Saturday, May 29, 2010

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

33 paper airplanes

you said you lost hope, and because of pop music, you'd wish that airplanes were shooting stars. so, why not rip and fold 33 planes for you to wish on?

someone once told me i was in the business of hope - i always thought that a curious statement. i mean i have an old leather suitcase that's big enough to hold the important stuff, but i never thought of myself as much of a salesman.

i'd give you the shirt off my back, shivering my way home, cycling through city streets never asking for anything in return except the quiet understanding that you knew where you belonged. i suppose it's a funny thing to ask for in exchange but sometimes falling asleep in an empty bed cradled in the comfort of knowing is enough to keep ya warm.

i've begged the questions tangled in my grey matter, awaiting silent answers. i've gotten better at making up stories to occupy my mind and keep my trains of thoughts on their rails. i make up fairy tale endings hidden in treetops disguised as roof tops.

Faryn Sand

it's a good one, one to spend some time with on repeat...

Friday, May 21, 2010


i spent last evening constructing a tool out of discarded wood, chicken wire and duct tape. i figure if i fashion a long enough handle i can catch that waning moon.

i've chased her up city stairs and down boulevards, up abandoned avenues and across crowded streets, but at dawn she disappears quietly into day.

i've tried folding pieces of her into my pocket but alas when i return she's long gone as though she slipped through the imaginary hole that so many words and feelings fall through.

this morning i woke to research treks through nepal, days of quiet meditation and sweeping views. i'm no closer to nepal than i am the moon.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Baudelaire's Wisdom

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.

But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

Friday, May 7, 2010

Draft 1

this poem isn't about ego, this poem is about truth.


i'm not much different than nature, the deep freezes of winter.

i am the rhododendron that circles up her broad leaves in the winter
to stay green despite her genus. i stay circled tight, not dead but
holding in heat to make it through the cold.

the thawing of late February, i flow down mountains into rivers and
rush along banks as rivers swell.

i quietly prepare for what spring will bring, i stay inside taking in
all i need to show the world what i've been creating.

The darkness shortens as daylight and sun extend and i prepare to show
my new growth.

spring rains and i am the bulb taking water, pushing up through earth
to blossom with orange fire.

i am the "leaf turning pale bellies to the sky," spreading viens,
taking in every bit of moisture needed to grow through this spring.

as april turns to may, layers are shed and songs are sung at dawn,
preparing for flight. spring greens as newness flourishes.

i am a mid-day thunderstorm darkening sunny skies; the flower that
closes when the sun says "good day." and opens up upon her certain

i ebb and flow keeping time with each advance and retreat all the
while making progress.

i recognize the cycle of growth, of time and understand the importance
of retreat. i am the tree that burns fire
through the fall as we lose degrees and unpack blankets.

i drop my leaves with color expended to prepare for grey. skies darken
when we once craved light but it is with purpose, to prepare for the
next chapter of life.

constant are mountains created over time from grains of experience,
standing tall, standing proud. my roots hidden deep within the ground
and reflected by my limbs and branches stretched out across the sky.

The songs find me when I need them

Pales in comparison

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Because I could
I wished on a star.
it seems that neither slow and steady nor jumping off bridges seems to
work. i had careful and clear articulated needs and i earnestly rolled
up my sleeves and started to build. no, not walls but a way forward, i
thought that i was preparing for something and working through the
bumps and bruises. it wasn't fast enough and now i've got plans and
words to pack up.

i'm sick of chemicals. i'm sick of fogs
and muted. i sucumb to weakness and sought strength outside myself,
when i know full well i don't need it. i recover my strength, wanting
to share and i turn to nothing.

i let go of so many fears, losened grips on all i was afraid of. i
leapt, everyday, towards something, but it went without notice. it was
not enough.

just when i started to feel whole again, to fill pages and canvass and
create and grow and to experience opportunity, I know where I will go.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

"Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot." D.H. Lawrence