Clowns Are Not Welcomed Here

I have something to say but then

I can't stand the parades of clowns walking into my head
They wear these suits and walk around with titles on their faces
They never pick up a toolbox to build
never ever give a hand but find just
Sheer embroidery coming from the inside and outside of their heads

Even I can’t be fooled

While the clowns are gnawing at me

Making noise to re-disturb the patience I’ve cultivated

The strength I was born with

Has been played on

Has been fucked with

But I can’t really be fooled

I have something to say but then

I can’t stand up now with you around me

Because your smell has made this home

An abandoned warehouse with paint buckets spillings

You'd think that clowns would be a little more “together”

But here they are with

Another place to sleep… you think

But Even I can’t be fooled

Even I in this state that I’m in

It’s over, because the earth has thrown me into this alone

It has spanked me with its wretched hands

And I have learned my lesson

Having a weight on my shoulders can be a drag

So I will put you down

And keep you away from my flying spirit

Because it’s time to party

Clowns are not welcomed here. 

Never Empty

There is but a start to a feeling and then

It leaves your body only to return

So you can feel it…

Because without a stop there isn’t a go

There is a beginning-

Only

There is but a start

And in renewing; life becomes adventure

Life is a venture into the wild

And why know tomorrow when today is bare

And this moment, still here, hasn’t even left you

You are never empty; you just don’t want to be full

Because… it is the act of filling that makes life worth living

The doing

The being

The living

The beginning to the beginning

Of feeling – eternal newness into how the word began

Deep in you, a start to what life was always meant to be:

Never Empty.

All Gone From Life

I don't think like a flower anymore
I know I can't live past a moment
because they've taken me
out from my roots
And I use to drink and eat from the soil
and now I return to it
all gone from life

I know I can't come back.
I can't come back like they promise in some sights
or some storybooks...
once I've lost all power
my veins become naught
and I start to dwindle painlessly
I do

I don't think like a flower anymore
well, like I did when I was young
I didn't think that life depended
on earth's riches
That I stood without help... without.
I hadn't realized that a human
would come, cut me out one day
And I had to depend on his kindness instead 
 
I was so used to the sun returning to face me
to warm me, to love me

I don't think like a flower anymore
because I have seen myself
fall and without strength 
I fall to never to stand tall again, to come back
But I disappear into the soil like
My mother and her sisters have
I wish I'd known that my time here was timed

I have grown a little too late
And a little too late I'm learned.

I Turned To Dust

I went up the mountain
in order to see clearly
and while I was there
There you were
jumping over lower hills...
I was watching you
Waiting for that whisper
That lulled me to sleep some years ago

I had climbed to reach you
nakedly in view
but you were too busy riding on
the tail of the wind to feel my gaze
Or to see that I have been with you
and not quite away from you
Reaching toward you and hoping
you'd want to come and stand by me...

So I stood there alone, almost paralyzed
by the cold and wind that blew
some 20 years off me
And I oh child, I am,
dressed with golden leaves
Yes, quite aware of my weakness

I saw you riding the tail of it
Smiling about the very thing
I couldn't understand, and I cried
Because something inside me said
"Oh child, you can't go back down
You are way to young to fly among the rest"
and the wind just stopped and you kept riding it
How can it be?
and I cried and cried till the rain
and I became the incarnation of time...
And I turned to dust
right then. 

Roses That Die

You gave me paper roses
That night
and you looked at me with your expectant eyes
and wanted me to believe
Are they real?
They are here
still but the reason why it came to me
The reason why I hold them near
has somewhat disappeared
it has wilted... just like that

And you don't ask me if I love you
And you don't want to know
how you feel
for me, and will I ever walk the streets
with these roses... in the rain
in the snow or during this starry evening
with my hands all sweaty
Could they survive
the judgement of time taking my throat
and choking me... with memories

You gave me paper roses
And I can't remember when
You gave me roses that die
(it's timely life
lives always in our minds
in beauty and in nature)

You gave me paper roses
because you were afraid I'd
desert you? and so it was safer to take
the time to make them
but now..
I cry and I hold these
hoping that my memory will suffice
That this love I have is roses that die.

And I do love you because they
have landed here in the desert of my mind
hoping to live, passed me and always.

I Have Nothing To Say

I have nothing to say
but I am full of nothing
so i hope that by the end
of this, something can come
can give.

I try. I am here. I try. I do.

I still have nothing to say
except I will say this
Since I have nothing to say it is possibly
because I do, have too much to say

But my words are not coming together
The union of words, like
an awaiting bride
keeping herself from leaving... 
her undergarment has the color
red just like the color of love
and the color of death

So If I have nothing to say
it is probably because
the red I see is the red
I refuse to see
I scream: Why are you here in my darkness?
When all I could see is black.

I'd learn to appreciate you
when you leave...
away from me
my body is full of you
but I can't seem to have red
undergarments...
They are grey with envy
and blue with sadness
and black with anger

I have nothing to say
because If I speak these words will turn to dust
and I'll find the treasure of life hard to reach
And you think you know me
I hate you think you know me
When I myself, try to creep
into my own dreams
I myself climb to reach for myself
I go even to the deepest sea
where my fear lurks to find me
and you think you know me?

I have nothing to say.
So I won't pretend to
be giving
I have nothing to give in fact, so I will say nothing
Nothing.

How Long Can This Last?

If I become an illusion

It would only be to you

Because you choose to be with me

Without me

You spend days and nights 

Without me

And I sit in my frozen chair 

with you in me

But how long can this last?

