poetry in A minor

Dearest Vancouver

2012-01-14T18:24:00.000-08:00

The other night when I watched your colourful form appear slowly over the horizon, I felt like I was seeing you for the first time. I wished the bridge had no end so that I could drive toward you forever. Please keep your lights on so that I may find you no matter where I go. Only you can be photographed by the water.

Run

2012-01-01T18:58:00.000-08:00

I sometimes have the urge to run.
The wind sweeping through my hair
Untangling tightly bound strands
Rain drops gripping at my eyelashes.
My breath quickens
Then settles into a deep and steady rhythm.
Muscles ache. They ache to waken
Every joint in my restless body.
When all cells come alive
And blood flows hungrily to my fingertips,
I move like a brush stroke.
Shoes leave sloppy imprints of my soul
On the ever-changing earth.
But I never want to look back
My heartbeat waits for no one
Even if the past calls out desperately
For my head to turn.
My eyes stay fixed on the forthcoming slide-show.
When I run I am free.

i am not

2011-12-04T21:58:00.000-08:00

I am not an artist, nor a hero.
I am not a writer, nor a poet, nor a philosopher,
But I am good at pretending to be.
Do not hold me in such high regard.
Sometimes I wish I would
Stop hiding behind words that
Only contradict one another.
What can the spirit offer me when I cannot
Define it?
I am trying to find my enlightenment
Yet I refuse to let go of my ignorance.
I say it isn't so even when I know that it is
And only use the illusion of poetry
To mask a point that is uncertain.
My repetition is uninspired.
What I create is equally a part of all I touch
As it is a part of me.
I can take no credit for the joy that has been given to me.
There is a part of me that is restless
And anxious, but free and happy.
These two halves continue to run in
Parallel worlds, aware of each other's existence
But dare not to cross paths.
My reflection is a melodrama.
At times my emotions lack structure and definition
And has a life
Outside of what my physical being can handle.
I take the next step
WIthout knowing how to walk.
And hope that the universe will love me
For no other reason than it should.
But it shouldn't,
For I am no match for the selfless generosity
Displayed by those I love
And even by those I have never met.
I am the selfish kind. In life and love.
I expect everything from others but
Do not know how to give everything in return.
I wonder when they will see me
For the one I really am.
I wonder if they will accept that
Possibly the best quality about me
Is that I am human.
What that means I don't even know.

One Minute

2011-11-13T18:52:00.000-08:00

Tonight I saw the minute hand
Standing alone contemplating his melancholy
Still hopeful for an arrhythmical break.
I offered my hand
And hoped that honest touch
Would absorb some of the
Desperation in his hated symmetry.

a letter to my son

2011-11-06T21:56:00.001-08:00

I read my writing tonight. I revisited a past I find hard to believe is my own.
How fragmented my spirit was. Searching in vain for something profound,
An answer not my own. I wonder who she was. So in need of love.
Unsure where to find it. I don't begin to claim to know
The writings for tomorrow. Nor am I tempted by the offer of a glimpse.
I ask, though, that your eyes continue to glow with the joy that drives your laughter.
That drives the endless possibilities in the palm of your hands.
Dream, for life is too precious to rely solely on the physical. We are creatures
Bound by our form but freed by our mind.
Find happiness. Know what happiness is. Through all the excess noise
Produced by our hands, happiness lies where you cannot touch.
Understand where you came from before you set the stones to your path.
When the rules to your road become clear, do not be afraid to break them,
But remember to give back to the community that nurtures you.
And respect the world that allows you to bloom.
Love, dear child. Love deeply, even if at times it feels like sorrow veils all.
It is only with an open heart that you will be able to define life beyond
Sequences of events measured by time. I hope that your life is an education.
That you may read your writing one day and recognize the lessons
In your every footstep. Like I have. I can only walk with you for so long.
And it is this reality that makes me sigh anxiously. Our roads are not parallel.
The day will come when I have given all that I should give. My voice may linger and echo
But choice belongs to you. Do not take that privilege for granted.
My hopes lie with you. Not for your gains, but for what forms at the core
Of your spirit. I hope it smiles. I hope it dances without inhibition.
And when your synapses seem lost, know that within life's unsteady frequencies,
That, my son, you are loved.
May that mean something to you, always.

2010-01-16T20:56:00.000-08:00

Time.
The Human's silent dictator,
Release me from your grasp
If not only for a greedy second.
I dream not but to sit as an observer
As your walls stay strong
To restless souls begging at your doorstep.
Time.
Be mine. Let the detail of a smile
Last forever for a moment.
Let urgency be a flaw only of the heart
As imagination takes the place of structure.
Then tell me the secret to your rule;
Is it indifference that marks your existence
Or blindness that makes us all fools?

