a collage// or how an art hall elevator can be more exciting than johnny depp//sometimes

i, age 18 in venice

.

she meets him on the train from paris
(which has certain, weird potential
in itself)
i, on an elevator,
in the basement of an art hall,
close to the canal, or

maybe in a row boat,
neither understanding fish
nor flying,

time crawls up on me &
things start, rolling,
touch, link in certain patterns, then
foam up
dice falls,

doors slide as he (could be
anyone, you know) walks
by,

“i need more time” i say
“to watch through all the things in real time”

“you mean life?” the elevator asks
with grinding teeth, & eats me, i–

“have been to venice once”
i tell my daughter,
(the tv spits frazzled patterns in the night)
“you liked it?”
“i don’t know, i was too young maybe
to understand the way she carries
stories in her drift,
& how she’s tied

to nothing in specific, tourists
in and out, all searching, &
(slow-mo boat chase
on a dark canal)

“you read a poem to me?”
“sure”, i grab the hicok book
“no, one of yours”
“ok–“

& as i read, angelina kisses him
on a venice balcony,
There is no spark though
& the screen stays
———–strangely empty,

doors slide,
& i press the button,
silver brushed steel, bathed in space-green neon light,
me, in a square cage, barely,
seen,
sliding in and out of blurred reality
& where it touches us
with a message

i don’t get yet, but
my feet vibrate,
(already), gently,
to this humming stranger’s beat

.

smiles..it’s hot here.. 38 C… happy summer and happy OLN.. we open the dVersePoets pub doors at 3pm EST for a cool drink and loads and loads of poetry… you join us?

the furious, the beauty, & the stream

“2030– it will come” i think, “& we’re Never ready”,
& i’m angry about the crap that leaves his mouth,
grey suit parrot, WantTo push him off the stage,
scream “USE your fantasy, you CAN’t just
cut & paste, lean heavy weighed on bad researched
statistics, sell ‘em as the facts, don’t under-
estimate but look those young guys
in the eyes, i trust, they’ll chaNge the world,

again, aGain, DoThings different,
bravely shouldering the heavy heritage
we left ‘em with, paperCut the moon
& pin it freshly sprayed onto a widening space’s
dark suit, i waNNA laugh out loud, hiSterically
sit, with crossed arms, eyes pressed to
menacing slits until the break gong spits
relEase,

flee in the park and
brEATHe, BreaTHe, bReaTHE,
then ask the stream.
“2030, what do You think–?”
watery eyes on me, he gurgles,
broken bariton,
(which calms me down a bit)
“i can only tell you where i’ve been
the things i carry with me, moving, ’til
giving birth into the sea—“

i let my hand glide his stream,
feel for the steady heartbeat, Dive

face first into him, move deep-
Er, “carry me a bit?”
—————-we dont talk,
not now, just spill away the world,
“bet you’re an awesome lover”, not sure why,
i say this,  just a feeling, &
my light brown cardigan i bought in california—
the only thing i brought back from my trip beside
charles’ shepherd pic,
it’s about caring, love contra neglect,
i walk extremes,  desperately searching for the base,

“i’m sorry about that” i whisper to the stream,
he licks my thighs,
“thats fine with me,
we all flow to a certain pattern”
and i sigh, dial my husband’s number,
“hi”
“how’s hamburg? doing good?”
“i wanna sleep with you tonite” i say,
“you’re waiting up for me?”
“i will”

“i like your hairdress”,
i say to the stream, who is a pond now,
“thank you” & i love how playful
he is in his rest, teeter totters thousand
water lilies, spread like dotted nets,
across his even surface,
& i kiss him, careful on his chest,
“there’s so much beauty in the now”,
i smile,  “thanks for your time”
then walk back in the meeting room,
drenchedWet & sea weed in my hair

.

Fred has us writing Beauty for poetics today..how there’s beauty in everything if we take the time to look..beauty even in ugliness..maybe work on the contrast to emphasize beauty or just the everyday beauty that we tend to overlook on busy days..see you at 3pm at dVerse..

in the park, pondering that Ali/Foreman fight //out of the blue

“i thought you were asleep”,
the bumble bee with plushy face
close to my ears, says “do you sleep—?”
bumps dayDreamSoft against my cheeks,
hair tousled under heaps
of pollen, leaves, trace
a milky way-ish tail along the maze
of– do you sleepyousleepyousleep (slow slurping song)
formed thickly on her summer-heavy tongue

 .

AbAabbA – that should be the Rondelet rhyme scheme…there’s a syllable count as well.. mine was off a bit..smiles.. be sure to stop by in the pub when Tony opens the doors at 3pm EST.. I’m still in Hamburg on a business trip, will be flying back home late tonight and all day in seminars today, so will catch up Friday morning…

last two years in school & how we carry death around us

crushed and bruised,
i change schools
try to re-spell eduCation,
one last chance
@ a new start

“doN’t get in my way”, i say

skydive physics on the lakeside,
scraTch equations in the dirt
& lung-test history,
along the way–

having lost life’s instructions
afternoons & weekends,
i work in a clothes shop,
& on breaks blow my boss
(for the extra money
cause i doN’T want
to fit in),

my best friend’s old car,
on the school way,
we throw songs against panes,
careLess, fulSpeed, he’s
the only guy, i talk to, & we
have our own rules,
unjudged, mostly

