodder is now filler.

The worlds all hyped up

on something that calms you down.

Did you ever think

I meant to be that way?

Who, what, where, when and how?

2012-01-19T05:38:00.001-08:00

How do you steal back the sun

from greedy cloud grasps

or bottle a rainbow

for show?

and what button do you press

to record the tune in your head?

Upstream

2012-01-19T05:37:00.000-08:00

will paddle on.

and we,

will carry on forward

with

or against the tide.

and

when we feel

as if all is lost

we will make something

from nothing but ourselves.

P is for POETRY

2012-01-19T05:30:00.001-08:00

I have dedicated my body to words

starting with my fingers;

my fingernails and finger bones,

even my finger prints.

After that my wrists

and their tendons, my forearms

and elbows all swore oath.

My shoulders and my neck,

my head, my heart, and even my brain

have all chipped in,

some way or another

and in the same fashion

written all across the body’s care manual,

nothing works together

if something is out of place.

The season of giving (and taking)

2012-01-19T05:25:00.001-08:00

It is unbearably undark

in a sky filled with bright clouds

who fake an early dawn

while the moon is still a reflecting god

sitting high in the sky.

What should be black or blue

is just a palette of sickly hues,

bone gray and ashy yellow

radiating,

across silhouetted expanses

where stars once sat.

The season of giving

and taking

has a way of tricking time

day and night,

trying to make the hours forget the sunlight.

Weather now,

is stagnant

and unstoppable,

digging its heels in protest

at the changes of leaves and wind

blowing and billowing,

bringing everything to its knees.

10/1/2011

Sleep isn't for the night

2012-01-19T04:40:00.001-08:00

I lay awake at night

at all hours rehearsing

words over and over

until they beat a rhythm

in my head, staying there,

marching to their own tune,

a series of letters

confessions

always speaking the words

I won’t physically say

until one day

they beat too long,

too hard

and I wrote them down

fingers never as quick as my head,

getting ahead of itself.

My words are on paper

so finally they have stopped

their relentless weaving.

Now when I lay me down to sleep

I hear silence instead of a broken manifesto

regurgitating endlessly

until the words were smooth,

until they came rushing,

flooding in

wave after wave

until they were done

and dried themselves up.

A house is like a home

2012-01-19T04:26:00.001-08:00

Our bodies are houses… homes,

not just encapsulating shells.

Eyes are the top-room shutters,

keeping out, letting in the light for the man inside,

while our hearts are foyer doors,

hidden just past the exterior,

guarding a core.

This is a place of many footprints,

but few have the key to the lock.

Our hands, our kitchens, living rooms,

buzzing with hivelike activity,

the thing-in-front-of-your-nose,

center stage without all the spotlight.

The foot, however,

is most like a bedroom--

obvious, a little mysterious

an effective means of escape

keeping you grounded,

taking you away.

Have you looked to the moon recently?

2011-11-18T02:42:00.001-08:00

The clouds above my head

are the same ones surging over you,

lying in your bed.

It is the very same moon

burning bright in my window-sky

that you and I see,

as far away we may be.

We bunched together

then drifted apart

in the way of clouds, buffeted on the wind,

strung along.

Droplets upon droplets form until clouds are born,

deepening, darkening, spilling over until the sun

burns through, dissipating dark.

Can love be my sun and sizzle away the dark?

Or will time evaporate the film clinging between us?

The moon is always there,

even when it shines for someone else,

glowing even when hidden by the clouds.

I only need to look up,

knowing you have too.

Flesh, in all its glory

2011-09-06T03:36:00.001-07:00

Live, love, laugh.

Three things,

such a simple recipe for everything in life

when said aloud,

dictated or preached.

We practice them, every single day

or at least you and I,

above the ground.

Tell me, what makes you alive?

What monitor screams

THIS ONES LIVING?

Your heart does,

when it's pounding

when it's aching

when it's light

and even in fright.

What else does your heart do?

It loves, of course.

What is love?

Love is when your brain

is spelling out

I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E

and your heart is

frantically scribbling

Y-E-S.

Love is when your heart pounds

after seeing the same smile

fifteen years in a row.

Love is being able to laugh

at yourself.

What is laughter?

Laughter is

the cheapest,

most intoxicating

(addicting, even)

substance we’ve ever invented.

Nothing hurts your

stomach, cheeks,

eyes or sides

nor heals and mends

souls and friendships

relationships and moments

quite like

laughter.

Wilt

2011-09-06T01:35:00.001-07:00

My secrets are sticking to me,

bogging me down

left right and center,

sending me askew.

Little bricks stuck to my skin,

pulling me off-center.

No physical cleanse can remove this adhesive,

will truth set freedom loose,

or are these words going to be my noose?

When do staggering steps become cohesive?

When the steps become strides,

when without guilt,

you start feeling pride.

On truth this foundation must be built,

because I will not let this flower wilt.

Achilles Heel

2011-09-06T01:30:00.001-07:00

I've got a whole lot of words to say

ready and waiting

but they're not pretty, or packaged,

they are crudely lumped up

an awkward jumble

stuck in my throat

stuck in my head

stuck to my pen and not

quite making it to paper

I've spoken of the world to you

of its wonders, its terrors,

even its disgust,

all at length

all at ease

but this?

This is the peanut butter gluing my tongue;

my achilles heel is the very muscle I tenderly tone?

My very words?

Whether it be

you
or the words

I am afraid of, I'm not sure.

Either way,
I'm still left with telling you something you already know.

Refills are free

2011-07-17T18:21:00.000-07:00

I have bled out

every last injustice you left me the deed to,

I have sobbed out

every last cruel word

you imprinted on my memory,

and I have shed every last scab you gifted me.

My skin is shiny and new,

pink with scar tissue,

thick from you.

By the time I am done,

I will have opened myself up and poured you out,

and I will wait out these hollow times

until I have filled myself up again,

back to the brim,

until I overflow,

until all these things are joys instead of sorrow.

(Still) Awake

2011-05-05T03:54:00.000-07:00

Part II

(Still)

Awake.

as the sun seeps in.