I am two times heartbroken 

and one time alive

how can I survive 

Without me 

and you do well 

Without me

How long can the fire last

under water

under pressure

under and after all

How long can your breath live

without me

inside of me

How long can this last? 

When I myself weep with the rain

and I myself scream with the wind

and I myself feel like a storm

How long can this last? 

And although I feel like "the game is on me"

I feel like I've won

(because) as tragic as this may seem

I live, heartbroken 

But I live

I Am Something Else

I am not a pilgrim 

My shoes have barely touched the ground

Barely have I learned to knit

My fingers stiff with thoughts

They are my weapons, for uselessness

For numbing, poor pilgrims

Worshipers of sort

Believers

Devoted to what?

What have they learned in their travels?

Pilgrim, wise- not

A name fitted for very little wonder

Wandering to be called pilgrims!

I am not a pilgrim, nor I thrive to be

Religion makes them kneel 

pleading

To excuse nature?

To supplicate for what Mother has given

Freedom… 

I am not a pilgrim because I am 

Something else

And though I've barely learned a lesson

needless to say two

I have nature free in me

walking aligned

From  Within.

I Am Not A Poet

I am not a poet because
my words come together
they make very little sense
most of the time
It's because I'm hurting
or because I'm lost
and want to find my way with words

I am not a poet because
I can with my fingers type
But when a true poet writes
he's found meaning
and words having their way
break through
splatters of thought
become the paper's words
and that is what a poet is

I am not a poet
Because I am little
A poet is bigger than life
And my life is worth a dime
today

I am not a poet
and I'm not ashamed to say it.
But if one day, (maybe soon)
I begin to feel otherwise
I will probably embrace it 
fall back on my natural wit
and say with my actor voice:
I am a poet.

Contemplating My Very Existence

It has a way of walking in

Love, sometimes blind

But never deaf

As it slithers swiftly through 

the very cracks

It feels right at times

And sometimes it feels just wrong

For me to be so onward!

Love, you have a face that only I recognize

When I myself love

When I myself live

The small ticking of my heart has a way

Of making music to yours

I feel more love in my love

Because I listen,

You lighting with your breath my candle

It does light up the orbit, the world

My very existence resonates

They see me, and see what goddess you turned me into

You with your very brush, take me

for who I am, never mistaking me for a flower

but always giving me water to live

Eagerly you help me contemplate my very existence

Love, you walk in to what love I have

And for that very reason... It lives!

BUTTERFLY INSIDE OF ME

Butterfly come land inside of me
I have turned you into one
Inside of me.

Your colors are like I am to a man
Here and now
Inside me

Cover me,  but don't let me bleed
Because I am only human
A woman
Fill me up with lights
And drown me
But know that I am only human
Music is not here
Inside of me

Oh butterfly land inside me
and find me
Blind me
and let me not see
what you are outside me

Inside of me
I know you breathe better
Inside of me
I know you're meant to be
Inside of me
I do believe
That you inside of me
Live.

A Question To My Lover (Nothing)

I am now a question to my lover

My lover knows nothing

If it is all

That’s all he knows

Does "nothing" mean he needs to know?

A thought, is thought but buried low

And so it’s hard for him to hear

I want to speak and yet I mute

I mute tonight, so he can’t hear…

what

Nothing’s said

I am now a question to my lover

Nothing is the word to birth a zero

And so nothing (white noise possibly)

Is all that’s uttered 

with lips so tight

A fighter, who am I

If my lover knows nothing

He waits to hear and so time passes

Yet I near to nothing, still

I lock my deed and beg him (hmm)

Practically unannounced, my words

Come tumbling and tumbling they land on zero

And nothing worded

I am now a question to myself

And what am I, what I desire to be had?

I am to say… without a word

Nothing.

Life Was Here

Here I am, in my discontent

Red and thorny

All I am

Overbearing

Flower

Heathen scent. “Life Was here”

My displeasure lives (without hesitation) 

My home

My garden, blooming yet

I am – that posted sign

After all: I am

It is I the one dispairing 

Or is it everything around me?

I am wet- Oh mindless rain!

Without a slight sense of measure

I am torn beautifully

Left to die- no mourning

“Life Was Here”

Bright angel

Who lights me

Sweet and bitter- bitter sweet

for sure- I know

What beauty is left here- what beauty lies

what beauty dies

here, I am.

Diagnosed By Me

If I determine for myself

What I can't for myself determine

I begin to with a question, search

No desperation, no pressures

Because the answer is, without a doubt,

Right here with me

If I determine that it is

But I never appointed this other thing

This fallen feather, this rain

To help me with determining...

The acquisition of answers are natural to my persona

It comes naturally

So If I do well, with my considered

determination, use all of me with a little help 

from nature, I will always be established

And diagnosed by me, as me-

Complete and fully germinated!

I With Silence Lie

I with silence lie

Sorrow just like my sorrow

Cries just like my cries

Laughter- oh like an echo rises into the sky

Silence with- I lie

Golden at times and at times moldy

Hallow like deeper than air in a cave

And a cast of ants dancing to Silence

I would love to see

Myself receiving the message that it delivers

But it’s my state to be

To lie and wait for (my) silence

In the midst of the night even sounds manifest

Leaving even less room for my silencing port

So if I thought at once, the shutting of eyes or

The shooting of thoughts would have silence

At my door, all these knocks at my door…

Deliver me even more lies

Sorrow knows sorrow well

My cries, my laughter-

My Silence.