“you look like crap–”
my teacher says
(seventeen, last few days in school),
“what did you do?”
“My dad died yesterday”

a pin falls,
thousand meters deep,
breaks its head in dustflakes
craShes– unbraked
on the floor
in complete silenCe–
“i am sorry” and
without a shift of breath,
he says,
“you wrote the best test”

i get up,
turn my cotton-packed head,
limp sword loose on my hip,
(in a battle, who, i wonder,
would defend me?)

stuff exam papers in my bag,
latch sNaps,
(thunder-like) no flash–
& i don’t count
seconds
turn into hours

& it all
feels less than nothing

.

over at dVerse, we’re celebrating OpenLinkNight 100..wow…leaves me a bit breathless…so let’s rock the place with poetry and dance the night away..smiles… it makes me happy.. see you at 3pm EST..

the Girl, Trisomy 21& what i saw in the eyes of the moon

she sits
—-(calm pool)
on a streetside bench,
rush hour traffic
——–flows,

—-beats,
————breathes

–in pulsing waves,

—-aRound–
her, car horns, compressed air gun,
digger, bikes

& i pass in a crowded tram,
drink her quietness as
—doors
————slide
–closed,

&a last minute school class
spills in,

—drops,

————drops,

      -drops

——-like cones

on the seats around me,

& i try to catch a last glimpse,
of her face’s si-
—-lence that
would put my friend, the moon
——–to shame,

——& wonder
what they talk of on nights when
both their gazes reflect
from each side of a night-shade pane,
——deep to dEEp,
& slowly, melT
———towards,
their twin-cut outLines, shape, a
—pale,
——–light,

—–moVes careful,
touch one another’s axis,
in a secret, quiet res-
—-Ponse,
——-she smiles

& i stand at the gate,
hands pressed ‘round its wooden rails
————& shiver

with undeciphered magic

.

saw the little girl with down syndrom just for a moment but somehow her calmness in all the rush really moved me… karin encourages us to write poems, springing from the idea of a twin, an opposite or an internally divided self… have a look at what’s going on when she opens the dVerse pub doors at 3pm EST

OneFatLine

 my daughter texts me
(from Australia)
about a convo that she had
with someone ‘bout a poet’s
core of-– roMance?
i lean back ,
the steering wheel lock snaPs,
switch on the news,

ISTANBUL,
days of violent anti-government
protests, the US
and European Union
do eXPress concern
about the heavy-handed action
of police against protesters,

she wears a red cotton dress,
shouting summer, Fe-
mininity & freedom, necklace, her white handbag
like a flag // sign // pledge,
a masked police man crouches before her,
firing teargas & her long, dark hair
in restless waves,
billows uP//uP//Up/// towards the sky
in  silent cries,

copy plastered on the walls,
in clouds of spray paint, graffiti//D
the essence of this protest
(cap)(en)cap (tured) // caP(su)lated, & re-
Leased in
One Fat Line

“The more you spray, the bigger we get”,

with swimming goggles,
flimsy maSks, light tasseled scarVes
‘round unBent necks
they stand against the teargas,

Prime Minister Erdogan
Brands the protesters eXtremists
“living arm in arm with terrorism”,
how off can one be– &

i pull out my red dress,

text back to Australia,
“proBably, we’re everything,
fighting madmen, hopeless,
faith(so)Ful(of),
stand in rags against the webs
trying to freeZe & luLLUsIN,
rise hair uPuP like giant flags,
&spray-paint ourSelves in wet lines ‘cross the spaCe,
oPen, reCKlessly  eMotional,

& DanGit,

what we we(ar)e–
& How,
& Why, it

frickin’ matters–“

.

Charles has us write Dadaist method poems at dVerse today where you take for example snippets from an article or any text and put them together in a new way.

For my poem, i used words from Alexandra Hudson’s article “Woman in red becomes leitmotif for Istanbul’s female protesters”

i tried to paint her, but– // on seeds and limits

“bird seeds”, i say,
“she had eyes like bird seeds”,

what i mean is
what you feed them,
& tumbles from

pump
———–kins,
——————sun
———-flowers,

—–s c a t
———–t e r   e     d

on a concrete stair,
(of my childhood),
down into the basement,
on the outside house wall,
where we played
——–cowboys & indians

& seeds buried in the dirt,
no one finds

i’m angry,

don’t like
how he treats her,
try to be nice,

but my words taste watery,
like strawberries i had for breakfast,

all the sugar poured wild
on their red heads
couldn’t save them,

& that bothers me,

i feel sorry for the pancakes,
(odd, i know–)
they’re good,
like the one my mom makes,
thin and foldable,
(which sounds unimportant
–but is not)

buttery brown chest,
nestled up

against my tongue,
———–trustful,
fusion ready,

& what can i give them?

there she sits,
all day in a saffron dress,
tea cup in her slender hands,
long black hair,
woven to an artful knot,

& smiles
each time our eyes meet
at a fixed point in the air

.

my poem for OLN at dVersePoets where our new swedish pub tender pours drinks and hands you the mic for the first time… be sure to stop by at 3pm EST when the doors open