Monday, October 10, 2011


The grouse flies worlds away
From where the hyacinths calmly sway
To the symphony stirred from whispered wind

A fossil I am to you
Despite the partition of age
Your so much like I was back when I was
Not a fallen angel, where poor decisions had
Slipped their cursors upon my screen,
When time was but an ever-growing play, without curtains, without actors on the stage.  Just a play

Pursuing a question I’ve yet to find
Perusing the shelves as I dig
Through countless words I cannot read
But love the way they sound when spoke
Its probably something ridiculous or damaged wisdom well rehearsed-
Yet when I hear each syllable roll from the tongue
I think of hydrangeas’, pastries and seduction

Vacuums, race along the route I take
Past the small café I’d always wanted to try
As it looks so lovely each time my feet scuttle by
Yet, I’m never thirsty then

I’ve been here a week, perhaps 10 days,
I’d lost track after the third,
As it’s hard to determine the patience of each hour,
When you’re only speaking aloud in the warmth of the shower’s flow

Nobody knows me.  Nobody cares to approach
No one seems aware even.  It’s as if they’re life is in slow motion, yet they are too busy to adjust the speed.  I’ve made a few attempts, but quickly they creak their necks, as a dog would do, when they listen, wanting to understand yet barriers born determine the breadth of this experience.  Quickly the separation occurs, with a polite nod and perhaps a smile.  I thought everyone, everywhere spoke English, I thought this little book would allow me the privilege of making that first foot forward routine, yet I guess just trying is not always enough, and it must be hard to try having a conversation with someone that’s consistently thumbing through his pages, looking for that perfect word, ignorant that some words change effect when paired with others and at what point in the phrase or sentencing you choose to place them in.  It must be frustrating; I know it is for me.

But despite the isolation one often feels, as he or she wander about, by themselves in a crowded spot, you know, it’s amazing to watch what you can see, to understand without understanding, to believe, because it’s everywhere, a living time capsule-breathing, each breath telling its own tale, history lives in every thing.

And then I turned a corner I’d yet to see
A dark alley, tumbling with trash, lined with sleeping feet, clothed in wares I’d burn.
Run I did not, I paused as long as I could stomach the stench, why?
Simple answer really.  It was the first time a semblance of home resonated. 

But upon the edge of this external corridor, I reached a place I’d often been, just never knew this possibility existed, an alleyway, invisible yet in clearest view.

This was when I first saw you.  And I knew.  Home had found me.



    Just wanted to remind you that you are fabulous!

  2. Great look at what can be a trying time, as people look for their place and come to a new land in search of the so called dream and such. Then out of the blue, home can find them, finally realizing what they wanted all along has found them. Also isn't it quite interesting when people don't think your listening or think you can't understand them, what they say. Then you truly learn their true nature. Just something that popped in as I read.

  3. nice...finding home or a piece of home has a great feel to it...i know that feeling of disconnect but also the fascination of watching that world around you...

  4. Powerful, observant piece... to know without knowing, to understand without words. Beautiful write!

  5. Wow. This is so powerful and gripping. I love these sections:

    "As it’s hard to determine the patience of each hour,
    When you’re only speaking aloud in the warmth of the shower’s flow"

    "A dark alley, tumbling with trash, lined with sleeping feet, clothed in wares I’d burn."

    ~Shawna (

  6. I don't feel like the poem is just about being away from one's own country. It could work that way as well I guess.

    I can relate to the feelings of frustration in communicating with others. The doggy head tilt is very appropriate for how it is. I'm thinking "Am I not speaking English?" and we all are...:D The struggle to find the right word to fit is frustrating for both parties -- I see the duality there.

    A lot portrayed in this poem seems familiar to me.

  7. I love the elegance of this. Beautifully written.

  8. Mindlove- You're too sweet, really appreciate that:)

    Pat, I totally get that and it does seem like true natures appear in such instances- I've felt like that for a while now. Great Feedback as always

    Brian- completely agree, finding home or returning back to your home has a great aura about it. Especially when you don't know what home is, and then out of the blue, you just know. Great feedback as always

    Reflections, Shawna, Mama- Really glad you all enjoyed the piece, means a lot to hear that:)

    Raven- Totally agree with that line of thought. Sometimes, and too often might I add, we do feel like foreigners in our own world, our own story- even within our own person, great insight. Glad you enjoyed the write and a lot of it resonated in your own experience. Great feedback as usual, thanks-really appreciate it