Peeking. Prying.

Tendrils that seem weak,

a substance not completely there

grow stronger, thicker.

It took seemingly moments

for the darkest blue-black stain

to fade, melt down

to a translucent blue.

Routine transition

has made me uneasy.

Have I created a head start for the day,

Or am I very, very behind?

Awake

2011-05-05T03:52:00.000-07:00

I’ve been up all night again

so my mind has yet to sleep

as the sun is peeking in;

Pale, weak tendrils growing thicker,

stronger by the minute, hour

seeping in like ink,

a substance not completely there.

The morning hours seem utopian

in their transition --

In what seemed like moments the

blackest dark melted

liquefied and lightened,

and lost all its opacity.

Shedding its coat, the sky

remaining undecided

on its final hue

clocks in another completed routine.

Within the infinite chase

of sun and moon

we find shadows of humanity;

Light follows dark

ever and always

in equal measure.

Floundering

2010-12-29T03:31:00.000-08:00

Floundering beneath a wave

of something I’ve yet to put a name to,

I am trapped,

caught in a dizzying dance

so hypnotic to watch;

Breaking the surface,

freedoms first gasp is

confinements last laugh

when I’m pulled back under

tied to and with

the flotsam and jetsam

lurking below.

Even words

2010-12-06T01:31:00.001-08:00

Even words can become all too familiar.

Favourite storybook words carouselling around your brain,

read so many times that they’ve lost their distinction,

their flavour.

You dove in, head first,

recklessness embodied

if not for the fact that you have taken the plunge before,

and every inch has once before been swept

with your eyes and your hands.

Sing-song lines and lyrics are sounding monotonous,

making you plough through their rhymes and rhythms

like chores.

Like chores?

Since when has the poets palate been bland to the ears,

a flat line in emotion?

What are you supposed to do

when the verses you sink yourself into so regularly

won’t hold you up any more?

Words are the faithful lovers,

however quarrelsome they may be;

Words are the burning little suns in the minds horizon,

bursting into flame then dying out-- always reborn.

Words are the sweet lips you grow tired of kissing

without a first kiss.

Matches to ashes

2010-12-03T14:05:00.000-08:00

Have you ever played with fire

just to hide behind a wall of smoke?

What is it about dangerous things

that hide the most vulnerable?

Ever noticed,

When you run your fingers through candle flame

You half hope to God

something will go wrong.

Is it because you want to pull away,

wanting the sudden flash of fight or flight?

Or does the wound serve the ego?

A story to tell and a sick thrill of victory, to boot.

Maybe its our need to play God with ourselves.

Do we create chaos

just to have the power

to control everything and walk away?

Sort of like throwing the match

exactly where you want it;

the starting point with the most potential,

then stepping away

when the smoke and alarms turn

the spotlights in a different direction.

Maybe our fire, smoke and chaos

is humanities chance at designing something of a legacy;

Fuelled into life by its insatiable appetite for destruction

and instilled with less than no moral guides.

A legacy that can only burn itself out.

Foul vowel.

2010-09-29T02:11:00.000-07:00

It’s a vise

around my throat, hot and cold,

a burning without any of the heat.

Constricting,

I think its travelling down

my chest and into my lungs

around my ribs and straight down

into my belly, rolling its greasy fingers

along my insides

feeling for the weakest spot,

and infecting the rest.

So cold it hurts,

but we already know its not really cold.

It’s not really anything,

for no prescription or bought remedy, nor sought

or traded medicine,

could touch what decides to afflict me.

Because how can you cure the letters

of a name? How can you stop

vowels sinking into your blood

winding their way up to your brain,

and clutching relentlessly?

Flawed, cracked.

2010-09-29T02:00:00.000-07:00

Cracks and flaws are ugly things,

but often ignored is the fact

that lines make up the most beautiful pictures of all.

They are the everlasting footprints of movement

that, when examined with enough detail,

are exquisite maps

tracing the best and worst of the things that sit inside our souls.

We use maps to carefully select where we are going,

and often forget

that maps are also amazing at showing us exactly

where we have been,

and how that,

and not some map book,

is what really tells us where we’re going.

Two rocks and a hard place

2010-09-29T01:59:00.000-07:00

What to do,

when you’re in a room
and words can’t march on out

like they usually do
because

you’re stuck between

two rocks and a hard place;

Everyone’s staring you

dead in the eye

because you know them and

they know you.

So, do what do you say

when you don’t know whose

line to cross first,

or at all

and all the nitty, gritty details

in between?

It's like talking with a

tongue covered in glue,

words all pasty and thick,

as fast as molasses, too.

I’m cornered and I’m quick,

hasty in speech.

I don’t want to look,

I don’t want to believe,

and if I try hard enough,

it's all in the corner of my eye.

Tea.

2010-08-03T05:58:00.001-07:00

Maybe tea is an accurate representation

of the human heart.

Maybe I’m just crazy.

Water

clear, glossy and pure

is foundation and stepping stone

all in one.

You can drink it alone, warm or cold

or infuse it, colour it, add to it,

but you can never take away what it started out as.

In the process of brewing,

you’ve got to bring water to a boil;

get things simmering, shake it up a bit,

get the ball roiling, if you get me.

Then you add in the catalyst,

a bag of leaves.

Now watch.

Clear water all shook up

from the heat of the moment

being addled with the colours of fall

reds and browns, orangey tinges leaking

into the water spindly arms weave around, grasping for hold.

Finally, the clear is not so clear,

it has evolved into something so much more.

A beautiful brew has emerged,

ready to delight the senses with its warmth, its spice,

but you forgot about it.

You left the kettle on the back burner,

it slipped your mind.

You can come back for it all you want

but it’s a wasted opportunity;

you left the leaves in,

so now it’s cold, dark and

bitter.

You lost track of time, and now it’s useless,

wasted resources sitting in stalemate.

So you throw it out, and you resent yourself

if only for five minutes. Why did you make a pot of tea,

when you could have made a cup?

Created dishes, wasted water, used the last of the milk

drained a bag of leaves for all its worth,

expended energy for no reason.

