someday
i want a home
that's not so far away
and that doesn't change
(not even when things get noisy)
a home in the key of C
(when things get coltrane giant steps confusing)
i can always come back
to that note in the middle
a place that i can find
even if you spin me around
and pull out my eyes
a place that i will protect
with all of my life
i'm happy
i've learned to almost always be happy
but scared, too, and hopeful
and optimistic
(because our neighborhoods are alive with magic
that we don't see
unless we walk late at night
when the magic creatures
think we are asleep)
optimism is not "good things will happen to me"
optimism is "i will be good to others"
important to remember:
apartments can always be emptied
to my sisters:
all that anybody wants is love, home, and happiness.
and i haven't found the ultimate amounts of all three, of the whole thing,
but this past year
i've figured out how to get more of it
(except for the home part. i'm still working on that)
and it's pretty simple. it involves smiling more,
hugging more, and working hard- looking at things for
the beauties they bring
instead of the burdens-
realizing that suffering is one of the thickest parts of life,
but even something so stalwart can be busted into smaller pieces
with compassion
(compassion is the bazooka, the panzer tank, in the war on unhappiness. it explodes things like doing the dishes and typos in important memos, and co-workers who sometimes can't even read)
i wish you were closer
i'd play songs for you
and help you remember that
sometimes
being ridiculous
is close to being
divine
i'm not close to being the perfect person
but every once in awhile i write a sentence
that makes people's hearts beat a little faster
and that is enough for me.
a hint:
chill your zinfandel on hot summer nights
krysta:
i know you always tell me
that i am part of your family
and i am happy for that (you have no idea)
but don't ever forget
that you are also
a part of mine.
and goodnight, all those leaves that have fallen
and been raked into piles
waiting to be burned
(may rain fall and keep you for another day longer)
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
little poem
because i thought they sounded good
the wild blueberries up in the woods:
i didn't even think
about poison ivy
or thorns
(or crawling things falling from the trees)
i swam up to the
rocky shore
and caught my breath on the purple stones
i fought a bear
and her cubs
the sun was high
and i burned my nose
the sun went down
and i slept with wolves
as far north
as i had to go
i didn't know
(i forgot my map)
but please don't worry-
i'm comin' back
(and when i do,
i want to share
my wild blueberries
with you)
the wild blueberries up in the woods:
i didn't even think
about poison ivy
or thorns
(or crawling things falling from the trees)
i swam up to the
rocky shore
and caught my breath on the purple stones
i fought a bear
and her cubs
the sun was high
and i burned my nose
the sun went down
and i slept with wolves
as far north
as i had to go
i didn't know
(i forgot my map)
but please don't worry-
i'm comin' back
(and when i do,
i want to share
my wild blueberries
with you)
Thursday, August 27, 2009
end of august/too darn hot
i put on my bob dylan hat
and step out onto the streets of the village,
well aware of the heat
but not caring.
i'm absorbing concrete
and car horns
(it doesn't cool at night-
sponge buildings soaking up sun all day
wringing themselves out at night,
red-hot rivers of cooling metal)
there are people taking pictures
and people balancing cats on their heads
and people finding shade in the subway.
it's this kind of day
that makes you want to take off
everything you have on
and jump into harlem meer
but i've got on my bob dylan hat
pretending to stay cool
but not staying cool
at all.
maybe we should go to the beach again?
and step out onto the streets of the village,
well aware of the heat
but not caring.
i'm absorbing concrete
and car horns
(it doesn't cool at night-
sponge buildings soaking up sun all day
wringing themselves out at night,
red-hot rivers of cooling metal)
there are people taking pictures
and people balancing cats on their heads
and people finding shade in the subway.
it's this kind of day
that makes you want to take off
everything you have on
and jump into harlem meer
but i've got on my bob dylan hat
pretending to stay cool
but not staying cool
at all.
maybe we should go to the beach again?
Monday, August 24, 2009
annebriated poem (read at your own risk- spacing is not accurate!)
i don't care what you are and what you're not
i want you to be my cosmonaut
we'll take off in a ship
you'll steer and i'll fix shit
that breaks along the way
magic grandma magnet fingers
bringing people together and closing
in on what could be
like being tucked in
at night
and about the water
happy on the sides of my beer glass
my mini air conditioner
some beer in
and we're talking about
porn star girlfriends
of her ex-boyfriend
and supporting each other fully
in our statements
of insobriety
and happiness
we don't do this often (enough)
“nothing more important than to know
someone is listenin'” they sing
quietly
because i have the speakers turned down
so that the neighbors can sleep
measuring the oscillations
of guitar strings
we can see
hearts beat
and eyes blink
“your mother has a basement full of sentimental value!”
