so glad you're here. welcome!

Brit

2012-02-07T08:19:00.005-08:00

you are the mountains,
stretching her white arms wide
holding basins,
kissing sky.

you are the white goddess,
the porcelain deity
so fragile solid
in her lotus flower.

you are the moon and the new snow
in the
pure still valley night.

mountain belle

2012-02-07T08:19:00.001-08:00

it's a dream, this night ski
and i can't see where the land falls away down
or dips up and rolls

i just follow the folk who went before
fast in the softthick light
and trust

sunday churchday

2012-01-30T10:20:00.000-08:00

There is some solid wholeness that returns
On a ridge in the sun after winter hiking
And after drinking cold water beneath broken ice.
It always takes an least an hour for the
Tumblejumblefantasy thoughts to dissolve
And leave me alone with god.

Sometimes I worry I spend too much time alone,
That my eccentric, misanthropic tendencies will
Swell and no one will like me.
But I trust my shadow on the valley floor,
Surrounded by burned trees and slanted rock.

I trust that halo around the sun
And the silence of my bones
and the earth half hidden under snow.

the only appropriate response is gratitude

2012-01-21T22:58:00.001-08:00

my legs ache
with so much excitement,
barefoot dancing by the wood stove
post hole hiking in steep canyon bottom.

shhhh, i think, don't tell anyone!
the hidden part isn't safe anymore,
not when the computerboyfriend has become my job
and i think i'm too tired to reach that deep place
inside,
where shoulder meets cheek in
unnameablegentleselflovetruth.

but if i'm out of challenges,
maybe we won't stand in the parking lot,
drinking from a growler,
singing an old folk song
and
keeping time with our stamping feet
in the falling snow.

2012-01-17T06:59:00.000-08:00

edges are sharper and softer

Love song for Piedra Hot Springs

2011-12-13T14:42:00.000-08:00

Oh Beloved, I'm so glad you came on this trip!
I didn't think I'd packed you in with the sleeping bag and stove,
hidden among the woolen socks and bourbon.

But there you were!
In tree starlight silhouettes,
in the so deep a canyon,
in the so slow a moon rise,
in the steam.

I heard your bass harmony under our singing voices,
your parental chuckling at our philosophical, leisurati pontification.

I tried to catch your (the moon's) reflection on the hot water's surface,
wiggling my fingers in enraptured joy.
But you only split into a thousand pieces
and laughed in the cold river surging by.

I would spend but all of my life loving you,
so please keep on stowing away!

2011-12-08T20:26:00.000-08:00

The mountains came late in life to me
or I came late to them.
Like a desert river, I am slow,
meandering through canyons and carving sandstone,
lazy and muddy and deep.

Breathing hard from the uphill run,
I look out over what I still think are foothills.
No jagged, rocky peaks these,
just miles of rolling scrub oak, ponderosas, and snow.

The moon rises in the pink streaked sky
and I am clear, bubbly, sparkling.

The Alaska Range

2011-11-15T18:49:00.000-08:00

Jagged rock, swirling snow.
Flurried skies cover the fleeting sun.
Glacier, moraine, mountains.

I rest for a moment on the side of the trail,
hot in wool and down.
I leave the skis on and flop side saddle into the drift.

Stalks of grass with wheatseedtop
at eye level wave in the arctic wind
and somehow perfectly personify the point...

thought free.
Only gratitude, love, contentment, peace.

...

2011-11-14T15:34:00.001-08:00

...
They used to say humans are social creatures. "They!"
There is no "they" now. I never realized how much I depended on their blanket definitions, advice, even as I scorned it.
The social aspect is mostly gone now. Does that mean we as creatures will no longer be Human?
All that is left now is a handful of old men bumbling through the broken ruins of a world past riddled with machines who pay us no mind.
-
I don't know what will happen to me, or to the rest of us.
I don't know if there are any babies being born, or if love exists.
I don't know where my wife is, my daughter. If their bodies still take up space somewhere on this planet.
Each day I wake up and turn to the watery sun and turn away.
...

