for the love of:
the good old fun of luck,
the love of fun,
the life of fun,
the good old brand of fun,
the happy fun,
the funnest of fun times,
the fun you want to have,
or the fun fun fun for everyone that fun never left behind!
In the past few months I have been trying to ask myself, “what truly motivates you?” and “what cause would you be willing to make major sacrifices for?” One compelling answer for me is the beauty of the natural world.
these are the second round of poems inspired by prompts from friends on facebook my eyes have only seen the surface, jan knowing life from outside in never knowing what’s within what is within? peeling back the bark and branches dissecting the leaves leaves still another deeper cell always wrapped by something else some thing we can see which is us the surface even is invisible. i have only ever seen me peeking under the rock of my own consciousness nothing makes sense if we don’t know who we are, don earlier that night i stared deep into the eyes of a man in my dreams and felt electricity all around me he said, “if you keep coming here, in ten years, then, i can tell you who i am” when i woke up someone was staring back at me in the bathroom mirror, i think he was that guy from earlier deja vu, elijah the familiarity of this place is almost nauseating was i here in a dream? or is this the dream where i was here in it? i guess it is kind of a dive bar all on it’s own residential block up north side of town almost feel stuck here like some version of myself has just been here all along and always will be what is the future, stephanie the future is the seed at the end of the tunnel from it, roots sprout backward into time becoming every dreamy moment we currently call now staying at too nice of a hotel, and realizing, to your dismay, that in fact you DO enjoy nice things, roman i had to leave the hostel one day after checking in i'm not young anymore i like nice shit i'm going to be broke no matter how much money i make a hostel seemed like a great idea one night of cacophonous snoring later i spent the entire day scouring amsterdam for a private room starting a fund, dave all eggs one basket always felt brittle: let's crack the big yolk and let it trickle out through the shower head. needy kittens, fang i do not know about the needs of kittens but i cat sat momma cat and boy could she eat being in your own bed for the first time after a long trip, lisa the road has been long my head slept on the side of bus windows airport benches. i caught a few hours at hotels where i wasn’t sure about the sheets. out of the taxi and into my bed i hear the first raindrops pattering me into half sleep half bliss. daydreaming becomes real, lihui millisecond head droop mind image sensation waking up waking another reality this one built up from dream bricks each a sleepy day doze flash bricks gel concrete crenelated tower manatees, zi plorbous bodies drifting under mud sea a mangrove cow we mourn a world getting too cruel and hot for such a peaceable plump sea grazer as you a man’s poetic retelling of the woman’s ovarian cycle, sakura uncertain dry tentative a squeeze comfy understanding we can but don’t have to things seem stable new moon flips to wax a tingling a warmth passionate advances old wounds delicate tantrum ecstatic release drawn water pulls red tension breaks into pain and relief there’s no baby letting go but not wanting to, carla quivering hand hold wet smile what we saw was one moon and its antechambers the difference between yours and you’re love we can look in the eyes those grinning tears are the hardest to wipe away stay for a couple more cry laughs eat these cookies with me
i asked for prompts from friends on facebook (thank you) they are the italics rest is the poem picture of a temple on a jungle hill, jeremy looking up through jungle brush a temple is painted on a rock that pierces bright clouds i carried my orange banner many miles to ascend the hill and place my flag among the works of the great romantics: blake, nabokov, plath standing at the foot of god’s pagoda it feels it may vanish if i take even one step closer a mirage a photograph a dream letter to the weather on a hot day, stephanie you give a soggy grey glow and i sit in the greenhouse you had me sticky in bed this morning, my feet eager for the cold shower water finally drenching a reluctant spine you sucked my will to achieve but neither could i mourn sunk in the hazy doldrums of your wet heat talking to a stranger outside a restaurant, jenny i was going to trudge back into drizzly swelter (the host said “one hour”) when I saw you. something about the angle of your phone said “available” you came from the same state as me our brothers competed in soccer “seven people died climbing everest this year” you mention. i look down, holding an orange flag i see the detail of the fabric, not orange at all but thin red stitches over golden yellow silk. the table is ready feeling of leaving a place you’ll never come back to, tammy wet eyes scan the horizon a smile on my lips life isn’t long enough to rebuild your wonders or short enough for me to stay here forever so i fall to my knees gathering two tight clenched fistfuls of your dusty