Said angrily
makes us both laugh
cat stretches on the floor
and the sound in my brain
goes “strrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrecccchhhhhhh”
and it is perfect
another knob creek
and it looks like maple syrup
and tastes like
nail polish remover
my parents want to get
a dachshund.
It looks like this:
double dapple
adorable
or maybe
a sable
(hard to tell)
this poem
is shaped
like mt.
st.
helens
tipped up
on it's side
harry truman
not the president
was swallowed
by
the pyroclastic flow
as it
lived it's breaths
evaporating lakes
and steaming trees
like noodles
(a long haired sable dachshund)
it's all about
making people
smile
only one more time.
Really?
i want you to be my cosmonaut
we'll take off in a ship
you'll steer and i'll fix shit
that breaks along the way
magic grandma magnet fingers
bringing people together and closing
in on what could be
like being tucked in
at night
and about the water
happy on the sides of my beer glass
my mini air conditioner
some beer in
and we're talking about
porn star girlfriends
of her ex-boyfriend
and supporting each other fully
in our statements
of insobriety
and happiness
we don't do this often (enough)
“nothing more important than to know
someone is listenin'” they sing
quietly
because i have the speakers turned down
so that the neighbors can sleep
measuring the oscillations
of guitar strings
we can see
hearts beat
and eyes blink
“your mother has a basement full of sentimental value!”
Said angrily
makes us both laugh
cat stretches on the floor
and the sound in my brain
goes “strrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrecccchhhhhhh”
and it is perfect
another knob creek
and it looks like maple syrup
and tastes like
nail polish remover
my parents want to get
a dachshund.
It looks like this:
double dapple
adorable
or maybe
a sable
(hard to tell)
this poem
is shaped
like mt.
st.
helens
tipped up
on it's side
harry truman
not the president
was swallowed
by
the pyroclastic flow
as it
lived it's breaths
evaporating lakes
and steaming trees
like noodles
(a long haired sable dachshund)
it's all about
making people
smile
only one more time.
Really?
Sunday, August 23, 2009
a busy, busy week
this week reads like a grocery list of things that need to be experienced, whether good or bad:
-find an apartment you really like, only to find it already rented out (twice).
-eat healthy. well, healthier than normal. but still find the time to go to in-n-out burger on sunday night.
-miss your grandma.
-ride your bike to work, even if it might rain.
-stay at the beach really, really late with someone you like talking to.
-hug mary and millie! twice!
-clean up after the cat, because even though he is technically your roommates, you love him and you love her.
-find something you like about work, especially when you feel like you just want to go home.
-write a story.
-multiple trips to multiple trader joe's.
-miss sammy's trivia night because you are 2,000 miles away.
-let someone make you cookies.
-drink a little bit.
-do what you love, even if you don't get paid for it.
-call your mom and dad and talk to them!
-find an apartment at the last second. one with great neighbors and a view of downtown!
-dance- by yourself, at a party, in your car, whatever.
-chicken soup!
and so much more... but those are all i could come up with before the end of the show. nine performances of FWC left, and then a mini-vacation. happy.
-find an apartment you really like, only to find it already rented out (twice).
-eat healthy. well, healthier than normal. but still find the time to go to in-n-out burger on sunday night.
-miss your grandma.
-ride your bike to work, even if it might rain.
-stay at the beach really, really late with someone you like talking to.
-hug mary and millie! twice!
-clean up after the cat, because even though he is technically your roommates, you love him and you love her.
-find something you like about work, especially when you feel like you just want to go home.
-write a story.
-multiple trips to multiple trader joe's.
-miss sammy's trivia night because you are 2,000 miles away.
-let someone make you cookies.
-drink a little bit.
-do what you love, even if you don't get paid for it.
-call your mom and dad and talk to them!
-find an apartment at the last second. one with great neighbors and a view of downtown!
-dance- by yourself, at a party, in your car, whatever.
-chicken soup!
and so much more... but those are all i could come up with before the end of the show. nine performances of FWC left, and then a mini-vacation. happy.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
exactly like us, except...
Rules for an imaginary world:
1. It takes one year to die.
2. Everybody speaks in a slightly different language.
3. Metal grows on plants.
_________________________________
the tree climb went like this:
the limbs that were the lowest were still too far off the ground for her to reach. so she climbed up my back and onto my shoulders. from my shoulders she stepped into the arms of the old pine. she hugged the bark, and her cheek was sticky with sap. she tasted it, and was happy. up she went, and i didn't bother to stop her. some things can only be learned by climbing trees, and i wanted her to learn those things. it was time, i thought. a month before, she had begun calling to me in ways i didn't understand. the way she was putting words together was different than they way i had taught her- i was unprepared for this, even though they all told me that it would happen. the hill where the trees grew was dark, the moon was under blankets and the clouds were low enough to touch the tops of the trees. i had climbed the same trees, when i was her age, but during the day and without worrying about who was watching. i knew what she would find at the top.
