MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
19th Jul 2017 5:13pm
19th Jul 2017 5:13pm
Geography Of Lifelines
When does being enough occur?
Collapse of all things meaning-full
following ghostly track.
To do it differently, consistently
gripping unto the next thing to save the present
to be a woman who never knew anything
but pleasures of being used, usefully
inventing so much, building haphazardly.
Isn't life about revisions and perversions
knocking all possibilities?
Three million tries can't be wrong
tied at every stomachache like stepping stone
while the universe gushes from my pores. ...
Collapse of all things meaning-full
following ghostly track.
To do it differently, consistently
gripping unto the next thing to save the present
to be a woman who never knew anything
but pleasures of being used, usefully
inventing so much, building haphazardly.
Isn't life about revisions and perversions
knocking all possibilities?
Three million tries can't be wrong
tied at every stomachache like stepping stone
while the universe gushes from my pores. ...
150 reads
35 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Jul 2017 5:46am
18th Jul 2017 5:46am
Californication
The Valley heat was unbearable
eradicated sunshine
mercilessly manacled the moments slipping
into late afternoon
ghosting life from nature, cement and concrete.
The road curved by the hills offering some cool breeze
skyview of the city
on one side
on the way to Old Town Pasadena
We walked aimlessly absorbing old and new
crushing memories beneath our feet
to rustle of palm trees
there was nothing but stillness
floating
like a last lingering breath...
eradicated sunshine
mercilessly manacled the moments slipping
into late afternoon
ghosting life from nature, cement and concrete.
The road curved by the hills offering some cool breeze
skyview of the city
on one side
on the way to Old Town Pasadena
We walked aimlessly absorbing old and new
crushing memories beneath our feet
to rustle of palm trees
there was nothing but stillness
floating
like a last lingering breath...
162 reads
42 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
15th Jul 2017 4:15am
15th Jul 2017 4:15am
The Art of Mante’ (The long lost cousin of Tortellini)
There are oodles of noodles in every culture with flavors and textures as unique as our skin and fingerprints with all shapes and sizes but the only one that warms my heart and soul is Mante’.
I remember sitting in my grandmother’s small kitchen surrounded by my aunts and my mother watching my Nana knead the dough for which seemed like hours ’til it was supple, soft and smooth. She would smack the dough on the floured board few times with her trembling hands and then place the sign of the cross murmuring something with her eyes closed, covering it with a cotton dishcloth to rest....
I remember sitting in my grandmother’s small kitchen surrounded by my aunts and my mother watching my Nana knead the dough for which seemed like hours ’til it was supple, soft and smooth. She would smack the dough on the floured board few times with her trembling hands and then place the sign of the cross murmuring something with her eyes closed, covering it with a cotton dishcloth to rest....
87 reads
30 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Jun 2017 8:25am
24th Jun 2017 8:25am
Patterns
Reversible Stitch—there is some kind of beautiful in traditions and patterns mimicking time and space; the placidity of tranquility stepping forward blindly relinquishing fears and ties governed solely by senses. In the shadow of the fig tree I learned to whisper softly and the art of pouring tea; knees bent slightly barely revealing the blossoming curves, blushing tint unraveling the soft skein.
A drop of nectar from ripened figs drips on my braided midnight hair, missing a loop— Back Stitch—
I hear him call my name stamping it into the thick dishrag night sky, twisting the air...
A drop of nectar from ripened figs drips on my braided midnight hair, missing a loop— Back Stitch—
I hear him call my name stamping it into the thick dishrag night sky, twisting the air...
196 reads
23 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
4th Apr 2017 5:46pm
4th Apr 2017 5:46pm
ward 19
I stare at her red shiny shoes week after week
muttering all things matting the grain
with a wet tongue like a cat, cleansing herself
of something that was never there.
I pay the bill on my way out, make another appointment
walk out in January frost pavement and ground covered
artificial white-ness reflecting benign sun or salt
bitter cold, perhaps both
dormancy and infancy intermingled. One warm tear
streams moistening the corner of my lips, mocking
all that need to be still; art of death.
*
*
*
In shallow breaths ...
muttering all things matting the grain
with a wet tongue like a cat, cleansing herself
of something that was never there.
I pay the bill on my way out, make another appointment
walk out in January frost pavement and ground covered
artificial white-ness reflecting benign sun or salt
bitter cold, perhaps both
dormancy and infancy intermingled. One warm tear
streams moistening the corner of my lips, mocking
all that need to be still; art of death.
*
*
*
In shallow breaths ...
185 reads
Poetry by Vee (Rina)