Excess work

because you were thirsty.

What does this remind you of?

Once upon a time

you stole an extra minute glancing at the boy

and your all-too-new heart stuttered,

bubbled and boiled,

like the water in your tea.

You bubbled and boiled,

the heart on fire.

Then the catalyst dropped,

the boy sort of knew

(only sort of)

and you didn’t want him to.

(only sort of)

that’s when the tendrils snaked around

sweetening and spicing everything up.

The colour of conversation changed dramatically

from light to dark the longer you kept your mouth shut.

Its been a few months now,

everything under wraps and only now do you look,

and all you can find

is the bitter brew you’ve stewed.

You should have opened your mouth

before this.

But you didn’t

and now your tea is

bitter and cold,

palatable, but unsavoury.

Like tea,

there isn’t a lot you can’t fix

with patience and (sugar) sweetness.

So pour in your sweet side

and see what happens.

Iced tea, anyone?

Said and done

2010-07-25T00:35:00.001-07:00

After all is said and done

will you think to yourself

was it worth its weight in gold?

Often repeated,

my favourite phrase; never regret

something that made you smile.

Well, don’t.

Don’t you believe in the reasons

behind what drive these mistakes?

After all,

you were always living in the moment,

minute.

Living spree, so carefree!

The kind of care that turns into

careless-- with the things,

the things around, surrounding you.

But.

With everything said and done

what do I think to myself?

No regrets, just the useless decay

of useful tears time and love.

There is no room for waste anymore,

so I won’t waste another word

for they are priceless;

what we put into the atmosphere

is irretrievable,

unchanging.

Are band-aides big enough?

2010-05-30T18:22:00.000-07:00

It’s a bit past spring

spring cleaning that is,

and I’m sweeping;

Sweeping up, sweeping away

every last vestige

of you.

And oh god, it hurts.

Did you know

how much it hurt

when you left?

You were my scab,

as bad as that sounds.

You were thick and tough,

and you clung to my skin

keeping in the bleeding,

hiding my wounds.

And too soon, too soon,

you ripped yourself off and

away you fluttered,

slowly at first

because I could still see you,

and then

out of sight you fell,

gone in the wind.

So I grew a new scab,

it blossomed where you left off,

and as time went on

your voice faded from my mind

and a shiny layer of scar tissue

is all I’ve got left of where you used to be.

Never expect, less than FIERCE.

2010-05-16T01:17:00.000-07:00

You have no idea of

how brutal I want to be;

feed you the pain you dealt me,

send shock waves up and down your body.

Hopefully they’ll reach your brain and

electrify you

maybe make you start to think again.

I want to ravage my sanity

break loose

like the noose you had wrapped

right ‘round my neck,

your security blanket if I ever got too close.

My fingers are in fists and
oh how I want to hit you

break your bones and your face

A physical painting of every time

you grabbed my heart and squeezed

and layered bruises over your old ones.

I want to be vicious,

and toy with your pain, play with it,

like you played with my head...

sending me farther and farther down to the ground,

where I never belonged.

It was always you, who rose above the squalor,

mistaking the necks of those around you

as a stairway to your heaven.

Your throne was risen to the clouds

on the backs of men and women,

raising you much higher than

you could have ever gotten on your own.

You are the thorn in my side

that has crippled me from day one,

and I alone rejoice, for you have been dislodged,

discarded and useless,

for the day has risen

and without you,

I stand tall and proud,

finally

unhindered.

Image to ash

2010-04-30T22:11:00.001-07:00

Page by page,

I'll go through our book,

of memories, of lies, of a happier time.

Each picture is another one I have to pry up,

examine and burn.

Gently I’ll turn our pages,

letting my fingers walk down memory lane,

A path obscured by taped corners,

stickers and phrases once defining our days.

Our images are what’s left of us

A moment frozen eternally

capturing every grain the lens could see.

A prismatic tableaux detailing a table of contents

spanning a relationship still indefinable by mere words.

My memories won’t follow suit with the actions of the physical world,

Your images in ashes around me, are still in my head

but maybe, maybe, time will blow them away

like the wind has taken away your ashes, already.

Thoughts

2010-04-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

I think too hard, sometimes.

Leaving myself with too many words

and never enough space.

Things cram up every nook and cranny,

expanding each time they go round again.

Each time I contradict myself again,

a new thought pops up,

multiplying and dividing

like the new cells they resemble.

I think they are reused, recycled,

ultimately layered upon each time.

But maybe their new, each time we think them;

maybe both, maybe neither.

But all I know is that I know too much

For my own good sometimes.

Night time?

2010-04-10T17:19:00.000-07:00

Night time is when I’m feeling fine,

when everything has receded

all the way back at the end of my mind.

Night time is the only time

when I’ve got that feeling,

of being fine.

When the dark comes out to play,

my thoughts are easier to lay out,

to look back on.

Things are far simpler, under a shroud of black,

bringing everything into sharp focus,

with the right amount of blurring the edges.

At night is when the ink runs hot,

and its at night

when everything feels all right.

Morning songs

2010-04-04T19:06:00.000-07:00

There’s a certain cadence coming from morning hours,

a rush and a rhythm that

comes from the silence of slumber

and early morning city-life.

It’s dark, and not as cold as you think,

and even leaves tiptoe down the sidewalks,

unwilling to break silence, yet.

The flowers haven’t woken up,

the sun starts stirring

and most of the stars are awake,
blinking their diamond eyes wide.

As the clock gets older

the sound of music taps its feet faster,

building the bare bones for the intercity banter

you hear, walking the streets.

The Roses that grew from concrete.

2010-03-23T00:12:00.000-07:00

You might be wondering,

What does a little white

Canadian girl, have in common

with a black man, inner city rap extraordinaire,

pumping beats out of the west?

I’d explain, but I guess our wise man says it best:

“Did you hear about the rose that grew

from a crack in the concrete?

Proving natures law wrong it

learned to walk with out feet”

I guess today,

I can finally explain.

