She was handing them out to everyone on our dormitory floor
and I was one of the last to arrive at her door. She said
I had a long life line, but splintered, reaching out at points.
She said I would have two children, but I wouldn't know when
or with whom.
Out on the back patio before the sun rose and warmed the tiles
I gazed, half awake at my hands and tried to remember
which lines she read, which lines would tell me which lover
would be the one to help me achieve a mortal's immortality. I tried to read
which line would tell me that my child's face would be light, like my mother's
or have my father's midnight skin. I tried to parse the one that would tell me
I would live to see my child grow up and find love as I did.
I knew the woman dozing upstairs would be there with me
for the awful times, for the bewildering times, for the moments our child
would surprise us both. And I hoped she was dreaming
of the life we were yet to witness, burgeoning inside her.
July 29, 2013
July 14, 2013
PSA
Well, folks, Zimmerman was found innocent of second degree murder. In your closeted rage and wishes of ill-will towards him, know this about Zimmerman's life after this trial:
For the rest of his life, Zimmerman will have to wonder if the next corner he rounds will be his last - whether it's in prison or on the street. I'm pretty sure the Universe's system of checks and balances will sort this one out for everyone that's as disgusted as I am. Our tax dollars at work, people: folks with marijuana offenses get 3 years, a prison record and not even half a shot at a comfortable life when they get out, child murderers get to move in on your block and watch your kids.
I've never felt less safe in my own country... Well that's a lie - I've never felt safe in this country. The drones and the NSA/Verizon spy service and the tactics employers use get around Obamacare and a workforce made of minimum wage earners has just kind of tipped the scales for me.
Sorry, there will be no poem tomorrow. The bile in my throat has stripped my voice raw.
Monitored, planning a prison break,
A.L.J.
For the rest of his life, Zimmerman will have to wonder if the next corner he rounds will be his last - whether it's in prison or on the street. I'm pretty sure the Universe's system of checks and balances will sort this one out for everyone that's as disgusted as I am. Our tax dollars at work, people: folks with marijuana offenses get 3 years, a prison record and not even half a shot at a comfortable life when they get out, child murderers get to move in on your block and watch your kids.
I've never felt less safe in my own country... Well that's a lie - I've never felt safe in this country. The drones and the NSA/Verizon spy service and the tactics employers use get around Obamacare and a workforce made of minimum wage earners has just kind of tipped the scales for me.
Sorry, there will be no poem tomorrow. The bile in my throat has stripped my voice raw.
Monitored, planning a prison break,
A.L.J.
July 12, 2013
Stratagems for linking together poems in a collection
1.
Maintain, keep it
steady, measured and
stay the course. Ignore
the hail and wind, the gale
upon the sea cannot cast
you off too far - push on.
2.
There comes a time
to stop writing - or publishing
at least. There comes a time when
what you have to say is best said
in the quiet hours, quiet hours
that are quickly dying out.
3.
That burning place
where your lung feels like it's imploding, that
sensation of wildfire in San Diego -
throw yourself upon it, into it
let your heart and brain
cinder.
4.
This saturation - horror-vaccui
vacuum of horror, a terror
with an open maw devouring.
Drips of paint, sulphur, super
heated flesh melts across canvas
then flash freezes, inert,
and rots.
5.
Read lotus sutras
at night.
Speak
like a child.
Maintain, keep it
steady, measured and
stay the course. Ignore
the hail and wind, the gale
upon the sea cannot cast
you off too far - push on.
2.
There comes a time
to stop writing - or publishing
at least. There comes a time when
what you have to say is best said
in the quiet hours, quiet hours
that are quickly dying out.
3.
That burning place
where your lung feels like it's imploding, that
sensation of wildfire in San Diego -
throw yourself upon it, into it
let your heart and brain
cinder.
4.
This saturation - horror-vaccui
vacuum of horror, a terror
with an open maw devouring.
Drips of paint, sulphur, super
heated flesh melts across canvas
then flash freezes, inert,
and rots.
5.
Read lotus sutras
at night.
Speak
like a child.
July 8, 2013
Charlie's Blues (in E Major)
He listened to her wash at the sink,
& feigned sleep when she returned.
She was already dressed,
& wore a perfume
that was absent from her body
the night before.
She did not look back
as the door closed,
as the stairs vanished
behind her heels.
From his window,
he watched her hail a taxi.
She seemed new, full of breath
& light.
Her legs disappeared
into the backseat &,
for an instant,
he wished that he had stopped her…
The image of her tears
laid wet on his mind,
& as the cab turned the corner,
he wondered if he had the capacity
to forget what could have been.
