Poems

Sometimes I feel so full of some sort of emotion that I feel kinda dizzy with it, and the outside world gets blurry. Yes I meant to put a comma there. Anyway here’s Wonderwall.

I was dizzy for a while.
The world distorted as I went about
my daily chores.
Empty, it seemed,
of cares I should have paid to my surroundings.

I was in love with the pendulum swing,
the lean of the axis,
the subtle
stumble of my step.

I was late,
terminally exhausted.
I was
alive back then.
The void embraced me in its whirlwind dance.

There was no answer to be found.
No lesson to be gleaned.
Just my fragile head flirting
with the hard pavement.
A thrilling joy
in vertigo.

It’s been 84 years, but yeah, I do still write poetry sometimes. It’s the beginning of NaNoWriMo once again, we’ll see what happens this year. I’m trying not to put any pressure on myself and enjoy it!

today I talk to the dead.
I pry my eyes open inward and remember
the soil they went back to.

I breathe in the prickly blue sky,
weep with willows, play hide and seek
with a meandering sun. I know
the end will come,
but not today.

I clench my fists. I refuse
to cry. they loved me
and I love them,
for all they’ve given me,
for all they’ve taken from me.

today I tell the dead about the ones who remain
and how we don’t pray
exactly, but sometimes I’ll leave my window
open for a bit too long,
till the clouds invite themselves in.
I yell at them because their beauty
offends me.
the air in my lungs stings like your hand on mine
decades ago.

today I talk to the dead
and as long as I do,
they live.

I am still here and still doing stuff! After a quite intense bout of Real Life, I am hopeful I can get back into creative work this fall. Happy Spooktober to all, I hope you’re getting your spook on and taking care of your beautiful selves.

Recently, crowded spaces
As long as I can remember, fish
Being perceived negatively
Or even worse, correctly

Strange men in narrow streets
Intimacy, but I’ve grown out of that
The monstrous size of the universe
The haunted darkness of the ocean

Global warming
Incompetence
Not that they’re linked, of course

My own mind, at times

But nothing scares me more than
Rereading my old
Poetry

[insert “It’s been 84 years” GIF here] It took me two months and many iterations to finish this poem. Gah, damn lockdown! The poem in itself was largely inspired by Mary Oliver, who has been my window to nature’s wonders in the past few months. I’m pretty happy with the final result.

Projects-wise, I’ve been writing a (few) song(s) that I hope I will be able to work on this summer. I will also try to get back into fiction writing, but nobody hold their breath about that. I’m still hoping to self-publish something poetry-related, maybe at the end of the year or the beginning of next.

The time has come for
Reckoning:
on the street below
silence cleared a thundering path.

Through closed doors
fear whispers,
twisting hissing tongues into
hushed lies.

Hoarders of truths make
poor lovers.
We are
bountiful,
silly chattering
songbirds.

Quietly, the apocalypse
burst through our window.
But still we are
overflown with
stories, trembling breaths and
unending laughter.