2011-11-02T18:48:00.001-07:00

driving through mountains with ukulele and travelers in bright colors

octubre

2011-10-16T21:01:00.000-07:00

so go soft, like a little bird.
we can't always be hawks.

creek and fall and wine and fire.
follow your heart, because who else are you serving?

sometimes, there is so much love,
we all melt into hot water.

long's canyon

2011-10-13T02:25:00.000-07:00

the edge of a deep canyon, so steep a drop, hundreds of feet.

actually, my dreams are very simple
and yet contain the seed of life and god.

i like laughing around the fire, and text messaging
but really am most content gathering wood with my moon shadow.

Count your blessings

2011-09-27T08:17:00.000-07:00

Sunday: River time, sweet solid friends, working van through capitol reef.
Monday: Pink and orange sunrise, morning run and healthy body, horses, yoga with kindness and patience, warm smiles and incredible minds, beautiful art, laughter, good food.
Tuesday: Yoga, tea

thursday harvest

2011-09-22T15:20:00.000-07:00

running barefoot through the canyon to left hand clear emerald pool, strip and dive
my own private paradise, harvest prickly pear fruit naked except for a hat brings more awareness of spines, thank and promise prolific seed dispersal then swim up the waterfall dogs follow unexpectedly alone in the open canyon under still hot september desert sun white skin and shadow how can i ever leave this place?

the drive home

2011-08-30T20:21:00.000-07:00

never ceases to both
refill and empty me

like a spring-fed pool

clouds
wind

and singing is praying

ashes and snow

2011-08-22T12:21:00.000-07:00

when i see these images of great beauty
ashes and snow,
elephants and water and children,
my soul trembles
as if caressed by
the invisible fingers of life itself.

and a greed overtakes me...
i must have them!

after,
i can only flush at my childishness,
and a sorrowful ache settles in the hollow
of my being where the heart rests softly,
recuperating with its persistent rhythm.

bum bum.
bum bum.

the high country

2011-08-03T15:50:00.000-07:00

wildflowers osha waist deep heaven
break up break down break open break through

after all the struggle (both n. and v.)
a heart in prayer only reaches the stars
when it sings with love

even still,
i need more grace than i thought.

2011-07-07T22:15:00.000-07:00

The moon slings low above the red rock rim
clouds that have been stalking the mountains for days
puffed across the starry sky

the feeling of alone-ness, loneliness
swirls around my heart wrapping the bike and the night
in a familiar cocoon
that takes no effort or breath or judgment
just a gentle reminder
of connection

march in the moab

2011-03-28T12:34:00.000-07:00

The sun chases the clouds
chasing the wind
at the edge of hidden.

We chase the sheep, the claws, the dots
etched into shiny sparkle black
back into a memory I can almost reach,
humming inside the rock.

Fingertips trail a wall
out to the point and slab of ocean floor
so perfect a platform
bathed in alternations of shadow and light
and spinning forceful gusts.

Suddenly, it's the brink of the world;
everything the universe contains is in front of us,
rolling for miles and miles of stone and sky.

We become giddy with discovery,
an ancient ring of rock and then another,
a holy shrine on this holy spine thrust into desert air.

The earth tilts
and the light turns golden, soft.
Clouds convene and settle in the west.
The wind becomes my own breath
and exhales a long, contented sigh.

sneak attack

2011-03-24T22:01:00.000-07:00

sneak attack, he says.
but we always call ahead, in case.
invade their house and make breakfast,
what family could refuse?

last sunday it was bacon cooked
chopped and mixed into pancake batter.
a reserve syrup broken open.

this weekend, crepe picnic
savory and sweet of goat cheese and nutella
on the back lawn, with baby
and so much little food.

a swing in a tree,
warm air, a guitar
and all of our voices blending together.

