The Writers Curse

Alone in rooms,

I write,

I write, 

I write.

words from the mind to the page, never from the heart to the mouth.

to whisper tearfully that you are the ground on which I stand,

to abound with odes for your impressive presence

i must build a paper empire,

i must carve a thousand poems from my aching bones.

and even then, there is much left to say. 

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fuzzy dirty grime of childhood

Poem written during a class at the National Voice Intensive 2011. About Beacon Hill Park, Victoria, B.C. There's a petting zoo there, which is why smelly farm animals are possible as a memory for me. Ha.
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Fuzzy dirty grime of childhood.
Stink of hogs and unwashed goats,
I roam through you and seek feelings to ease me.

Outside of young years I find you no longer,
Like Medusa each touch to a memory of old days, turns the hand cold stone.

Warm wood chips surrounded with abundant green
Bright lights through the leaves of trees and I am as clear as a beam of sun.
Cawing crows and shuffling families,
An old place, a new place, a desire for a place that feels like home.

Desires transpiring in and out of themselves
Green, leafy summers
Soft brown trees wise with age- they know not to splinter curious hands.

Branches of mysterious patterns,
Explorers with tiny hats and even tinier shoes.
Tall people wishing they would be so happy again.


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No Harm

Do not fear, my love-
no harm can come to us.

We are immovable, unshakeable,
our roots deep, our will, deeper.

Your strength the strength of all the mountains you have travelled through, the streams that held your swift strokes, the immense hearts that cradled yours from breaking.
Your strength flowing with the fire of the life-giving sun.

You will not falter if you believe that you are as I have said you are.
So believe, and be free.


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past horizons

First draft. I enjoy what's here, needs some fine tuning.
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Past horizons, past dreams,
we will walk, hand in hand
and see we already are free-

each breath, each breath summoning the air of our ancestors to dance with our blood, our bones.

my face, the face of a woman generations before me, who did not think I would remember.

my mother, my mother whose laugh is my laugh, whose pains are my pains, whose body gave me life.

my mother, the silver birch, the water lilly, 

my mother the ocean, the beaches of Chennai, the shores of Musqueam. 

my heart, the heart that sings with the sounds of all creation,

my heart, the heart that beats beats beats buh-beats buh-beats buh-beats for the wrongs against my sisters, my brothers of the earth. 

my skin, our skin, in the lightest and deepest hues, but all skin of the same thickness, the same fragility.

our souls, reaching for the sky but rooted in the earth,

let us walk together 

let us walk together, 

despite the harsh cold
through the scorching heat 

the hatred

the bloodshed 

the gut wrenching pain, 

let us walk this earth together, and we'll see we are free.  

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remnants of popcorn and sitcoms

When I am old, I will do handstands and cook with my feet.
All my children will call me by my moon name and swear allegiance to my wool socks.
Upon rows and rows of spices on hand painted racks will they learn their mothers magic stews and potions.
On tree top forts they will sing Shakespeare and dance Moliere,
They will write stories about the colour of their skin and their grandmothers voice,
As they remember the kindness that shone through her sorrows.


With sticky fingers they will grapple for toys,
Playing away hours and hours of imagination, putting it to the best use it will ever get.
They will remember these times when they are working machines,
When their minds are mined for precious stones, their eyes burnt away at gleaming screens,
Their love withering in the cold air of polite attitudes and insincere speech.


When they dissolve into shiny magazine dreams and magic box ideals,
When they forgo love for comfort and drink coffee picked by enslaved hands,
When shiny quarters and pretty clouds don't mean anything anymore,
When life is like that, they will remember their mother's warmth and her childlike spirit that she instilled in them, hoping they would never lose it.


But here it is, becoming a memory, a memory in days which end too fast and nights that are too long.
It rests somewhere, amid the cold, amid the lost journeys and the roads not taken;
It giggles and waits for a sunny afternoon in the grass, a dog licking at its toes and lemonade on a side table, 
sweating in the heat. 
---
Early 2011. A personal favourite. 



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Fold Me

Fold me backwards until I make sense-

there is no right, wrong, or reason for this.

We are only what we are

and have less choice in who

fold me until I find some truth.

Twist, turn, and bend the world- fold me until I can't take anymore.

Fold me again and again, until I understand,

Fold me until I do not see who I am.

-----

Circa 2007/8

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Childhood

Childhood, an old game I used to play.

Oh, we fought monsters and witches with merely sticks in our hands,

Playing outside until the sun shook colours all over the sky,

Running home before it was too late. 

I can still smell the fresh dew on the grass,

Walking to school, laughin’, talking fast.

A mile a minute in secrets and fun nothings,

Oh, my heart misses those small things.

We took for granted our time in the sun,

Happiness unquestioned, my dreams flowing, flowing free.

A woman now, I look back,

And childhood is the dream I dream.

