Waking

I hate to see you when I'm awake.
It always seems to happen
I hate to see you
when I'm awake. I would hate to wake

with you, to flee from
your waking as its rough bright sand
burns under my feet

and fly from you through that murky
constant sea of crimson fire
with its frozen moon & three suns
away from the volcano you chose,
away from my worst fear

I would like to take from you the golden
fire the terrifying black spark, the only
thing that allows you 

power anywhere in this 

waking world, anywhere

that I am awake. I would like to flee
from you up the broken stairs

for the first time & become
the bird that would slip through 

your fingers, a drop of water
impossible to hold
to where you have never 

seen, and where
even your breath cannot pass.

I would like to be the fire
that burns mockingly on the far side 

of the sun. I would like to be that untouchable

& that free.

_______

Done in response to prompt 30 of NaPoWriMo 2013. A reversal of the poem Variations on the Word Sleep by Margaret Atwood

Memories

There are crystals of sand
falling between my ears
myriad prisms that reflect and
refract my life over the years.
They fall into a cup
so saturated with experience
that the walls no longer hold up
and the crystals dance
up, over, through, away,
til I can no longer remember
the particulars of that day
in frosty December
alone with you
beside the glittering tree.
I can't remember what I said to you
or what you said to me.

Ich habe ein Gedächtnis wie ein Sieb.

Ode to Lemons

Oh, your bright citrus zest
and the biting taste of your juice
creates a stirring of chest
from which I can't seem to get loose.
You are necessary
like the air or salt or white wine.
for both cooking and health.
You're a symbol of misery
only for those who rashly dine
and overlook your golden wealth

Rebirth

As the salmon forges its way

up the winding stream of stars,

does it realize the toll it must pay

for its journey from afar?

It's life is at its sunset,

yet its fin slices the spray, 

towards fate's skeletal net

and the ending of its day.

The sun crosses the horizon,

and thousands of stars play

at the rebirth of the sun,

the beginning of a new day.

Truth

Yesterday, I woke up and found I was blind
Today, I woke up and found out it was a dream.
It's difficult to acknowledge the lies in my mind,
and that all is not as it seems.

Mice Hell

I wonder if mice can go to hell,
or if they're already there.
Living in their glass cells,
while the fascinated monsters stare.
They scream and tap and yell,
protesting that it isn't fair,
that Timmy's been in front since the bell,
and really he should have to share.
And even when they behave well,
and there is no pulling of hair,
the mice can still always tell
that the monsters are out there.

Inevitable

The sun rose a degree higher
and the waves crushed the sand castle.
The kids didn't notice, they're tired.
The sun rose a degree higher.

They see their masterpiece's expired

and build anew, a lost battle.

The sun rose a degree higher
and the waves crush the sand castle. 

allergy

as the leaves unfurl their sails
and the seasons begin to flow
through the tranquil waters on gales
tinged a pollon-yellow
by the weeping of flowers
who crane toward the sun
but cannot bring him within their power
my thoughts follow the stream and run
towards you, as though you are the sea
into which everything
is inevitably drawn and must be
the end of my traveling

i think i'm allergic to you
like the pollen in the spring
i can't breath near you
without choking.

Into the deep

I visit you beneath
the willowy seaweed canopy
of your deep sea lair.
I don't understand why
you gave up the sun
for the taste of salt
on your tongue and
the mercurial fishes.
You are elusive,
like a ghost,
even as I hold you
in my arms
you abscond
on a current
into the deep.


___
I just realized that I was so caught up in the news that I completely forgot to write a poem yesterday... Oops!

Hope

Last week, I looked outside

and all that I could see was snow.

Not a leaf or blade of green,

just a reflective white glow.

Hope came up overnight. 

A spot of green pigment

that changed the blank canvas

to a field of contentment.

I don't understand

how I lost faith so fast.

I must try to ensure

that this time will be the last.

Hello, change.

You roll over me like
a bulldozer without a care
for whether or not
I actually want you there.

I didn't invite you,
and your timing's not ideal.
Your visit's gone and shattered
the security I used to feel.

I watch as others
Hail you eagerly as a friend.
I greet you reluctantly,
and try to learn how to bend.

Haste

I cut the new blossom and put it in a vase.
I wanted to have it always near me.
I rushed into us like it was a race.
Perhaps it would have lasted if I'd let it be.

Planting Seeds

I planted seeds and watered them amply.
They did not sprout, but rotted in the damp earth.
I have done my best to make you love me.
Now, I accept that you will never see my worth.

The sun
must get tired of
being the center of
everything. It must long for
a change.

Loneliness

They wore blinders
as they went about their business.
Not wanting to catch eyes
always trying to see less.

Their friends are glowing screens
instead of the people they might see
if they were to look up for a beat.

We are all as alone as we want to be.

Fate

the sea
cradles the earth
rocks rise out of its tides
crawling obsidian soothed
by the sea's tender caress
rising uncertainly to
sand walked smooth
by the tread of time
a river that runs
through marbled stone
pillars soaring
as though it is possible
to touch the clouds

standing on the summit
i suddenly understand
any path i choose
will inevitably
lead back to
the sea

Wishes

Wishing procedures
are illogical and strange.
The first star you see
is a few light years away,
so you are always too late.

Distance

Absence makes the heart
grateful for the miles
between here and there.
I like you much better
from a distance.

Galatea

Gilded gears glisten from within
the chambers of her gold-heart.
Shielded only by typewriter-ribs,
attached to a jumprope-spine.
Her eyes were mismatched golf balls.
There was a trumpet in her left arm.
Rainbow alphabet magnets
and chewing gum made her whole.

He built her from his treasures.
She was not beautiful,
but she was everything
that he had ever loved.
Right up to the moment
when she started to move.

Penelope

If faithful Penelope only knew
What her husband did for those twenty years,
Would she still have done all that she could do
To throw her admirers out on their ears?
Calypso, Circe, perhaps others too,

While his wife dealt alone with suitors' leers.

She might have given it a second thought

before unstitching all that she had wrought.