Archive | June, 2014

dawn’s dew

21 Jun

i want to live

somewhere damp.

i love the rain.

it’s beautiful.

it’s melancholy.

it’s romantic.

the tangle of

spring greens,

laced with the tawny stalks of last year’s buds,

trod upon on by

the muddy sunrise,

grey lashes of the peeking dawn

sweeping over the shed

quietly.

the hint of moss,

snuggling against the earthy rocks.

purple

kissing

the skyline

blushing

into dusty rose

petals of

soft light,

crawling over the dewy hills.

this morning

fills me with

sweet ruefulness,

wistful thoughts

of my homes in Japan

and Washington,

reminders of lines of Mary Oliver,

quietly whispering, evoked

by the damp watercolor tones,

the suggestion of soft, moist earth

beneath the resting leaves.

quiet. a gentle morning.

delusions of Mary Godwin Shelley and her

rainy, foggy, mistful days.

the wet damp

is like a tender cloak,

shrouding my backyard in comfort,

when i can watch safely from inside,

wrapped

snugly

in a warm blanket,

admiring the early-morning poem

through my window.

there is nothing quite like

rain

in the high desert.

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Built upon

10 Jun

“Being ethnic in America, we have always seen ourselves through a Euro-centric perspective, it’s the culture that America was built on.” -Dante Basco.

 

Built upon

 

America,

built on

the culture of Europeans,

on the backs of Asians,

by the hands of Blacks,

through the blood of Natives,

the sweat of Latinos,

the cries of Pacific Islanders,

and the tears of the trodden-upon

and ignored.

Built, around and despite

the firm dignity of the abused,

on Western values.

Built upon

and built upon

and built upon,

with thrumming steadiness,

on the backs of humans.

symbiont

2 Jun

 

 

the dark of the sea.

she breathes,

her gill slits undulate –

– in toward her ribcage,

out with a release of water

that quietly rejoins the sea.

she breathes the dark.

 

the dark

that glides as she does.

the dark that sheathes her movements,

embraces her snaking form,

synergetic –

– body glissading through

the dark of the sea.

 

the dark

that sustains her,

hydrating her cells

as its elements branch through her –

– infinite web of infinitesimal rivers.

nourishing her thirsty frame

from tip to tail,

symbiotic.

drifting,

rippling,

she never thirsts.

her life force is always around her.

it envelops her.

she cannot escape

the dark of the sea.

 

the dark,

the danger

of their symbiosis –

– the inherent risk

of living in the sea,

the dark

of the sea.

its roaring majesty,

its swarms of predators.

the nets that trawl

the sea-sand floor.

it is her life,

it is what she was made for.

her fusion with her ecosystem

is immutable.

uninterrupted.

without end.

she is bound

to the dark of the sea.

loss

2 Jun

 

Loss

 

I’m losing a poem all because two months ago I broke a mouse.

This is the most devastating punishment for a crime against an object.

 

You will never understand how much this hurts me.

You will never understand the pull of my writing,

and the soul-deep loss of having a beautiful,

intense,

heavy,

soul-deep poem never blossom

and the panic and heartbreak that consume

when I realize

that one paragraph

has been deleted.

 

The gripping terror of losing one file.

 

The helplessness

of watching a poem

become a brick wall

because something

disrupted

the flow.

 

the loss.