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cannot

I cannot speak.
Years of silence and I am wiped out.
An angry man, a lonely woman, living in a box,
Bound by some form of love I cannot understand.
Please, stop shouting.
Please, stop forgetting that it hurts.
Pain is a fun, twisted game for a while,
But all the other players have quit, gone home and cleansed their dirty hands,
While you still flail in the mud.

I stand beside you, cold, shivering, splattered with your violent splay.
I try to speak but my mouth is too dry, my tongue shriveled and inert.
There are no words to tell you, how much I wish we could change.


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turn away

My mother speaks to me and I turn away,

Trying to not listen.

Your words all sound like tears to me,

All I can see is your silence, your presence shrouded by hardship, hardship that knows me well.

I cannot bear the memories of last night. Last week. The past eight years.

The dog whimpering in neglect. Your lonely breath his only companion.

Please, stop speaking. Stop speaking. Don’t make me remember that you are still here.

I wish you would go away, go away to a place where I can be sure of your happiness.

Instead, you sit in this house, letting harsh words make everything bitter.

You smile, insist that it tastes fine, that the spices are not stale.

But your food is flavourless, and chagrin seeps through your smiling lips.

I need to leave.

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take me home

Walking through the fog, the moist air, I feel as though sadness could take me back:

A long train of memories,

feelings,

connected to places where I knew love,

As if following the pain long enough will lead me back home.

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hold me together

Something that will hold me together. Something.
Anything.

String to tie me up.
Stiches to close the wounds.

Bring the frayed edges together again, reweave my worn down garments,
Fill in the deep hollows,
Replace the stale sighs with fresh breath, the rancid love with new affection.
Clean faces to gaze on, no scars, no raging blemishes, no stinging acne.

A happy hand. A real smile. Teach me to live again.
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How to be honest without being trite? To speak of sadness without self-pity. That's what I want.


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respected

Sun won't set until August.
I wanna live there. Sunlight pouring into my bedroom, all day, all night.
Plants growing green, warmth on my face, from something else than a blow.
He doesn't hit me but I feel deep bruises nonetheless.
If only your body punished me and not your words,
I could honour my own suffering.
----------------
This is by no means to say I wish to be physically abused, but rather that emotional abuse isn't taken as seriously, although it is still a form of violence.

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your legacy

You used to lay your head on my chest.
I'd kiss the top of your head, hoping to silence the stream of
worries pouring out your mouth,
to instead find the love that once eased my grumbling heart, so in need of sustenance.

But you ignorned me for the sound of your own voice.

And I ate your self-absorption, for fear of starving.

-----

slightly less messy than originally.


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passed

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I could spent hours here
My mind needs wringing,
Soaked with juices of unrest and stale bordem
squeezing it out leaves a mess
A bad smell, blotted ideas and wrinkled bits of paper
Once wisdom, now unlegible.
My fingers soon grow tired
My eyes strain to stay open
But there is work to do,
And only minutes have passed.

drums

My eyes beat on drums made of promises
pound them into being heard
staring into drums I longed for your words to breathe
to live, to honour the beauty of their rhythm and shape.
I beat the drums but hear no music
Unskilled, amateur- I feel defeat.
worried I cannot bring promises to life merely with hope.


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cracked soil

My eyes charcol grey
fingers rich soil awaiting rain.

plants cannot grow in my cracked soil.

please, do not say you must go.

Woman inside quietly sings,

record player always humming the same tune, no words.

the walls look out but do not speak,

  and there is no friendliness to be earned in their presence.



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Spinning through space

I am ashamed, everything stands still.
Stillness is the quality of these days
Cars moving, sidewalks freshly laid down,
Drills outside my ears.
The world moves, rendering me a cripple.
In contrast, motion is senseless.
We are spinning through space,
Seeing no one, talking to no one.
A ball of dirt and water, heated by the sun.
Stillness envelopes me.
I cringe.


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Circle

Colourful and bright,
Childhood and the sunshine, playing together.
Wash after wash, colours start to fade.
Children grow and the sun withers into night.
Toys abandonned in the yard.
Strangers walk past, no one wondering what happened.


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men of my life

the men of my life

have torn me down, stomped on me, loved me, laughed with me, beraded me, controlled me, nurtured me, created me, caressed me, held me, astonished me, pained me, defiled me, respected me, taught me, stained me, blamed me, ignored me, devoured me, worshipped me, gifted me, confined me, punished me, tickled me, desired me, read me, hated me, inspired me, lost me, rejected me, upset me, lifted me, valued me, fucked me, kissed me, forgot me, twisted me, adored me, acknowledged me, thanked me, enraged me, blessed me, left me, breathed me, drank me, fought me, drained me, revived me.
---------------------------------------------

Words for thought. That's all.


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Contortion.

My body, disfigured and stuck.
I am afraid to collapse on health's doorstep in such a state. My fingers warped and my arms burned. Hip twisted, legs joyless rods, useless for walking.
A sculpture, a monument to lovelessness.
Too afraid to crawl to release, to affection.
A broken mirror, the bits jab into my eyes. I bled.
I am relieved.
------------

Gruesome and brutal. Too far.  I need sleep.


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