2009-10-05T00:13:00.000-07:00

almost half passed midnight
drum echos linger in my ears
melodic chords hanging on
the ends of my hair
i am but an instrument to steady beats
played freely in a symphony
i dance to an awkward rhythm
that creates new time signatures
as each note overlaps another
in dissonance i follow blindly
blending together stagnant textures
to create a steady calming sound
of aggressive octaves

2009-08-07T15:21:00.000-07:00

I don't begin to claim
The paths of life
Of love
Are clear

I've heard those words
I feel those words
But love is not built on words

Love, is
His warm breath
When he exhales

Love is his eyes
But I wish his eyes would tell me
If a fool he tries to make me

Dear Reader

2009-05-27T13:14:00.000-07:00

I have stopped loving tomorrow
As a foolish guide.
Its melodrama is no match
for springtime scents
and innocent smiling faces.
I no longer want to know
When the fall will come.

Let it be.
Let it be a little longer,
For my happiness lies in my mind
And currently, my mind is blind.

Random

2009-03-11T13:10:00.000-07:00

basket drums
mickey red mickey
purple water bottle
dusty microphone
glossy pages
neon pink words
swing baby swing
yellow skies
velvet cushions
chewed cords
melodic chords
missing piano keys

my life is but a collection of words

2009-03-05T17:18:00.000-08:00

i am happiest before the sun rises
for i can say i love you
in dreamy ignorance

my mind dwells on the last petal
that sat in the palm of my hand and whispered
he loves me not

but my heart cares not
and will continue to see nothing but
watercolours in his eyes

i wish the sunrise never comes

His Words

2009-02-26T18:18:00.001-08:00

His words paint frustration on soft concrete
As he gazes intently at the wandering minutes
Floating in front of his restless fingertips
Unable to sift through the already said
Or to see passed the guarded gates of tomorrow
He hides in his mind's eye and waits
He sees no one
Including the silent listener resting on his shoulder
Who offers comfort with smiles
Revealing nothing of her own sorrow
Etched discretely in her drowning pupils
She is invisible to the one she sees only
With furrowed brows they sigh

Morning

2009-02-26T18:17:00.000-08:00

Morning,
please don't end too carelessly
or take for granted your brightly lit youth.
Tomorrow will never be the same.

but i love you

2009-02-26T18:16:00.000-08:00

but i love you
i love you...
more
with each dandelion sunrise
and shadowed moon
but you...
with hope tainted blue
longs for love
beyond my surrendered all

go then... go now...
my hushed sorrow
will hardly dent
the air you breathe

in a concerto in b flat minor
my love will live

Ere

2009-02-26T18:15:00.002-08:00

Ere I began to worry about the shapely smoke rings
Forming around my carefully sealed coffin.

A ghost, saw I, between the cracks
Woken by the obnoxious hands of indecisive fate,
Chasing after a halo with an artificial sheen.

Fool. They will never believe your imitation.
Your plastic coating is dull under knowing eyes.

Choose wisdom, for once
And return those store-bought wings
That are slowly shedding their dusty feathers.

The ghost turned to meet my cautious stare,
Replying with rhythmic waves of laughter
At my bleeding and naked hypocrisy,
And finally disappearing into the silhouette of the smoke.

I worry no more.

Just Thoughts

2009-02-26T18:15:00.001-08:00

Healing progresses continuously because we, as part of the human, are never wound-free.
But our wounds define us within ambiguity and indifference.
Our flaws drive us and inspire us to create beauty that is translated - often in vain - using colours, harmonies or movement because words are sometimes too restricting.
The world is represented to me through perception, interpretation, and transformation. I am represented to you in the same way.
We are linked together through transformation yet divided by interpretation.
If only we could understand that personal interpretation is heavily guided by universal transformation, maybe we would be able to surpass the physical boundaries that separate us. But the universal begins with the personal.

Happiness is an illusion when found in exterior sources.
I am responsible for the energy that circulates around me.
All other elements within physicality are matters of triviality.

Still

2009-02-26T18:14:00.001-08:00

The steady raindrops underneath my eyelashes tell me that illusion is the template of your image.
Tell me what you see when the light of morning impatiently arouses your vision and rests heavily on all your senses.
You float before me through filtered lenses and artificial colours,
Yet I find my restless hands tracing the repetitive melody wrapped around your every curve.
I am involuntarily blind to the animated world beyond your shoulders.
Tell me how to wash the gentle warmth of your breath out of my hair and I promise I will smile
When I try to sew together the eroded pieces of my heart with clumsy yet determined fingers.
My prolonged sighs fill crimson nights on top of tired bed-sheets.
Tell me I am not a fool and I will be a fool to believe you.