Roses are our theme,

and I happen to be just that,

through and through.

Prim and proper, and English, too,

with a British passion for tea.

So I guess Pac was right when

he said even a rose could grow in the rockiest roads,

that even a flower, could rise up and be free.

RIP TUPAC SHAKUR
June 16, 1971 – September 13, 1996

Ostara

2010-03-19T18:51:00.000-07:00

Into the springs refreshed winds

I send my skin, shed anew;

A liberating experience,

creating myself,

a bloom, expanding in the sun

like the new flowers poking fragile heads

out from beneath the earthy mantle

they tuck themselves into.

Year long, the wait, primitive and patient

waiting for the right moment,

right mixture of warmth and water,

and sheer luck, too.

Like the flowers, I wait.

Waiting for just the right moment

of warmth and luck

that brings me to these very moments

of blossom, of unfurling,

of something new.

Is this a gift?

2010-03-09T23:35:00.000-08:00

Somewhere out there,

there is a pair of scissors

large and sharp

and of all the right proportions to cut me down

from the marionetter’s cross you have seen so fit to crucify me on.

Strung so carelessly about, I am

limbs tied to the most unexpected obstacles

finer than those you have built before.

The fishing line is digging in,

red lines criss crossing from where the weight of this

digs in, sharp and thin, like your voice

when you’re pulling the tightest.

My face is glued to the looking glass,

shiny and new, fading so fast,

I’m trying so hard to not jump right in;

Maybe it's your leash keeping me from drowning myself,

but never would I have walked to the water

without your guiding hand.

Look real close.

2010-02-07T23:22:00.000-08:00

If you looked close,

(real close)

you could see little lace-y, trace-y lines,

blooming webs spanning a face,

tracking the tread marks of lies, strains,

smiles and surprises,

all leaving footprints
after coming around often enough.

My eyes can only see what left a mark,

soap washes away the fingerprints of today.

You open your mouth and there-- there I see it.

The lie. It’s behind the sides of your smile,

peeking out like so.

Lies twitch, and so do you;

you're staring me straight in the eye, you're that good

and I'm waiting for you to put the finishing touches

on all this,
and there you go,

singing sweet words and absolute promises...

both of us know that next week,

maybe the week after next
i'll find the lie
again.

Red and White

2010-02-02T22:47:00.000-08:00

The ambulance rains,

red, white, screaming and loud

are taking their toll on my head,

screaming at me to fix it, fix it.

The cars

some of them won't get out of the way,

and that’s the one taking the toll on my heart.

Human curiosity is amazing, disgusting.

I want to know, want to know what happened,

what I'd say, is everyone okay?

The city has a voice, sometimes loud, sometimes not

so much. But its always there.

Its wailing begs to drive me away, but I know,
I know that anywhere else,

it’ll never get any better.

She Doll

2010-02-01T01:26:00.000-08:00

She sat and she sang,

and for all the eye could see,

she was as happy as could be.

Fine gold threads made up

little lashes framing

big oval eyes, set with blue stones;

Fanning across cheeks so

pale they could only be porcelain.

Rose petals must have been brushed across those

lovely cheeks, to give them that palest pretty blush.

Positioned at will, she could do nothing

but look as pretty as she did,

while she was told of all the beautiful things in life

she had.

Thin copper strands dusted her halo of gold,

dancing around her face in the winds and breeze,

fluttering fancifully around red lips

she couldn’t put to use.

She,

the delicate rose

white as cotton

in a sea of plumage.

They looked again,

For her, their treasure,

and when they did

it was a diamond that rolled down that slope of porcelain

Stone basins

2010-01-17T02:53:00.000-08:00

The heart is a basin, starting out so empty

and filled to the top with each drip drop.

It swells and ebbs, rising and flowing

with the motion we set ourselves in

until, accidentally, carelessly,

A stray pebble, word, slips and falls in,

overflowing.

Suddenly like water, everything is spilt

amongst the dust collecting down on the floor.

Secret worlds and lovers flames

scattered and strewn about,

impossible, implausible to put back together again,

leaving the heart lighter, freer to fill back up again.

Doctor Doctor

2010-01-13T20:06:00.000-08:00

I’m drowning

and doctor,

you're prescribing the water.

Sinking, sinking

How fast can I go?

Down into the deep,

and maybe I’ll lay my head down,

it’s a perfect time to sleep.

Thrashing for air

and the water’s locked in,

got a hold on me.

I’m screaming to rise up,

float and coast

ride the bubbles

but the air,

it's just too cold

and the water,

the waters too deep.

Drowning

while you describe the motion of the ocean.

Speak a little louder, please.

2010-01-11T01:23:00.000-08:00

All these words I'm

spilling out,

you know their true,

but you ain't listening

because they didnt come from someone

who looks like you.

With all these categories,

blondie, brown, short and tan,

certainly I can't fit them all in.

My voice is pretty damn new

compared to you,

so why not take a minute and listen in?

Yeah I've got ink,

sorry it's not in a pen.

True, I've got steel in me,

but it's not all nerves.

Guess everyones in an uproar,

because I took a few ounces away

from the artists in the great masterpiece of war.

I'm not sorry I'm a sinner,

I just wish you'd read what I have to say;

You're afraid because...

because you might just agree.

Your name, my name.

2009-12-05T23:41:00.000-08:00

Does my name scurry across the back of your mind,

once in awhile?

Like shadow footsteps going ‘round the corner,

fleeting.

Because yours haunts mine,

like a secret you shouldn’t know.

Magnets we are like;

Opposites come together,

but our similarities push us apart.

Did we both burn

in the others fires,

or did we

extinguish one another,

smothering, smouldering.

Tell me,

does my name cross your mind?

Pavement

2009-11-28T17:00:00.000-08:00

Trickling, running and streaming down my face,

staring at a big blank sky

dropping its soul

piece and drop by piece and drop,

the gentle patter

of mass abandon.

The heavens are a palette of dirty dark hues

and their dumbing down

the street lights,

bright sentries posted and stationed,

single file.

