Wednesday, August 27, 2014

He spoke. She listened. I heard.

Phebe Schmidt
David Samuelstern
Fiona Osborne
Phebe Schmidt
Jessica Wohl
 State of the art
That is the question

Listened to Patti talk of Whitman
Lines he wrote to all future poets
He with them in mind
Her with him in mind
A life of mostly poverty
Always following the authentic me
He spoke. She listened. I heard.

Afraid people are scared on my behalf
Kindred souls know the need
The way she spoke of Morrison
My understanding felt like sin

cut out paper doll
Folded into her figure I danced in step
Carried this bible in my arms
Clenched to it for comfort
I'm looking for my creative tribe
The way I feel and know alive

I sat with old ladies in Fillmore square
Nylon knee highs
Church gossip
Wandering eyes to passerby's
Young boys in low pants
Girls with high pitched laugher

I wondered what they thought of me
Sitting on the pavement
Swaying to rhythm
Feeling the crash of the waterfall
Rainbow leaves scattered

Trying is too much effort
I listened to the jazz man play
Heard a new story this way
Get your hands moving into play

Sunday, August 17, 2014

I tied a string to my wrist...

via adessive.tumblr
Kendal Murray

via adessive.tumblr
JeeYoung Lee
via adessive.tumblr
Tomoko Yoneda
Crystal Morey
Part I:

Out in the garden where we planted the seeds
The roots disappeared in resting knees
Laying still starring into sound
Repeat ringing in my mental background

Cracked this core and no feelings were there
Just swaying in the fresh of moonlight air
You stir a clear and gentle rest
And with just one given request-
Be free--
That has continued to grow in me
And so I tied a string to my wrist
Hoping that this feeling will persist

Part II:

Today I watched an old woman tend to a flower bed
At the end of the massive park
Golden Gate magic spark

Her smile almost irked me in its size
A back bent deep from years of looking down
She still held the gardener crown
Water hose in hand she nurtured with care
Which inspired me to offer a prayer

Then I found a new street beat to walk
It flashed from the corner of my eye
Back tracked because I had to give it a try

If I walked down a new street everyday I would be happy.

One block between the grand church and community gym
I was happy to take this unexpected whim
Every stoop with its own array of potted plants
I fell into a trotting trance

Turned around by the spin of the wind
Between wall frames and two step stoops
A kite danced in choreographic flight
Trash cans tipped in the ocean sight

This is what it is to feel alive.

I witnessed a girl wearing black holding a bottle
Twilight lit with full of yellow tint

I might not call her beautiful
But she felt as real as could be
Taken into elusive poetry
The center of her presence filled me
And then quite immediately
Understanding dissipated in flee 

Today was a day of much and little
Nothing I know happened
But everything I needed sat behind my eyes
I think it could be something wise in disguise