Request

2009-02-26T18:13:00.000-08:00

Rhinestone studded rain soaked leaves
Show me how Autumn learns to breathe

I am the Rainmaker

2009-02-26T18:11:00.002-08:00

I look to the sunrise for answers to
Riddles that sit curiously on my lips
Only to be met with a mournful grin
With muffled words
On top of shadowed lavender
Etched in a recurring dream that ends with
A drifting eighth note.
Amongst busy watercolour intersections
I think I hear her whisper in one impatient sigh
Cry, Rainmaker
Dried tired eyes make thirsty pastel rivers
On shy exposed jaded soil
What makes the rain but one melodic lullaby
Playing on a faded forgotten record
Clouding fluorescent mountain tops
Hidden behind an indifferent rhythm tinted grey
As the blind aimless wandering ghost sings
I love you
But what has it ever meant.
The tears flow
And the Rainmaker lives forever

I See

2009-02-26T18:11:00.001-08:00

I am trying to assemble coherence with an unwilling heart.
I momentarily convince myself that I can achieve anything,
But I desire nothing of value in the physical realm.
I want to sit quietly in the pit of your mind
While observing the various forms of perception
As the world grows old through your eyes.
Tell me what you see when the light hugs your curious pupils
And wraps around the curves of your busy synapses.
Help me understand the shades and textures that wake your soul
So that maybe
Just maybe
I could one day understand the self that is my own.
And when my vision is finally locked in a continuous sunless season,
I hope that I could still trace the outline of your smile with selfish but grateful hands.
Shape the dreamy verses of Mallarme with every crease on your lips.
For me.
I promise to return your borrowed sight as delicate as it always was.
Whisper the timeless words of Foucault and Wilde so that they may live forever on my other senses.
For me.

My sigh says I ask too much.

Fragment

2009-02-26T18:10:00.003-08:00

Colliding oxygen particles
Sifting through my scattered self.
My own is dispersed into fragments
That form an invisible whole.
Distorted mirror images
A fantastical eclipse of thought
And sound mind.
Blindness of pores
Seeping inverted energy.
Rose petals creep above eye lids.
My own sleeps on Shakespeare
Covered knives.

Pointless

2009-02-26T18:10:00.001-08:00

I thought I woke up in a parallel universe where my eyes were not filters.
I thought I saw the colour of morning, until time forced my mind to move out.
I am aware that my memory will slowly rust layer by layer.
But afraid it will corrode completely, I will keep an echo by my ear.

Tonight I think I said
"She's not the same person you once fell in love with".
In a manner drained of eloquence, I know I said
"She's a bitch".

I wish I can bandage all the jagged edges of my flaws.
If you chase my hypocrisy, you will be beaten by its strength.
Tonight I sleep with a mind half awake.

Fragments of Thought in Contradiction

2009-02-26T18:09:00.001-08:00

Turmoil loves the company of madness.
My mistakes will make you look twice but will not make you stay.
Tonight my mind is scar tissue.
Time represents abstraction
But abstraction can only be understood when structured.

I repair nothing but what is to come tomorrow to ease my mind now
To better comprehend yesterday.
But often my actions are paired with reasons after the actions.
In retrospective analysis, I answer my own questions in an effort to find peace.
But peace, in the psychological sense, is subjective.
I will only find it through acceptance, or on a more basic level, acknowledgment.

I've always viewed my idealism as a flaw.
But this flaw drives progression.
And progression shares the same vein with tragedy.
But my tragedy is the dissonance of my two halves.
Idealism is at war with realism.
If they could merge, then I could finally dance without any inhibition.
For now, deconstruction acts as my coping mechanism.

My ghost has left my body tonight.
Maybe sleep can temporarily replace it.
Don't wake me up in the middle of my dream
When I'm swimming in lilies
And standing on lavender ribbons.
I reread this post and sigh at the unsatisfying conclusion.
Ironically to understand, we must be stripped of the human.
But without the human, there is no need to understand.

Fingerprint in Words

2009-02-26T18:08:00.001-08:00

Cloud shredding glass
Between two towers of asymmetry //
Tragically sequenced //
Colourfully blended black //
Chasing echoes before
The invasion of sound //
Fragmented within the whole
While finding the whole
Within each fragment //
Fine faded lines
Around my eyes
Drawn with pink razorblades //
A breath suspended
among sighs

From the Forever Ignorant

2009-02-26T18:07:00.000-08:00

The canopy of distant memories
Glows with each passing footstep
But fades with every delicate footprint
Through the thresholds of tear-laced breaths
And the scattered melodies of laughter

I read the anthology of my past
Filed behind my mind
In selective chronological order
When the minutes drag beyond structured time.
This is what they tell me tonight.

My fingerprint is smeared on all the seconds
My heart chose to beat.
I fear existence within physicality
That functions tragically on a linear sequence
And the inevitable translation of mind into physical form.
Reversibility is a luxury I will never be able to afford.

If somehow I can transcend this sequence
My self may scatter into the million incoherent fragments
It longs to be
And never decide to be my self again.
I am frustrated by the process of structuring
Yet fear straying from it.

If Nietzsche is right,
The self is simply my illusion
And your interpretation
Existence is nothing but a figment of our imagination.
These words, then, are inaudible whispers
From a wandering ghost
Who is sometimes acknowledged only because
She is mistaken for the cold morning breeze
And the midnight chill.