Slick sidewalks,

sleek pavement highways

littered with feet and leaves,

And dotted in cussing and puddles.

Blue, too.

2009-11-28T16:58:00.000-08:00

The winter blues are setting in,

faster faster

from baby blue to indigo,

dark days and darker hues,

each is a new blue.

Snow is around the corner,

light and bright,

waiting to fall in time

with the rise of your chest.

Each sigh is a rain drop

sliding down the panes,

playing tricks on everybody

Going this way and that-a-way.

Azure, cerulean and cornflower blue,

each one is something new,

sticking to my skin,

sinking in and dyeing me, too.

Dizzy spin

2009-11-16T20:08:00.001-08:00

It’s really hard

to turn away from eyes

that dizzy me up,

and spin me around

as much as you please.

I’m throwing my words at you,

little daggers to chip the walls

so thick and so high around you.

You’re not cold

just silent,

handing out little clues

with big questions,

and no answers.

Alluding to every mystery but yourself,

you float in between familiar and stranger,

never staying in one skin for too long.

Prickly eyes don’t match soft words,

but that’s what you’re giving me.

Another skin, juxtaposition,

your all steel words and gentle eyes,

I can’t help but spin.

Gimme some Soul

2009-11-10T21:18:00.000-08:00

Are souls bagged and boxed,

compartmentalizing and sorting

our feelings, our heart-of-hearts,

our essences?

Or is a soul more like an experiment,

pressed and sealed between panes of

glass in everlasting transparency?

Or perhaps a soul more resembles

cling-film, fluttering in every which way,

sticking to nothing but everything.

Can they be ripped and torn, or even

sewn back together?

What about seen, or touched?

Maybe we’re just too busy to see,

or a soul is only in one spot just long enough

to be forgotten.

Maybe, a soul is the knowledge

that we don’t have one,

but we still believe.

Crusader, crusader.

2009-10-05T18:41:00.000-07:00

Useless crusader,

What cross do you carry?

Is it yours to bear,

or far too heavy?

Esurient crusader,

whose words do you speak?

Do they come from your tongue,

or are they phrases from a land not your own?

Crusader crusader,

lay down the cross you carry,

quiet the words you speak,

and find your own.

Crusader crusader,

take not the burdens

of your fellows

because every cross

is only as tall as the man who carries it.

Crusader crusader,

lay down the words you speak,

for they are not your weapons,

but your tools.

Heavier than blood

2009-09-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

Things heavier than blood

rush to my head,

swirling around and filling it up,

right up to the top

bringing my head down,

shadow inch by shadow inch.

My eyes are the next to go,

each lid stumbling down

falling faster

until their closed,

cutting me off from the world in front of me.

My muscles march and follow suit,

leaving me with shivers

that had nothing to do with the cold.

I’m up against a wall

and things heavier than blood

drop me to the ground.

Mists

2009-09-29T20:40:00.000-07:00

Pearly cold mists

draped over trees,

a thickening fog

hanging all over the place.

Creeping and crawling

slowly it goes,

watch it play it’s little game.

Chilly testaments of a fading sun

and lingering fogs

cling and glitter across

dappled greens sinking into a fiery gradient.

Silly sports

2009-09-22T18:32:00.000-07:00

What faulty wire

requires I prefer

ink and words to sport and games?

Some silly structure up top,

dictating rhymes and patterns

instead of thinking about the next game,

scoring a goal, or pointing my toes.

What pray tell,

brought this all about?

Out of 46 genes,

which one spoke up and said

libraries were better playgrounds?

Synchronicity

2009-09-07T19:01:00.000-07:00

I think

memories have voices

hopeful, uplifting tones,

and sad, haunting notes.

Dark or light, each one

as beautiful as the next,

twisting the veins and strains of life

together,

harmonious blends of

body and mind.

Drippy weather

2009-09-04T23:36:00.000-07:00

Raindrops keep falling on my head

down they drip,

falling, falling down my nose,

sinking their way down to the floor.

The water is steady, stable,

an endless procession of drips and drops

relentlessly abandoning the sky,

a stale slate of concrete, speckled with rain.

Clouds tumble on in,

a drawing of curtains

darkening the stage, all the streets.

The light dies with the minutes,

night finally pouring in, filling in the cracks.

The trees and their leaves shudder with the night,

for not even the trees

are impervious to this weather.

The perpetual soul

2009-09-03T22:28:00.000-07:00

He was old,

older than most, when we first met.

His face was wrinkled,

deep groves splayed all across his face,

pushed deeper and deeper

into flesh by constant laughter;

a daily routine.

His hands were gnarled and scarred.

His was a life of labour, he said.

A labour of love, he added.

The older he got, and the more I knew.

It seemed as if

the more depleted his body got,

in riches his soul grew,

ever expanding.

His fragility was always around,

hanging between us

drifting like an ocean mist,

in and out,

in and out.

He was old,

older than most.

But that was just his body.

Because in the end, a soul like his

was ageless.

Damnit, Boy.

2009-08-25T04:37:00.000-07:00

Every day was a step away

back from your name,

and here I find myself right back

where I started,

A sweet little choke on the letters

I forgot spelt your name.

Your song

Always struck a chord

A few levels deeper than I wanted it to.

Three words in and I’m back to where I started,

A hook right through me

every word

drawing me in.

Chains

2009-08-25T04:34:00.000-07:00

You can’t lie.

That hamper in your proud stance

is the chain that holds you down,

keeps you back.

Don’t you know,

I see your burden?

Every link is a line

in your brow,

aching to be smoothed away,

Lifted.

A step,

and your neck creaks

with the weighted layers of steel.

I want to run,

Break each layer for you,

Fix you.

Time, sand and sleep.

2009-08-08T21:26:00.000-07:00

Sleep screams at me

each syllable is another lost minute;

Hour.

Shadowing the space above me,

neglecting,

taunting,

a cruel master I drag myself back to,

the whipped puppy,

tail between the legs.

Every

Minute

Ticks

Away.

Faster, faster,

Slowing, slower.

My eyes turn to sand,

each grain
falling when I blink,

in tune with the seconds slipping over me,

time dragging itself by.