& feigned sleep when she returned.
She was already dressed,
& wore a perfume
that was absent from her body
the night before.
She did not look back
as the door closed,
as the stairs vanished
behind her heels.
From his window,
he watched her hail a taxi.
She seemed new, full of breath
& light.
Her legs disappeared
into the backseat &,
for an instant,
he wished that he had stopped her…
The image of her tears
laid wet on his mind,
& as the cab turned the corner,
he wondered if he had the capacity
to forget what could have been.
July 6, 2013
Charlie's Blues (in E Major)
At his apartment
they sat sipping drinks on opposite sides
of the small room.
She asked how he’d ended upon that stage,
behind the piano.
He explained that Schroeder died
with a needle in his arm & that,
every night,
Charlie wanted his playing
to let Schroeder live again.
She asked if he had heard
from her brother.
She said she hadn’t spoken to him
since he dropped out of college
and vanished.
She said that her search for him
could not go on much longer.
He moved closer but said nothing,
finished his drink & looked through the glass,
the floorboards distorting
as he rolled it between his palms.
She gritted her teeth & looked away…
Their lovemaking was not passionate,
but there was a moment
when they locked eyes, each
trying to understand the other’s
need, perhaps, for release,
an escape.
An escape from memory & pain,
an escape only found
in one brief
ecstatic
moment.
they sat sipping drinks on opposite sides
of the small room.
She asked how he’d ended upon that stage,
behind the piano.
He explained that Schroeder died
with a needle in his arm & that,
every night,
Charlie wanted his playing
to let Schroeder live again.
She asked if he had heard
from her brother.
She said she hadn’t spoken to him
since he dropped out of college
and vanished.
She said that her search for him
could not go on much longer.
He moved closer but said nothing,
finished his drink & looked through the glass,
the floorboards distorting
as he rolled it between his palms.
She gritted her teeth & looked away…
Their lovemaking was not passionate,
but there was a moment
when they locked eyes, each
trying to understand the other’s
need, perhaps, for release,
an escape.
An escape from memory & pain,
an escape only found
in one brief
ecstatic
moment.
July 1, 2013
Charlie's Blues (in E Major)
He finished his beer in gulps.
His set had been a long one,
& the air in the room had become wet
with the sweat of bodies that danced.
As he stood to leave, he heard a voice he had,
at times, attempted to forget.
Her squared jaw & midnight curls
had remained the same,
but he scarcely recognized her
otherwise.
There was an air about her.
There was distress
& frustration
in the way she moved across the room –
stiff movements brought on
by long nights of driving, of
trying to reach a destination
not on the map.
Her eyes were ringed with a lonesomeness
he only saw in the corners of women’s eyes
after he paid them.
She saw that the stringy hair
of his childhood
had finally filled out,
& that he had grown tall.
His face had thinned, & the fingers
she once called pudgy and infantile
had become long vines that could conjure
wild forests of sounds –
he looked as though
life had hammered him
into the form of someone
she should have been afraid
of talking to.
His set had been a long one,
& the air in the room had become wet
with the sweat of bodies that danced.
As he stood to leave, he heard a voice he had,
at times, attempted to forget.
Her squared jaw & midnight curls
had remained the same,
but he scarcely recognized her
otherwise.
There was an air about her.
There was distress
& frustration
in the way she moved across the room –
stiff movements brought on
by long nights of driving, of
trying to reach a destination
not on the map.
Her eyes were ringed with a lonesomeness
he only saw in the corners of women’s eyes
after he paid them.
She saw that the stringy hair
of his childhood
had finally filled out,
& that he had grown tall.
His face had thinned, & the fingers
she once called pudgy and infantile
had become long vines that could conjure
wild forests of sounds –
he looked as though
life had hammered him
into the form of someone
she should have been afraid
of talking to.
Thank You
I would just like to say thank you to everyone who's visited the site since I revamped it in February. I'm so happy that my little corner of the world has been entertaining enough thus far, and I hope to bring some new content to the site once the blog reaches 1000+ hits.
This week I'll be posting the poem that launched a thesis back in the winter of 2009. It's a long poem, so I'm breaking it up into three posts and they will all share the same heading. I hope you enjoy "Charlie's Blues (In E Major)".
Yours, but never owned,
A.L.J.
This week I'll be posting the poem that launched a thesis back in the winter of 2009. It's a long poem, so I'm breaking it up into three posts and they will all share the same heading. I hope you enjoy "Charlie's Blues (In E Major)".
Yours, but never owned,
A.L.J.
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