I face the sun
squinting
at the fierce glowing sphere
overwhelmingly so,
the prisms dance
in the raw burst of light
My vision explodes
Dandelions
Oh, the dandelions
A slight puff of air
and the seeds fly
off
on the wind
a wish born in the moment
but into the embrace of the world
It flies
Stormclouds and lattes
and driving in the rain
as sheets
fall from the skies
the sound
so indescribable
Just...the sound of rain
Like the flow of words
these moments
will be fleeting
Recognize
Savor them whilst they last
but then
let them go
for they,
always hopeless to trap
except
In memory
Time never waits
when later never exists.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
When Senses Collide
Rain and wind defend the bells and the crickets in the midst of cannons;
Pitter-patter, whir, hiss, chime, chirp, boom.
Fresh air mingles with that acrid burning
And drenched to the bone, the merciless fingers of cold
find the chink in our armor.
Cold, exorbitantly cold
So cold we can't feel the cold,
the word loses its meaning,
just a word,
just a sound, like all the others
Till it becomes warmth.
Lost, discouraged, betrayed
yet awed, elated, empowered
from that which we call
Fearless nostalgia.
That's all life is, really
A continuum of contradictions.
C.S.
Pitter-patter, whir, hiss, chime, chirp, boom.
Fresh air mingles with that acrid burning
And drenched to the bone, the merciless fingers of cold
find the chink in our armor.
Cold, exorbitantly cold
So cold we can't feel the cold,
the word loses its meaning,
just a word,
just a sound, like all the others
Till it becomes warmth.
Lost, discouraged, betrayed
yet awed, elated, empowered
from that which we call
Fearless nostalgia.
That's all life is, really
A continuum of contradictions.
C.S.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The Gift of Illumination
My feet lift off the ground at the sidewalk’s curb, but it is a matter of mindless movement, not awareness. I am a tangle of thoughts and emotions that I cannot seem to make sense of, blurred with ambiguity till neither element can be truly identified. Their struggle resides in me, in the scopeless expanse of my mind, in the tight knot of my stomach. I clench my fists as another influx of thoughts hits me, leaving me weighed down by the feeling of hopelessness. All the best knives, no hope. Why? Why is life so cruel?
I am across the street now, safely on the sidewalk. The query dies in my head with the flood of adrenaline; the insecurity fades away like pixie dust and is replaced with a heightened perception.
There’s something about the night, something that consumes rational meaning. All that turmoil…it is suddenly masked. Masked with this darkness that is somehow so alive and alluring and healing, like aloe on a burn.
The cold brings a stinging sensation to my bare skin as my pulse and heart pound to the same wild rhythms. There are few cars on the road—the night could swallow me up and no one would be here to notice. I become my surroundings despite my locomotion—the black sky, the layered shadows on the sidewalk, the streetlamps. Streetlamps. Under each streetlamp, my vision becomes a blazing glow that fades in and out as my feet carry me on.
The light comes and goes. Einstein said that because cold is only the absence of heat, darkness must be nothing but the absence of light. He was right. The city below glitters like jewels in the distance. And so I find my real savior to be light, because I wouldn’t be able to run free like this is in total darkness.
I am across the street now, safely on the sidewalk. The query dies in my head with the flood of adrenaline; the insecurity fades away like pixie dust and is replaced with a heightened perception.
There’s something about the night, something that consumes rational meaning. All that turmoil…it is suddenly masked. Masked with this darkness that is somehow so alive and alluring and healing, like aloe on a burn.
The cold brings a stinging sensation to my bare skin as my pulse and heart pound to the same wild rhythms. There are few cars on the road—the night could swallow me up and no one would be here to notice. I become my surroundings despite my locomotion—the black sky, the layered shadows on the sidewalk, the streetlamps. Streetlamps. Under each streetlamp, my vision becomes a blazing glow that fades in and out as my feet carry me on.
The light comes and goes. Einstein said that because cold is only the absence of heat, darkness must be nothing but the absence of light. He was right. The city below glitters like jewels in the distance. And so I find my real savior to be light, because I wouldn’t be able to run free like this is in total darkness.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
My All Familiar Gymnast
You say I'm always there
But then
I am always running
Always wandering
With no patience
A flittering, uncertain thing
An impulse
It is you, my dear
You
Who is always there
My fellow muse
My sunshine on a cloudy day
A day I'm tied in bonds
But with that sunshine
And some tanbark, and some sky
You set me free
And so I thank you
For being my friend
For teaching us all
there's always more
than it seems
For the words we exchange
regardless the language,
For the laughs,
the concerns,
the cough drops and smiles,
And for everything
in between.