The clock lies.

It came down to your devil ways

2009-06-17T17:45:00.000-07:00

Left, I was,

to ruminate your devilry;

for, what is left behind

...but a broken web?

Thin lines woven and

tangled over years,

precursors to the ropes

keeping me down;

constantly knotted by

your tricksie fingers,

spinning to the tune

of your own little lies...

who knows what kind

of knots you'll make.

Who can hit the hardest?

2009-05-20T21:30:00.000-07:00

could scream a dictionary of your flaws at you

but you’d end up stripping me down

(no further than I should be)

Maybe I would sing

your bible of lies to you,

screaming your hymns to the heavens

but I’d be left with nothing

as you took me down the scenic route

of everything that should have been

blamed on me.

These two people,

two pieces of the same puzzle

two pawns in the same game.

A game of who can

hit the hardest.

Well, who can hit the hardest?

I never wanted to know,

and here I am,

last round,

and I guess it’s my turn.

Even angels without wings are too good for us

2009-05-14T03:09:00.000-07:00

Feather by feather

my angels wings were

torn apart, plucked bare and clean.

What draws down

an angel from his clouds?

Certainly nothing

beautiful or good.

Is it his charges

singing electronic hymns?

Or is it the dance floor prayers?

Have you ever tried to hold the moonlight

between your two palms?

Or keep the morning dew

sparkling all day?

Then you'll know

nothing beautiful ever stays.

Well it did, for me;

today;

My angel lost his feathers

and they fill my hands

a million times over.

Never is a love letter an autobiography

2009-05-14T03:07:00.000-07:00

This was never a love letter

when I wrote it down

But god knows

Nothing gold can ever stay.

Now I have no idea

as to what to say.

So give me some time

for when the river starts

I can't tell you when it'll stop.

I'm the

smoker

joker

midnight toker

who never knew

it could get any better,

so when it started to

I ran like hell.

Hearts&Stars

2009-05-14T03:03:00.000-07:00

My heart is a map of stars

a canvas spattered in constellations.

Each blazing point,

a soul that touched mine.

Like stars,

some still burn

and some are long gone.

Still their light remains

haunting

like a vague memory

I never quite lost

or a sigh

stuck to the tip of my tongue.

Sing me some maybe's

2009-05-14T03:00:00.000-07:00

Maybe

Just maybe

I don't want to say a word

but sometimes

I could sing the dictionary to you

and still not be done.

One word

just isn't enough

but

sometimes

a word is just

too much.

and sometimes,

words just

don't

come

out.

Like the sea man does

2009-05-14T02:58:00.001-07:00

I want to write,

I want to sing my ink-words,

I want to weave my words

into skittery little nets and cast them

upon my blank paper-canvas,

imitating the sea man,

casting his net into the sea

far and wide

searching for tonight's catch

LIAR

2009-05-14T02:55:00.000-07:00

I can't stand it,

hate it even.

Your resonating voice

spins a false web,

a cacophony of lies

pouring out of your mouth

staining your vocabulary black

like tar.

such simple words.

such vile words.

a burning throat you must have

for such words sting not only yourself.

further and further

into the spiders silk

you wrap yourself

singing a noxious song

you'll burn us all.

Impressions on a first name basis

2009-05-14T02:47:00.000-07:00

Through and through,

you know me

but in a very real sense,

you don't.

Every word my soul can sing

you've read

but word for word,

our conversations are limited.

I would not have it this way,

but the choice is far from mine.

A lasting impression,

started so quickly,

I hope ends

not briefly

A note is a word is a song

2009-05-13T19:05:00.000-07:00

I am an artist

to what caliber

I do not know

yet I will not

let my pen sing

my hearts melodies

if a note is missing,

unsung,

disliked.

I will not say

half a word

for its diminished value.

I will sing

loud and clear

every note that I am

for you all to hear

failure be damned.

My theme, my blood

my bone

my eyes

my lips

and the words they utter;

for i am a dance,

not a tune you can sing

with half the words;

so see them flow

dance and glow

like stars on a lake

the moon in your eyes,

water over rocks.

these words live in me

so without them,

I'll never be.

How many steps

2009-05-13T18:56:00.000-07:00

In this city I’ll roam,

Alone

Cold to the bone

A chill I caught along the way.

Its creeping deeper,

The longer I carry this mantle.

It’s a shameful walk

setting the trend of my journey,

A shuffle beside the runner.

Cement, my only guide through

City smog,

smothering all stars, skies,

Glows,

Illuminating this spooky town.

Its an eerie pull that drives

Whatever's left of this tired body,

This old soul.

It’s a thousand times

I’ve done this before

and I’ll do it

a thousand more.

Scripts and suns

2009-05-13T18:54:00.001-07:00

In silence and sorrow

I'll bury these words

and the power they hold.

Just another reminder of

what I hide.

Its a quiet question all of this poses,

but really

what chance do I have,

trying to answer every curve ball

thrown in my direction.

In the shadow of everything transpired,

I'll hold my own until a new sun is born.

Time

2009-05-13T18:49:00.001-07:00

Time,

what is it?

a flick

a leap

a quick laugh

a kick in the face.

it stamps us into our molds

strips us down,

bare.

Target girl

2009-05-13T18:37:00.000-07:00

You've got me

exactly where you

want me

so get the ball rolling,

this pose is

breaking my bones.

The strain is

rending me

apart

into a million little pieces.

A gasoline rainbow

2009-05-13T18:30:00.001-07:00

Walking and walking

A summer day into a summer night

I dipped my toes into a gasoline rainbow

trying and trying

to figure it out,

why is something so beautiful

so ugly

when you really think about it?

Through a different lense

2009-05-13T18:27:00.000-07:00

Maybe I'm looking

through a lense

and everything I'm seeing

isn't real.

It could be true,

but I'd rather not konw

until it all has to

change.

Sing song like attitude

2009-05-13T18:25:00.000-07:00

I'm singing a song like

no other

a tune filled with everything

I can be.

Its a song

Its a dance

and

its everything in between.

