Tokyo — Actually, they miss everything. The other day, I realized on the Sobu Line that the clouds were beautiful. But I was the only one who was looking up. Baudelaire, a French poet of “flaneur,” writes about “The Stranger” who hates everything but clouds “up there…up there (la-bas… la-bas),” the ultimate form of freedom. As a flaneur, it is said that Baudelaire walked around the city all day and a...
Saskatoon — When I was recovering from my appendectomy earlier this year the “need” arose. The need for web pages to stop crashing, the need for the ability to post on Facebook without my iPad seizing up, the nee...
Tokyo — The months and days are travellers of eternity. Just like the years that come and go. For those who live their lives on boats, or lead horses towards old age, their lives are travel, their journeys ar...
New york — Back Home Again This John Denver song comes back around Like a semi around a cloverleaf intersection This morning, as though circling slowly the potential lives My father might have imagine...
In a sea of diamonds, I chose what could seem a stone. Knowing that I loved it and forever it'd be my own.Just as I had thought, that rock was not a rock. It was a brilliant ruby, that's beauty can finally show.Stronger than ANY diamond, it shines across the sea. An I can say I've always loved that ruby, and that ruby has always loved me.
Like the night sky, we're full of mysteries with our curious eyes. Possessing the elegance of a blooming rose, in a field of ungracious souls. We are pearls of an extraordinary paradise, though most of us are blinded by the unearthly cries. I write of such matter, in the deepest state of poetry. Such a graceful art, that's written cursively across my heart. In a paralyzation of beauty, this earth inevitably stuns me. Leaving each flower to grow, in a cardiac arrest of a fanciful field of the unknown. Each day is an adventure, grasp the exhilaration resting gracefully at your awaiting.
The universe conspiredIn quite a remarkable way.
You're the aid to my bruises. You're my heart's music. A symphony that beats for my muses. A heavenly arena of extravagantly extraordinary mystic rhythms. Arranging into a line of coordinated notes. Forming into the melody of love, the melody of inspiration. The sweet rhythmic paths of life itself shown into such prosperous beauty. An adventurous land of glory, waiting to be traveled upon. Awaiting to be uncovered.
When I See Pianos, I Think of You (2:24 AM Draft)
Baobab Christmas Tree -- Christmas in Johannesburg
A seat for two. Where two have sat. Upon the abyss of such imagination. The distance led to conflict and frustration. Leaving the young girl anxiously impatient. The wait was a while. For a while she could wait. Patiently impatient to meet her true love of fate.
My Lighthouse even knows there’s more than what is told.Sharks keep swimming,I’m no longer in fear,I’ve swam to the shore,Where none of you seem to exist here.Safe inside, I climbed my Lighthouse,As I approached the lookout, I glanced down south.Peering into the ocean,As if it’s a torturous place I never have been.I stood upon the edge of my Lighthouse,Waving down south,Farewell my sins, I am free at last.My lovely Lighthouse has rescued me,No more hiding,I’ll shine with its lighting.Lighting up the night,Standing tall and striking all the demons of the sea.Balancing high above,As I am free.My Lighthouse knows me and holds me close,My armory that I love the most.Built up in bricks,The walls are thick.Incapable of being knocked down, my beautiful Lighthouse stood tall,Waiting patiently as The Recovery of my fall.
The world seems so small, when we stand here only five feet tall; Upon this Earth, a mound of dirt, that's sat evolving for years; We think we've been through so much, with all the pain and tears; This Earth of ours, has fought through deterioration; We could learn from the universe, how each planet is aligned; How each star seems to arise, but really just appears at night; In moments we feel alone, there's always someone else who feels the same; With great actions, come great rewards, great achievements, from great chores; No matter what dreams we adore, with great effort, we'll get there for sure; It's undeniable that the earth is a maze, a glorious haze worth every second; Worth each haze and chase, for each blaze of happy fate;
Poetry saves me, When I'm falling so hard; When I am lost at sea, It reels me in; Though I'm hurting, It reminds me I'll heal within; I'am a diamond in cognito, Buffering my flaws; Though the crevasses run deeper, I give it my all; They think they see through me, But look again; Look even harder, You won't know where to begin; I'm just a girl, who's learned to concur sins;
Dancing in a field of sunflowers. What felt like hours. Dancing upon the unconscious cloud of glory that frolicked in my mind. Reminiscing the memories of imagination. It was all but a dream, such a fancy thing. As I awoke in bed, a sunflower was laid beside my head.
Struggling Through Drought
If you wanted her to stay...
Sun and Moon
Sun Beams Only
Autumn brushes the summer's colours away, ready to blow in the wind
The leafless trees my fancy please, their fate resembles mine
A Simulacrum for the Blues
Minerve, the cliffs where vineyards grow upon rocks, silence, and ancient prayers left by long ago violence...
Norway Travels Pt. 2
We like to think that Gertrude would be pleased.
The Biology of Fleshly Pleasure
I cling to your memory, your smile, your charms.
It is a skin warming sadness,A warm bath surrender Unto the slow, wrinkled stare - outInto the most ordinarily empty and Unceremoniously averageSounds, and single-coloured walls and shoesAnd hands and sugared cream-coffee and Rushed, always late walksThere is no eruptive Pain.No great knowing when, or where or how deepYour hands have buriedTheir skin-oiled canvas Beneath this stare.But i see it,Sometimes in full colour,Leaking into the everyday Unceremoniously average sadness.Each drip of usWashed awayIn such a quietly normalDaytime breath
Finding power in pain.
so hard to be held / and even harder to behold / the hole / that hides / in my small / universe
My brother planted a forest.
Saw a feminist Moroccan poet give a reading in Harlem.
What would Sir John Betjeman say?
a neighborhood stroll...
Y'know that cat you can seeit's in your mind.