But then
I am always running
Always wandering
With no patience
A flittering, uncertain thing
An impulse
It is you, my dear
You
Who is always there
My fellow muse
My sunshine on a cloudy day
A day I'm tied in bonds
But with that sunshine
And some tanbark, and some sky
You set me free
And so I thank you
For being my friend
For teaching us all
there's always more
than it seems
For the words we exchange
regardless the language,
For the laughs,
the concerns,
the cough drops and smiles,
And for everything
in between.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Light a Match, Watch it Burn
Clasped hands in the darkness
Lights
Billboards
Endless highway
Time in motion
And with blurred edges
Lines become indistinct.
Heartbeat
Engine's thrum
Thoughts
So many thoughts,
Not enough time.
Is it a dream?
Squeeze of the hand
reassures it's
a moment unfeigned
existing
in the flesh.
Feelings
Impossible to discern
Take to the air
like seeds in the wind.
And the eyes
Mirror to the soul
two flames
smoldering
in the darkness.
That squeeze of the hand
Brings a surge of emotion
a question
a realization
How can someone understand you
if you don't understand yourself?
-C.S.
Lights
Billboards
Endless highway
Time in motion
And with blurred edges
Lines become indistinct.
Heartbeat
Engine's thrum
Thoughts
So many thoughts,
Not enough time.
Is it a dream?
Squeeze of the hand
reassures it's
a moment unfeigned
existing
in the flesh.
Feelings
Impossible to discern
Take to the air
like seeds in the wind.
And the eyes
Mirror to the soul
two flames
smoldering
in the darkness.
That squeeze of the hand
Brings a surge of emotion
a question
a realization
How can someone understand you
if you don't understand yourself?
-C.S.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
La Luna
An uneven cluster of frost lines the bottom of the windowpane and the reflection of the glass wall opposite this window lingers as an illusion somewhere in the depthless glass. But otherwise, the windowpane is a perfect extension to what's on the other side, what they like calling 'A Winter Wonderland.' Not really. It feels more like an extension of Narnia, peering through this sheet of glass to a world I don't normally live in, a world almost magical in its untampered beauty.
A white light filters into this room in the cabin, tame and mysterious at the same time. On the other side of the street stand the neighboring cabins, looking smart and smug. Yet they are not in charge. Snow is the one in charge, and he is an absolute ruler. Snow, in his glistening white glory, wraps his cold embrace around the wooden structures. He dominates the evergreens, burdens their branches. Every so often a cascade falls earthward, so heavy is the weight, and it is as if the trees heave a great sigh.
I see the source of the white light. It is the Moon, casting her illumination over the scene. She resides over the forest, keeping watch as guardian of the earth. And I realize I was wrong. She makes Snow look like a blithering fool in her eery yet beautiful presence, outshines him tenfold. She is mystical, she is captivating, she is a mix of the unknown and the familiar, and I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. It isn't a matter of radiance, it is a certain clarity, grace. She personifies all that has no distinct lines or edges, of the undefined.
I turn away for what seems a moment and a golden hue films the snow, the cabins, the trees. The moon has begun her retreat back into the depths of the sky, where she will wait, alone, until night falls once again. For now, the Sun has taken his turn to rule the horizons of this endless stretch of space we deem a central part of our universe.
A white light filters into this room in the cabin, tame and mysterious at the same time. On the other side of the street stand the neighboring cabins, looking smart and smug. Yet they are not in charge. Snow is the one in charge, and he is an absolute ruler. Snow, in his glistening white glory, wraps his cold embrace around the wooden structures. He dominates the evergreens, burdens their branches. Every so often a cascade falls earthward, so heavy is the weight, and it is as if the trees heave a great sigh.
I see the source of the white light. It is the Moon, casting her illumination over the scene. She resides over the forest, keeping watch as guardian of the earth. And I realize I was wrong. She makes Snow look like a blithering fool in her eery yet beautiful presence, outshines him tenfold. She is mystical, she is captivating, she is a mix of the unknown and the familiar, and I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. It isn't a matter of radiance, it is a certain clarity, grace. She personifies all that has no distinct lines or edges, of the undefined.
I turn away for what seems a moment and a golden hue films the snow, the cabins, the trees. The moon has begun her retreat back into the depths of the sky, where she will wait, alone, until night falls once again. For now, the Sun has taken his turn to rule the horizons of this endless stretch of space we deem a central part of our universe.
Monday, January 10, 2011
It's Not That You Finish...It's That You Had The Courage To Start
The cold air stings my skin as I bound down the incline. My feet dance off the ground with the momentum, the wind caresses my face. My footsteps are a dull thud-thud against the cement, my breathing the steady inhale-inhale, exhale-exhale, and when the two lock into place I know I have found my rhythm. My pulse drums in the blood of my ears. I focus only on the sidewalk. I feel a rush of exhilaration, a thrum of energy. I am an oscillation, I swing to the beat of time itself.
And right now, It can't stop me, I have slipped from its grasp. It doesn't matter that it'll always be a part of me no matter the distance I try to put between us, or the stacking of the odds. I just run.
And right now, It can't stop me, I have slipped from its grasp. It doesn't matter that it'll always be a part of me no matter the distance I try to put between us, or the stacking of the odds. I just run.
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