Muse (II)

There she lies, unconcerned,

More lofty than the moon

for all she can never see-

in the deep depths of stars,

in this singular mask of night.

So far away, there

My sanctuary here,

The face that paints

the crystalline bite, the wind

in every word I write!

Still, faster the wings fly,

Faster the steadfast soul

of a time long misplaced-

Cooler blows the cloak,

So heavy around my heart

where sculptures live forever!

For a moment, I see

my whole world lifted,

A shard of glass,

Into that stream, that

other world of light-

A sky of watery pearls

closer than the elven-faced stars.

Muse (I)

Crisp wings of time, pulled

thin on rice paper skeletons

left in collecting jars,

Still fly past.

They await me, each nerve

a stroke of misplaced flourish,

Each artery beneath hard temples

pounding, pouring lines

like streams of water,

forcing through me,

and I am transparent.

Rushing through my filthy hands,

Ripping past the ragged spots, damned,

They wield pearls of light, lanterns

in liquid trickle- to another world.

Little Tokyo

It started with boxes

Alien, knotted silk presents,

Stiff and climbing petal-drops

Clinging to havens lost.

What's left to hold

the mother's soul,

facing the changing horizon?

She started with a new world-

A pilgrimage hastily made safe,

then, undone

Behind an unchanged face,

Still beautiful after this.

Now she blooms in empty halls-

A lady in stained glass,

Behind the empty windows-

Her calligraphy of shadows.

Still masked, she holds firm

The casualties of smiling war.

I Follow the Moon

Not to worry not to fret

my love tells me,

As she brings her world forth.

I lift mine eyes to her sacred sky,

Pulsing with ripples, slowing

winter winds falling to a still pond;

She divines in me, fills my will,

And so my heart shakes-

All light is harsh, dead

'gainst her hands in my soul.

One by one, they come forth-

The chieftainesses with diamond feet,

Their gowns bright with sulphur

trailing in an unmined sky,

Every corner of it proudly held-

The nations of light, their names

etched in the reels they dance,

The dust in sharp petals

left where they turn their heels.

And it is then, in the music,

My soul is ensnared, my being full

in open surrender unfurled, held

against my love's embrace of sky.

Sky of November

The first chill sways in me

My heavy, suspended sunset,

A canvas well marked, yet

More transparent than the wind.

I let them go together-

My last light, and the wind,

For they each live to string

The other’s hollow songs.

Like beads on thread, they live

On the round, cascading necklaces,

A bright, frigid web casting endlessly

At the stars of the light-rent sky.

They hold me, thank me

Before blowing through meager breasts

In hopes of mine- the lost souls

Of theirs and the dying noon.

I am left, pale, truly last in line,

Enshrouded in the wind that stays,

In the last, who bestowed on me

His memories of day.

Those that have me, the hollow hearts

Where my wind and my light

Struggle to thread-

They are more alone than I.

They have not even my sunset,

Only the wind, my wind,

Infused with stolen roses

Which make plain dreams wild.

Nanowrimo 2010

Woot woot! Once again, I did a ton of last minute stuff, but that's what makes it fun!

Yellow- I wrote, but didn't meet the "1666 words a day, every day" quota that's needed to reach 50,000.

Red- I didn't write at all.

Green- I met, or exceeded the"1666 words a day, every day" quota.

As you can see, I barely wrote on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. Actually, I never wrote on a Wednesday! In conclusion, it's a crazy, stressful challenge, but it's not as crazy of a challenge as it seems! Looking back, it did consume my time, but I was able to do lots of other things too.

Despite the novel schedule, I did manage to write poetry. I'll probably post it later, because I need to submit it for something important soon.

To Claim the Sky

The cathedral of sky empties of prayers
When a pilgrim is wary of the ground again,
Who tiptoes its echoing vaults of wind,
Arched solid as the rains descend.

In the halls of sun, the houses of days,
With twilights burning along the wall,
All is drawn behind the night,
Storming, should one faithful fall.

The darkness is young, wiry of wit,
For raindrops pass in hoods of mist,
Lusting for the gold, the grime
The faithless donned in shadows kissed.

Felled phoenix, daunted in the clear,
The steeple appears long-painted past,
Who is to know the bells still toll
Lest a neighbor lends a feather, at last?