soil letting wind catch the particles slips from grasp recover or reconstruct familiarity, elizabeth a peppery flavor to the splash of crimson in your gold nasturtium feels familiar. given even the purest water that bouquet will wither. just down the path there is an emerald hillside where spicy flowers grow. these are new flowers with the same name. growing up, mo remember when we were kids living on the north side? things were complicated back then but now things are simple but now we’re told they have to be. i used to wander in the hills of Oakland listening to deltron on a panasonic portable CD player two double A batteries lost somewhere in the electrocrackle of a hot vintage porn swarming with dream life spirits and hallucinations. trees don’t get me as high any more but i’ll still go half on sack with you, dusting off my purple motive. do we have to settle down? i want us to settle up. to put the same orange flowers on that one ikea table every day to make it new. shopping at Costco, vikram is this being grown up? when i push the cart aisle to aisle drive it like it's stolen because we’re gonna expense this: brownie bites coconut oil, olive oil, twenty dozen eggs, spices, cereals, earplugs, jam. there’s a proud snap-worthy moment when we pull up to the register, cart filled past capacity the man at the door signs off on our load and we start wheeling it towards the landfill a couple of ants. a golden retriever named Theo, summer bleached targaryen mane you were the star at graduation the falcor in my neverending insta story what made me happy were your pouty eyes your triumphant shlump back into the dog bed home from a walk for those three days before my date you were the perfect digital wingman if i walked you, you’d be grateful but if not it would be chill too
wibbled we plump meanders neathwords sweet squeeze one night orbed we oleander skin grip wet spot stucky touch we skirfed out nerth words zung zunging no fooded, needs eat living behind quince cottage anta sum grimmudge loose alley bad slumping dust brick all car theft risky mistreat solked homes out back half sunk haunt mansion hewmed we hot sweat sticky bug day night swat skeeters strubbling out to see sky flames star snuffs big dipper we can’t find orion cause stars don’t align for us they do depending how you define: line drawn tea house from bad korean two brainhearts sqweetched among wobb hovel viving or loving sky spike upta ood fern filled farmyard here, to snive all along the llamas out buskirk sweet biggy boot trot we swat cute bumple bee bum danger squat, press to get to that bed clutch hell tight sweet gribbin a future gelling did the flood came then washing away tissue tissue tissue tissue in snibbly nose dab holding tight what’s letting go your proposal let’s wake up as ... we woke up surrounded by chirruping chickens squak jawed peacock the inflatable turkey’s rhythmic plompf levee eyes parting the muddy scuttle of gradient guinea hens we wake up smiling on the speckless white floor rug of your fidi apartment there’s a backpack and a lego man door closes elevator opens
in the middle of the night sunday i wake up and turn in bed to hold you only it’s just a pillow and i am alone that morning my heart throbbing a kissy face emoji goes out our first red heart it is the conversation we can’t get enough of sweet eye meets gizzard grins the touch that morning my heart sent a kissy face emoji blew our first red heart monday morning no work on my mind and instead i write you a purple poem slide it in a bottle and push it down the river Styx for you to gather on at the battery docks on Manna-hata’s tip you uncork that sunset’s sour vintage where the taste is not what the wine is not what the sweet translucent flesh of grapes had dripped - stickying our fingers at day’s demise for one day you did not reply in bed i hear the whine of the mosquito i know it will be a long night still you have not replied my phone buzzes an associate, a friend she bit me on the shoulder she bit me on the face that morning i wake up late from a bunk bed dream where the bay waters had risen and you can’t see the city from Oakland anymore the mosquito is trapped: buzzing around in a cup with a cloth over it beside my bed and a butt full of my blood i take her outside on the fire escape lift the cloth and watch her erratic flight among brick and iron ... later, you reply it seems callous to me three heart emojis none of them red and a chesnut but as my tears clear I see the fire peach and navy the purple and the olive pit
we enjoy a purple embrace sun falls into hoboken exploding silently slow oranges rippling against the hudson an endless breathing dance of fire peach and navy fills our head kiss summer eyes. the olive pit you toss in the water is the sand pattern slipping through your fingers. it sinks to the seafloor one dark seed under the hudson joins ten million other human sins. hellish fractal infinities once danced on your palm in these specks of sea-dust blown from a distant star. I will take you to the purple planet whose ocean island laps at the banks of your dream beach where every grain of sand was born between your hourglass fingers and lychees dangle from the low grove.