Image copyright Sylvia Ji
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
seasons (change)
With the tip tap tapping of the rain
Come fall leaves
falling down again
in amber hues
rain soaked mud tracked boots
grey clouds hide the sun that only days ago rushed to kiss you
at the door
as you walk down the steps to puddled concrete
Tree Limbs hung low
swaying gently in the wind bending
reminding us of summers ending
in slow deaths of a thousand crumbling
leaves
as
seasons change
Come fall leaves
falling down again
in amber hues
rain soaked mud tracked boots
grey clouds hide the sun that only days ago rushed to kiss you
at the door
as you walk down the steps to puddled concrete
Tree Limbs hung low
swaying gently in the wind bending
reminding us of summers ending
in slow deaths of a thousand crumbling
leaves
as
seasons change
Micah
Pray for me
pray for me
May I not know the sufferings of your life
May my ruach never be lost
Selah.
pray for me
May I not know the sufferings of your life
May my ruach never be lost
Selah.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Nightmares and Rememberances (PART I)
Day broke through the window. My tired and bruised body dragged itself out of bed. I hurried to put my clothes on. They were rags, soiled and worn, but they fought off the cold and covered some of the bruises. Stopped the questions. Couldnt stop the fights.
I woke my brothers. I stopped to think for a moment. Do they really know how much I would do for them? One day I was going to kill that nigger for them. Kill for love. The moment passed quickly, but the rage turned everything black and I struggled to return to the light...I emerged to find four haunting images of myself rising from the bed, yawning like cats.
The bed was really nothing more than a mattress thrown on the floor. But it was a life system all its own. Beneath the tattered cloth, mice had built their nests. Sometimes at night when the house was quiet, I could hear their tiny squeaks and believed that if I listened long enough maybe I would learn their language. I conjured a world beneath that mattress that full of tiny messengers, of kings and queens and of magical powers that lay in the furry paws of my little friends. A world without hunger or cold. It was a world with their laughter and happiness. Most importantly, it was a world without fathers.
Yet, all was not well. Not even in this world. LIke the evil witches and demons that haunted ancient distant lands, so too was this magical world threatened by an evil dark legion: roaches. A discernible odor rose from the walls, the ceiling, the floorboards, enroaching stealthily on the serenity of my little friends world. Those rare nights when the violence had stopped and the beatings and the screams muted into the horror of the silence that threatened the finality of death, I would be reminded: no one gets out of this world that easy. I would hear their disgusting shells scurry across the floor and up the walls. Hundreds, thousands of their shit stained feet marching to war against my fantasy world.
I dressed my brothers and tears swelled behind eyes that refused to cry. My mask betrayed me, and I quickly brushed the tear off. Something in my eye, I mumbled to no one in particular. When I saw their honey brown skin covered with scars and bruises, a part of me died. Every morning it was the same. I would always remember this nightmare. I wouldn't cry. I couldn't cry. I wasn't dreaming. I was alive. I wanted to be dead, but where do you go when you die? I was a fucking kindergartner. I took a bus to school. Do they have buses when you die?
I had to be strong. Rage replaced the sorrow, and my thoughts returned to the monster that had done this. Black. Like the evil night in which he lived. Stalking us. Imprisoning us in fear. fucking nigger. I hadn't heard him this morning. Was he here? Where was she? Was she dead? Finally? Dead? Free? I said a quiet little prayer, wanting to believe those words would make him disappear. But nobody listens to five year olds. Especially God. He doesn't give a fuck about five year olds.
I walked down towards the bathroom. What would I find this morning? I lived in a house of horrors. Every room held dark secrets. I wasn't afraid... of the bathroom? or was I? Usually, I expected to find a few dead mice, their little heads snapped in brutal traps. They were my friends, even if they did steal the litle food we had. I felt sorry for them. This house was so cold. If I felt it, then these little creatures surely must. Maybe the traps weren't so cruel? Sometimes I wish that I were one of those dead mice. That he would kill me, too. Freed from this miserable were by his steel grip crushing my neck. CRUNCHSNAP Death couldn't be any worse than the life we lived. But it wasn't the mice that worried me.
He had been here last night. I had seen it so many times before. Heard the screams in the night, while I curled up in a ball, pulling my little brothers close as we all cowered in fear praying the door wouldn't open. praying for it to STOP. even if that meant she was dead. helpless. terrified. scarred. scared. that the terror would find its way to us.
I opened the door...
I woke my brothers. I stopped to think for a moment. Do they really know how much I would do for them? One day I was going to kill that nigger for them. Kill for love. The moment passed quickly, but the rage turned everything black and I struggled to return to the light...I emerged to find four haunting images of myself rising from the bed, yawning like cats.
The bed was really nothing more than a mattress thrown on the floor. But it was a life system all its own. Beneath the tattered cloth, mice had built their nests. Sometimes at night when the house was quiet, I could hear their tiny squeaks and believed that if I listened long enough maybe I would learn their language. I conjured a world beneath that mattress that full of tiny messengers, of kings and queens and of magical powers that lay in the furry paws of my little friends. A world without hunger or cold. It was a world with their laughter and happiness. Most importantly, it was a world without fathers.
Yet, all was not well. Not even in this world. LIke the evil witches and demons that haunted ancient distant lands, so too was this magical world threatened by an evil dark legion: roaches. A discernible odor rose from the walls, the ceiling, the floorboards, enroaching stealthily on the serenity of my little friends world. Those rare nights when the violence had stopped and the beatings and the screams muted into the horror of the silence that threatened the finality of death, I would be reminded: no one gets out of this world that easy. I would hear their disgusting shells scurry across the floor and up the walls. Hundreds, thousands of their shit stained feet marching to war against my fantasy world.