Memories are

2009-05-13T18:16:00.000-07:00

That pretty little

wind song that

plays in my head,

the melody that

creeps its way

up my neck;

For full effect,

dancing and twisting

across my skin

singing a tune

I once knew all the words to.

Feb 2009

The Coffe House Muse

2009-03-26T01:03:00.000-07:00

The spoon tinkles against cheap china

stirring my coffee kaleidoscope

along with my thoughts.

A milky reflection

not giving me a clue

The stormy faces of the lunch crowd

won't spare a question

What am I to do

in this busy world

of theirs?

That sweet voice to bitter words

2009-03-26T00:59:00.000-07:00

Taste the wandering poets words,

so thick and heavy with

rhyme with no reason

and laced to the edge with cantering flow.

Spin the dreamers web

until the voice is but a sound.

Round and round until the fire dies.

Like what could have been,

it was all just smoke in the end.

Bandages

2009-03-26T00:55:00.000-07:00

Bandages.

Covering arm to arm,

leg to leg,

the wounds I have tolerated

from walking in the wilderness since you came back.

Black and blue black and blue

covering the heart we once knew.

Thoughts?

2009-03-23T16:42:00.000-07:00

Is it possible to just let all my thoughts
Drain away?
Drain right out of my head,
tucked away, somewhere safe
until I need them again.
Sometimes, I think my head is too small
for all these thoughts.
Sometimes, too big.
Thoughts.
All they seem to do is
swirl round and round.
They keep me up in the dead of night,
keep me away
smack dab in the middle of an afternoon.
Swimming around,
confined to the mind
these thoughts
make up their own relevance,
seek no reward for what they conjure,
yet flourish in existence.
Don’t you wish you could just
drain away a thought or two?

Leaves

2009-02-17T00:07:00.000-08:00

I am but a leaf,
and amidst a puddle of an ocean.
One that I just cant seem to stay afloat of.
perfectly flawed,
Little holes crawl along
Little veins
Letting (all) the water push through me, and
over me.
The waves threaten to topple me,
engulf me.
I’m not quite the sunken battleship,
because
I’m only half way there.

13/11/2008
17/2/2009

(Just another) Sunday Morning

2009-02-01T20:30:00.000-08:00

Chasing the lines of a foggy dew away,
the sun tears the lid off my Sunday morning.
(Coffee is brewing, what a fine start.)
Outside a sweet breeze
compliments cerulean skies,
carefully adorned in cotton candy clouds.
First sip of the day and
it's a sharp hello;
(just one more reminder of life's
little pleasures)
Next comes the smoke in my lungs;
Hold it in. Let it out.
Wait for the buzzing to begin,
just a little something,
for when the day begins.

Just another perfect
Sunday Morning.

2/1/2009

The death of a Season (Tribute)

2009-02-01T20:25:00.000-08:00

Trapping twilights glow
between their spindly arms,
the trees lament their fallen sons,
blown to the ground while church bells sound;
One clang
Two clang
Three to six clangs,
the dark is upon us.
Hallowe'en night, gone and past,
Summer fell dead and Winter put it in the grave.
Dead tonight and tomorrow she'll wake,
to die again when clouds break,
like mens eyes.
To shed their liquid glass tears,
to run their course.

Water Works

2009-02-01T20:00:00.001-08:00

Outside is a dreary mess,
a canvas dipped in water.
Past the window I glance,
watching raindrops smear down my reflection.
No shadows here, in winters cold embrace.
A pattern drips into my head,
courtesy a thousand patterings upon my roof.
Morning melts into afternoon,
all color and noise muted by the
falling rain,
but still I’ll sit and stare,
to watch the day drip
A
W
A
Y

1/2009

An Introduction of Sorts

2009-02-01T19:57:00.000-08:00

From beginning to end,
this book is a life pressed in pages;
a life well lived by a writer who spoke too soon.
A new page is a new day,
one more memory,
and another song to the sound of a heartbeat pounding away.
The muse weeps again, and these are her tears;
The muse sings again and these are her notes;
The muse starts again and this is her end.

December 2008

Flying vs Falling?

2009-02-01T19:55:00.001-08:00

Flying versus falling theory,
a line so indistinct
that it has a class of mystique
all to itself.
The net, the drop, what is what,
the stomach-in-mouth feeling clouds
what we are doing.
Are we falling to our demise
or flying to what we know?
we fly, we fall,
but do we really know the difference?
Catch me if you can.

2007

My Surrender

2009-02-01T19:54:00.001-08:00

Hidden and uncompromising,
and anchoring a fool,
he is a light to bright to see.
Flitting here and there and
immune to the antics of others.
We all depend on somebody,
sometimes,
somewhere.
Struggling with demons we can’t see,
he plasters on a smile and
it’s all okay again.
Life goes on,
over and over again.
Stop. Rewind. Remind and Replay.
He is the narrator to this aged play.

2008

The Sunset Knows My Silhouette

2009-02-01T19:52:00.001-08:00

For, under a willow I sit,
humming and hawing,
until the sun goes down,
day by day,
until the sunset knows my silhouette.

2008

Right vs Wrong

2009-02-01T19:50:00.002-08:00

See,
I don't know what’s wrong,
and I don't know what’s right,
But I know my mind could
save me from this plight,
if only your name would leave it be.
Clutched so tightly,
its a wonder I don't see stars a fore my eyes,
your face is a dead ringer for the one in my head,
that just wont go.

November 2008

Down in the Park

2009-02-01T19:50:00.001-08:00

Down in the park,
where the mad men grow,
the sun sets between withered branches,
only to welcome in the bruised blue sky
and the man in the moon.
The dark things sing in the dead of night,
giving voice to the vicious shadows that seem to move
when you can't look.

What a Heart Can Take

2009-02-01T19:49:00.001-08:00

Sing sweetly,
sing softly;
for my heart cannot take
another bruise.
Tread silently,
tread lightly
on a tender path of dreams.
Speak gently,
speak softly,
to a heart worth talking to.
Love long,
love fiercely,
with the greatest of intentions.

