flora cover,
warm embrace
and insatiable,
reaching up
for more;
the tree
looks down
and the
tulips, brightly
in bloom,
yellow in
their attempt
to mimic,
reach up
to greet
their old
protector and
stoic friend.
Jetlag Park, 2015
I’m back! But only for a little while. Lots of readings to do for the semester ahead, oh boy. BUT I had a creative streak, and offer a new poem, written about 10 minutes ago, as a gift… and a bit of a plea. It’s in response to a movie I just watched called The Whistleblower with Rachel Weisz. Very sad story, don’t watch if you can’t stomach human torturing (even though not much of it is shown on screen). I do recommend it though, very well done and really makes you wonder about the world… Anyways, onto my verse, enjoy:
(Kathryn)
Stand outside the building
and watch painfully still.
Watch the flames billow
touching and tasting the wood around
until a suitable plank
is found.
The air grows hot
from the rising fire
waves of warmth in pulses
do not turn away
a sudden swell of heat
pushes outwards
as the wooden structure slowly
collapses
built on foundation too frail
from the debris of the war.
A crowd has gathered
cheering the burning on
hollering in praise
and having a merry time
paid to watch
not paid to act.
A few stand in the background
silently gazing on
as the wind howls through the cracks
of the house
gathering force
it’s enough noise for them.
The gale becomes stronger
and smoke from the flames
is pushed out to the crowd
the hollering ones gasp
choked
as thick and toxic fumes
penetrate their lungs.
And all the while
the bystanders are silent
but internally
egging the wind on
kill the betrayers
the would-be protectors
and let us rebuild it strong.
The flames collapse and the crowd moves on
whoever is left, crawling away
in shame
the embers settle down
planks precariously leaning
supporting each other
the only way they know how.
And that’s where we come in
to lend a supporting hand
for the need is greater now
than ever before
that poorly assembled house
can never be a home.
But in the end, it’s only one
of many waiting around
the fire has moved on,
waiting to surface again
from the underground.
I realized I have not posted on here in a while… quite a while actually. Writing terms papers does that really, too much writing on one day and BAM, don’t feel like writing anymore for the day. Hence the Metric song title as a blog title (very good song by the way, I love the songs where you like the sound, and then actually listen to the lyrics and enjoy those too). BUT I am back with a nice little poem and maybe a few thoughts somewhere in between. So this poem is a few weeks ago. I have recently began to focus on a workout now that I’m away from the barn so often, I actually need to exercise myself. I took up yoga, Vinyasa style, as it’s offered at my school. Pretty neat eh? I love it, and at the end of each class there is a meditation portion that I thoroughly enjoy. You’re not meant to think about anything in particular, but I make sure to write directly after it to have a record of that session. Sometimes I come up with great ideas, others I just feel really refreshed. But this poem was written as I was walking home from the class:
I feel the hollow
where the ribs hold up my skin
and the muscles pull them upwards
up and up
to breathe deeper
it’s obscure in there
the only light let in
from the life I need
the blood rushing around and through
I feel the vibrations
everything within is moving
sluggish, upbeat
but today it holds strong
as far as it can manage.
My toes are cold
the extremities are losing purpose
my body must be in a bad state
I feel them as numb
an odd sensation
when I can still move at will
unlike sleeping
because I have full control
if I need to be awake
in an instance I will be
and to feel the lack of reason
to feel the limbs fold in
when the most vital needs win the struggle
of circulation
chokes me.
Where does it stop
do I decide how much is needed
or will it tell me
or never stop until it is all
shut down.
Do you ever feel the sensation of just being? No focus on the world around, but only on the world running inside you. It’s magnificent; I never realized what I was taking for granted in myself. The way you breathe, the circulation of everything necessary… In this age, we’re so focused on the material, emotional feelings and such around us and I admit, I do it too. The art around me on my walls attests to that easily; the stack of clothing I just unpacked made me very happy at its presence in my hands as my own. But to step back every so often, to just feel this world without judgments, emotions or an inner dialogue really gives the chance to experience it. It’s like a next step from realizing yourself: placing yourself in the world as its not so different from the body’s rhythm. It’s too cold now to just go out an sit in a park (I don’t even know if there is a park nearby), but the few instances that I can, I just observe. In the end, it might not be the best thing to do as you do become ‘outside’ of it all but I feel it can center in a way that I have never been able to experience before. It’s great to get different views every so often, isn’t it?
Oh I need to do another post on my Halloween research, that stuff was interesting… Maybe I’ll post it tomorrow if I have the time, share my horrific and ghoulish findings 🙂
Absinthe & Ink 