Epiphanies

When you follow your bliss, doors will open where you would not have thought there would be doors and where there wouldn't be a door for anyone else -- Joseph Campbell.

My Sorceress

and sitting by the edge of the cliff
where the waves lapped against the shore
she turned to the rising sun bathing the sky
in glows of pink, breathing in the world with the ocean;
and then she leaned over and whispered
"let's make music together"

12:33 PM | | 1 Comments  

The Story of a Pebble

One of the earliest pieces of advice I had received regarding writing was to pick up a rock or a pebble, imagine the life it would have had and write down its story. I'm really not a romantic writer, so I don't much look for meaning in rocks and pebbles, but when the objective is to write one poem everyday, a writing exercise is a good way to make myself think.


Pebbles live at our feet, die at our feet and get carried away with the waves at the beach..right at our feet. Who would have thought that a deeper philosophy would have guided a poem about, well, rocks. Here's the latest. 

In another stream of thought, I think my latest rebellion against rhyming and structure have resolved to an e e cummings' mode of expression. Very little punctuation. But, like the man said, you have to know the rules to be able to break them. 

here we go

the story of a pebble

you know me.

you've kicked me across the walk to not rip your shoe
you've thrown me across puddles to see how high i could jump
you've seen me carried away in grains with waves
reduced from rock to pebble
facing the wind, and falling to ground,
from shades of gray to withering yellow with age.

you've met me many times.

i remind you of who you are somedays, because
i am, like you, stuck in my body to grow old.

7:03 PM | | 38 Comments  

You and I

My newest coherent poem.


You and I

Do you remember how
the rain would fall
in braids and ribbons,
like a lattice, beckoning romance?

We would have played,
you and I,
our faces wet, our faces smiling,
us, letting the drops of rain
fall between our fingers;

The water would have fallen into puddles,
calling me to jump in and walk back
to the playground with you,
to be like little children, just being,
and splashing water on each other with our feet

we would let the raindrops beat music on our backs,
let them awaken the earth,
and in the fragrant midst of lilacs

we would have danced

you and i.

8:14 AM | | 0 Comments  

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)
2008 Blogger | Bloggerized by GosuBlogger
Natural Essence Blogger Template designed by Arcsin
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.