You Are My Past

2009-02-01T19:48:00.000-08:00

Oh what do I see
when I lay my head down,
I see me, but only for a bit,
but then you come,
to my greatest delight.
You and me,
it was simply to be
a laugh here
a nuzzle there
oh I can see,
the puzzle coming together.
It’s where your at
that I crave to be,
to see you gaze down at me.

2007

Cold Eyes

2009-02-01T19:47:00.000-08:00

At cold eyes I sometimes gaze
between shielded glimpses
of a now silent soul
that once bared all.
To converse is a long lost hope
yet still I wish.
Cloudy tension,
our past thick enough to choke me.
Your eyes have darkened and
your features, distorted,
but still your face I can read.

May 2008

Insomniac

2009-02-01T19:46:00.000-08:00

When I can’t sleep, I go to my cave,
that little recessed part in my own mind
saved for my illusions and their stories.
In my little niche, dark hues strangle the light
in an attempt to keep me quiet,
save my fingers dancing on the dust floor,
scratching out rhyme and reason.

2008

Nightly Conversations

2009-02-01T19:45:00.002-08:00

The fallen stars weep around you
as we lie upon the shore at the peak of midnight,
while the bruised blue of the sky lends it’s color to your skin,
shadows play games across your face.
The night creaks, settling in for the night
as we have a silent conversation,
the one we always have.
Different time, different topic,
always the same words that are written in the sand
beneath our curled forms.
Through the night we etch our words in the air
with our words as ink, our breath the brush.

2008

Best Friend

2009-02-01T19:45:00.001-08:00

She’s a few years older
then she wants to be,
and she’s dressed in her best,
to jump in puddles.
On the way to work
she dances on the pavement
cause she’s got a song in her soul
and she really can’t help it.
She doesn’t do half the things
she wants to do,
but that’s only because
she can’t remember,
she’s too busy trying
to stay upright in the silly shoes
she bought just because.

2008

Say It

2009-02-01T19:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I couldn’t say it,
tomorrow I will say it,
and today I won’t say it.
Can you understand why?
I try and I try
but the words die on my lips,
like a rose in a vase,
after it’s few days
of beauty.

2008

David

2009-02-01T19:42:00.000-08:00

When I hear a slight semblance
of your name, I shake inside,
trying to hold back the ocean in my heart.
There are barricades around my mind
that flare at any memory
that could be roused
at any given moment.
A slight tremor can
be heard in my voice
when you’re the topic
of conversation,
but only I can hear it.
There are few distinct memories of you,
so I snatch at the ones I can,
like sand silently slipping from my grasp.
I can hear your voice sometimes,
quietly guiding my thoughts,
and when I hear it,
I do everything I can
to sweetly suffocate in your voice,
smothering everything in your deep tenor
that hums in every core of my mind.
I’d trade blood and bone
for one last embrace
so that I can finally say goodbye;
and tell you
I love you.

Sweet Muse

2009-02-01T19:39:00.000-08:00

Sing, my muse, for you have quieted yourself far too long.
Blank papers lay in your wake,
scattering your thoughts and stilling your tongue.
Into my brain,
your words will seep,
and across the paper,
my pen shall run,
putting words to your smile, your tears
and your furrowed brows.
Oh sweet muse, please whisper your imaginations
into my ear while the sky grows heavy with stars.

2008

Once upon a time?

2009-02-01T19:36:00.000-08:00

Your soul had a light,
but time burnt it out.
End of every day,
you peel your smile off
and wash the jealousy from your skin.
Today starts afresh,
get out the glue
fix those cracked eyes,
attach your cheery smile
and spend the day cursing the rest of your life.

2007

Spiralling

2009-02-01T19:33:00.000-08:00

When all is wrong,
and everybody is gone,
turn out the lights,
think past the tears,
and think of what is right.
In the light of the sun,
suddenly all your fears
are not the whole of the sum.
Ponder thoughts you never
thought to entertain
like smiling in the rain.

11/25/2007

This, is life, as I see it.

2009-02-01T19:32:00.000-08:00

Girl, there is so much I need you to know,
but it seems our connection is limited.
So many thinks to ask,
but right now theres two.
Why was I second to everyone, friend?
Was ten years as foolish as you make it seem?
Does my name cross your mind?
Yours haunts mine.
Didn't you know it was an honest mistake?
Hear me out for a few.
I miss you.

(i s t h i s r e a l l y w h a t i t c o m e s t o ?)

Breathe Again

2009-02-01T19:30:00.000-08:00

When you left, I held my breath,
stopping the turning of my world.
I lay in wait, not sleeping nor eating,
'till you returned.
Fruitless it may be,
yet there I stayed,
unblinking and unwavering.
The day I learnt to
never expect your shadow in my doorframe,
cobwebs were lifted from my eyes,
and dust shaken from my hair.
Every day I was told to
breathe again,
yet the sigh lying dormant on my tongue
would not leave,
save a chance meeting with you.

3/14/2008

Tonights the Night

2009-02-01T19:28:00.000-08:00

Tonight I'll beat your name
out of my head
with my headphones.
I'll do my best,
but I can only try.
Hopefully the music'll
make me forget
who you are,
but I can
only do so much.
Tonight
will be the night I get your
headache off my mind.

Valentines 2008

Coruscating Vespers

2009-02-01T19:27:00.000-08:00

Beside the riverbend lays a simple urn.
An urn with
no decals, no label,
no markings of a history lost.
Look inside and what you see won't shock you;
little gray ashes filled neatly to the brim.
These ashes are
vespers set aflame,
ignited by passion,
yet put aside to burn to nothing.

2/2/2008

Sweetest Dreams

2009-02-01T19:21:00.000-08:00

Goodbye sweet dreams,
for, what have you become?
Merely vespers exploding
from the tip of my tongue.
It was enchanting while it lasted.
Although I'm sure
you will return in time,
for now we must sing the
sad song of departure.
Is it fair to say our time
was well spent,
even though by the time your
words drip from my lips,
you will be gone?

2/2/2008