I dressed my brothers and tears swelled behind eyes that refused to cry. My mask betrayed me, and I quickly brushed the tear off. Something in my eye, I mumbled to no one in particular. When I saw their honey brown skin covered with scars and bruises, a part of me died. Every morning it was the same. I would always remember this nightmare. I wouldn't cry. I couldn't cry. I wasn't dreaming. I was alive. I wanted to be dead, but where do you go when you die? I was a fucking kindergartner. I took a bus to school. Do they have buses when you die?
I had to be strong. Rage replaced the sorrow, and my thoughts returned to the monster that had done this. Black. Like the evil night in which he lived. Stalking us. Imprisoning us in fear. fucking nigger. I hadn't heard him this morning. Was he here? Where was she? Was she dead? Finally? Dead? Free? I said a quiet little prayer, wanting to believe those words would make him disappear. But nobody listens to five year olds. Especially God. He doesn't give a fuck about five year olds.
I walked down towards the bathroom. What would I find this morning? I lived in a house of horrors. Every room held dark secrets. I wasn't afraid... of the bathroom? or was I? Usually, I expected to find a few dead mice, their little heads snapped in brutal traps. They were my friends, even if they did steal the litle food we had. I felt sorry for them. This house was so cold. If I felt it, then these little creatures surely must. Maybe the traps weren't so cruel? Sometimes I wish that I were one of those dead mice. That he would kill me, too. Freed from this miserable were by his steel grip crushing my neck. CRUNCHSNAP Death couldn't be any worse than the life we lived. But it wasn't the mice that worried me.
He had been here last night. I had seen it so many times before. Heard the screams in the night, while I curled up in a ball, pulling my little brothers close as we all cowered in fear praying the door wouldn't open. praying for it to STOP. even if that meant she was dead. helpless. terrified. scarred. scared. that the terror would find its way to us.
I opened the door...
You are now free to fly
Got a bulletproof vest to protect my chest.
I started catching feelings that I best forget.
it ain't easy but I know there's only one thing left :
chuck the deuces,
and say bye bye to the heart you left.
STRANDED ON A FLIGHT TO SAN FRANCISCO
I started catching feelings that I best forget.
it ain't easy but I know there's only one thing left :
chuck the deuces,
and say bye bye to the heart you left.
STRANDED ON A FLIGHT TO SAN FRANCISCO
Hibernation
It would be cold again.
I should have been used to it by now
I'd lived in Michigan for all my life
Maybe it was the summers down south that had thinned my blood
the slush slush that found its way into my steps
Thinsulate-thin and un-insulated
I never liked the cold.
Michigan cold seeps through you
Every time I went outside I imagined myself wrapped in a thick wool blanket,
like a Native chief huddled around a fire...
then the cold would creep in
Cats must feel the same towards water
winter made me anxious
it made me ugly
I was never happy.
Especially when the sun left for good.
It had been two weeks since I had last seen it
We were all fools to worship God when there was the Sun
El Sol
my soul
My saviour from the grey and dreary slush and off-whiteness
I did not see him peering through the window
It would be cold again.
I should have been used to it by now
I'd lived in Michigan for all my life
Maybe it was the summers down south that had thinned my blood
the slush slush that found its way into my steps
Thinsulate-thin and un-insulated
I never liked the cold.
Michigan cold seeps through you
Every time I went outside I imagined myself wrapped in a thick wool blanket,
like a Native chief huddled around a fire...
then the cold would creep in
Cats must feel the same towards water
winter made me anxious
it made me ugly
I was never happy.
Especially when the sun left for good.
It had been two weeks since I had last seen it
We were all fools to worship God when there was the Sun
El Sol
my soul
My saviour from the grey and dreary slush and off-whiteness
I did not see him peering through the window
It would be cold again.
Memento Mori
Cancer eats her mouth
her smoking flesh
refusing to exhume the beauty of her youth
exhale
leaving the scent of its fumes
ash lingers
like a thin film of regret over every inch of her
face
silently whispering
"memento mori"
15 March 09
About this piece:
This poem roused me from my sleep. In my dream was a young woman that I knew from Kyrgastan. Despite her sexual fire, age was eating away at her, like a smoldering cancer. Cigarette delicately balanced on between her fingertips, like the precarious dance she did with death. In the dream, her face was falling away, revealing a blackened skeleton, twisting and gyrating in a seductive pulse. My lust became disgust and I screamed in terror, forcing myself to turn away. Gasping and rushing to surface from this dark mass and escape this vision.
her smoking flesh
refusing to exhume the beauty of her youth
exhale
leaving the scent of its fumes
ash lingers
like a thin film of regret over every inch of her
face
silently whispering
"memento mori"
15 March 09
About this piece:
This poem roused me from my sleep. In my dream was a young woman that I knew from Kyrgastan. Despite her sexual fire, age was eating away at her, like a smoldering cancer. Cigarette delicately balanced on between her fingertips, like the precarious dance she did with death. In the dream, her face was falling away, revealing a blackened skeleton, twisting and gyrating in a seductive pulse. My lust became disgust and I screamed in terror, forcing myself to turn away. Gasping and rushing to surface from this dark mass and escape this vision.
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