Category: writing

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Science

  Crouched here, in my orange wing-back chair counting the plastic circles on my white linoleum shirt. Watches tock around the walls time steadily stealing through the shelf, taking its pick of the books. Door knock.

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On Writing a Poem in the Morning

  green mint tea seeps around the rim of the garden plate ductile : serpentine I set the cup down and it clatters. It’s about how to see the things how to get to the vision the tea cup is significant and not a step in that direction.

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101 bpm

Wisps of sainthood waft about this living room— give me flamenco, give me Persian rhythms and sweet gypsy jazz, swing it all out of speakers perched high on the cabinet counter. Bits of wild wind shoot through the second story windows, running from the belching mountains beyond the poplar trees in the backyard. The gusts lift the melodies and snuggle them into marrow-bones, into … Read More 101 bpm

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Persistence of Memory

  Ribbed and scurrying, a bus passes me; the sweat in airy beads drips to my bicycle knees. I am going everywhere, today. The ride is smooth, my mind is loose, the breeze is flesh and sweeps me— snatches of light-petaled afternoons. Pedalling backpacks to Point Chevalier, to the holy lips of Auckland harbours. Eager gusts helping me over wire-knit fences. The trees, bent … Read More Persistence of Memory

Descending

  So it is with civilized care that I kneel down to the open blank pages of a crease-lined book and cast my memories in its bronze borders. You’re my marauder, my hopeless staircase looting the use from my crouching soul and leading me to dark places too deep to stay dark.

Write Long

  Be patient, and write long. As long as the strokes of your eye lashes pulse the fingers to keys, then both of us remain alive. Be patient. Your dreams have no anchors; let them float light. Let the throat grow easy and jaw relax. Open and close the hinges of your mouth and feel the knobs of your shoulders merge with the elbows. … Read More Write Long

Legacy and Longing

  By the passed humanity, whose active progeny is the heart beat rocking my sense of soul—as I clutch the leather-bound covers of Burroughs, of Whitman, di Prima and Ginsberg, in the soft lamp night, rain shadows wrapped against windows, me, folded into fresh sheets, with a cup of tea; hungry, Alive, washed, I sing— and selfish do I less than pause before the … Read More Legacy and Longing

Poem Toes

  I’ve noticed, today, that I gotta write with my shoes off— with my bare naked happy toes wiggling hello to the world; else this mirror soul be closed til June

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Half a Year Away, Away (and Happy 300!)

Half a year has gone by since I left Kansas. I’m still learning various currency exchange rates and the metric system, so still going strong (relative phrase). Relativity is a fickle friend. If I think on some of the travelers I have met—Liz and Hadyn in Assisi, who have been backpacking the world since summer 2016, Sara in Mostar, who traveled alone for three … Read More Half a Year Away, Away (and Happy 300!)

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A Campaign for Self-Discovery

It’s easy, isn’t it, to read Andre Gide, “It is only in adventure that some people succeed in knowing themselves — in finding themselves”, and suddenly get jazzed. To throw an assortment of clothes in a suitcase and purchase the cheapest ticket on Skyscanner and just take to it, damn it, “I want to go find myself!”

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Time Traveling

Almost every morning I snuggle into cross-legged position with a cup of coffee and write for a while. Clear the cache. Explode a bit. Stream of conscious all the mindless rumblings of my soul until I can begin the day as blank a slate as possible. It’s a form of meditation; I actively practice non-judgment and non-attachment to my thoughts and ideas. I’ve detailed … Read More Time Traveling

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The Soul of a Poem

Recently I have been swaddling myself in quite the hefty amount of poetry, and publishing a fair amount of it, too. I had tagged myself as a creative non fiction writer, damn it, I never thought that I would enjoy poetry. Especially to this degree. I find, however, that recently it has been the static frequency on which my soul communicates. But. That is … Read More The Soul of a Poem