---------
the way that dylan had died was a mystery. i didn't know when it happened, and so we didn't know when she would be gone for good. the middle of every sentence was steeped in drama, and i knew she had too much to say. "when you find someone that you understand," she used to tell me, "then you know that you can't let that person leave. they might be the only one." i was going to miss the way that she talked. little things were different, the shapes her mouth made when pronouncing the scientific names of plants, and the way she made vowels dance in the middle of words, those were things that I certainly didn't do. but without thought, I could understand what she was saying. When people ask me what it was like, all I can come up with is music. we spoke words and sentences and inside out philosophical phrases, but we heard it as music. I wasn't sure that I would ever find anyone like that again.
---------
it was well past midnight, and she was up high, out of my sight. i laid on my back, looking up through the tangle of dark branches, and watched the clouds move quickly away from the ocean, which I could hear crashing against the earth at the bottom of the hill. she called down by way of tossing pinecones and pieces of bark, and i was amazed at how safe i felt, with her way up in the sky. it was dylan's idea, to teach her how to climb. "she should know what's up there, at the top of the trees at the top of the hill." i was worried. i knew they watched the place, and that if they found her up in the trees, they would take her. and i wasn't sure if i would be able to find her again. a pinecone fell, close to my head, and made the sound of buzzing bees. she was close to the top now, and she was learning how to tell me that. the metal plants began to buzz, too, illogically beautiful.
----------
over breakfast one morning, a tuesday in september, Dylan said to me, "i don't know when it happened." i pretended i didn't know, but i had seen her body lying completely still the night before, and the day before that i had noticed that her cheeks remained cool and pale when we kissed- the redness was gone, and would never be coming back. my hand shook and i took a sip of coffee. "henry, i'm dead," she said, and placed two of my fingers on the inside of her wrist, where no pulse pushed life through her skin.
1. It takes one year to die.
2. Everybody speaks in a slightly different language.
3. Metal grows on plants.
_________________________________
the tree climb went like this:
the limbs that were the lowest were still too far off the ground for her to reach. so she climbed up my back and onto my shoulders. from my shoulders she stepped into the arms of the old pine. she hugged the bark, and her cheek was sticky with sap. she tasted it, and was happy. up she went, and i didn't bother to stop her. some things can only be learned by climbing trees, and i wanted her to learn those things. it was time, i thought. a month before, she had begun calling to me in ways i didn't understand. the way she was putting words together was different than they way i had taught her- i was unprepared for this, even though they all told me that it would happen. the hill where the trees grew was dark, the moon was under blankets and the clouds were low enough to touch the tops of the trees. i had climbed the same trees, when i was her age, but during the day and without worrying about who was watching. i knew what she would find at the top.
---------
the way that dylan had died was a mystery. i didn't know when it happened, and so we didn't know when she would be gone for good. the middle of every sentence was steeped in drama, and i knew she had too much to say. "when you find someone that you understand," she used to tell me, "then you know that you can't let that person leave. they might be the only one." i was going to miss the way that she talked. little things were different, the shapes her mouth made when pronouncing the scientific names of plants, and the way she made vowels dance in the middle of words, those were things that I certainly didn't do. but without thought, I could understand what she was saying. When people ask me what it was like, all I can come up with is music. we spoke words and sentences and inside out philosophical phrases, but we heard it as music. I wasn't sure that I would ever find anyone like that again.
---------
it was well past midnight, and she was up high, out of my sight. i laid on my back, looking up through the tangle of dark branches, and watched the clouds move quickly away from the ocean, which I could hear crashing against the earth at the bottom of the hill. she called down by way of tossing pinecones and pieces of bark, and i was amazed at how safe i felt, with her way up in the sky. it was dylan's idea, to teach her how to climb. "she should know what's up there, at the top of the trees at the top of the hill." i was worried. i knew they watched the place, and that if they found her up in the trees, they would take her. and i wasn't sure if i would be able to find her again. a pinecone fell, close to my head, and made the sound of buzzing bees. she was close to the top now, and she was learning how to tell me that. the metal plants began to buzz, too, illogically beautiful.
----------
over breakfast one morning, a tuesday in september, Dylan said to me, "i don't know when it happened." i pretended i didn't know, but i had seen her body lying completely still the night before, and the day before that i had noticed that her cheeks remained cool and pale when we kissed- the redness was gone, and would never be coming back. my hand shook and i took a sip of coffee. "henry, i'm dead," she said, and placed two of my fingers on the inside of her wrist, where no pulse pushed life through her skin.
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