here is a true story

2011-03-08T23:42:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning after fantastic dreams of landscape design, sliding walled trenches and a softly lit leather lounge.
After that, though, Sunday fell. Hard. The sky was overcast. It was later than I'd hoped. Climbing plans for the day fell through and the family I live with was in a FRENZY to go to the grocery store. I continued to sink into a state of complete indecisive despondency. I dilly-dallied in the house for an hour, left my room a mess and swept out the door with arms full of necessities for the day, including books, sketch pad, guitar and new ipod, which dropped on the concrete and broke. (It still works, just a bit shattered around the edges.) The van, which I'd thought was mostly over its incessant honking bug, was not. Between bursts of horn on the highway and me banging on the steering column, I made it to the trail head I'd finally settled on hiking alone. It's supposed to be good for a person, right, to spend some time alone in the wilderness when the universe doesn't seem to be aligned correctly?
For a while, I convinced myself it was. Moving water, tall red canyon walls, signs of spring. I clomped along in hiking boots and tried to train my thoughts towards creative projects, everything I had to be happy about and day dreams of a Martha perfect world. I kept hoping to turn a corner and see a leprechaun under a tree, ready to give me his magical vest and grant me three wishes. Alas, all that happened was that I didn't reach the end of the canyon and my mother called in the only spot I could have possibly gotten reception. She wanted me to help her quit smoking and then my father got on the phone and told me I was WRONG about standard car maintenance. After that, I gave up trying to save the day. I scrunched my face into a perma-scowl and stomped along in my boots, not caring about the new blister or fragile desert eco-system. I wondered momentarily if karma was going to get me but decided karma could just as soon go fuck itself too.
I lost the trail. I swore. I got scratched in the FACE by tamarisk along the creek bed. I thrashed my way through the underbrush until I had to cross the creek to go on. Obviously, I would just grab the woody shrubs on the opposite side and pull myself across. It would have been easier, certainly, and physically more probable to find a narrower spot to cross, or even here, to run and jump. But no, I would use my SHEER STRENGTH and the integrity of small riparian plants to hoist me to the opposite shore. FAIL. The branch I grabbed wasn't strong enough and as I scramble-reached for another, first my feet and then my butt slid into the water. Wet underwear. I crawled out quick like a bunny, before the backpack and thighs also got wet and stood in the bushes, shaking my fist at the sky. Curses!

After that, I laughed at myself in the way you do when you know you're supposed to. I finished the hike out, going a little bit slower and actually back-tracking when I was defeated by an alternate route that ended in a giant boulder. The van still honked on the way home and the sun didn't come out until the evening, after I'd cycled through all the shitty emotions one can experience in a day by crying for three hours.

The end.

i have been cultivating joy

2011-03-02T09:42:00.000-08:00

i have been cultivating joy...
i searched for a long time
for the perfect spot of earth
with just the right amount of sun
and fresh rain water.
with fertile soil and a grand view.

i clutched my seeds close
to protect them from birds or wind.

finally i forgot i was looking
and just started throwing the seeds
where ever they would land.

behold! there's fruit everywhere!

mountain town

2011-02-13T14:21:00.000-08:00

High living at 10,152 feet, the mountains are so close,
The stars so bright we can almost catch them on the tongue.
Old buildings hastily built,
half boarded up
painted gumball rainbows.

Unemployment doesn't feel so useless in a place where by simply going outside,
you find yourself in a state of giddy awe.

7 am

2011-01-08T14:33:00.000-08:00

around the corner from night
morning lifts her sleepy head
and yawns bright steam to the pink sky

a small city in texas starts to buzz
deep electronic music cushions the cold
and i drive into the sun spilling through the windshield

some corner of being shakes off its dust
and is sanguine in the industrial sprawl

a new adventure

Sweet Love

2010-12-17T00:10:00.001-08:00

Sweet Love,

where did I leave my hat
last night
before falling into your arms?

I can't find it now!

Perhaps I shall have to
come back this evening
and have a look around.

On this little street

2010-11-27T19:17:00.000-08:00

On this little street,
What, Ho! At the end is the Mormon steeple, white to the heavens.

On this little street, little house,
What, Ho! How the moonlight shines on the first real snow.

What, Ho! What, Ho!
Thanksgiving eve a cheer of holiday thanks.
On this little sparkling street.

morning after rain

2010-08-20T09:38:00.000-07:00

if the desert was so wet
as these monsoons make it be
the green would invade rock
and turn the fins back to sea

and our home, little home
submerged in shallow water
seams bursting, planes warping
would still hold you and me

scent in the curtains
hair in the sink
memories of gatherings
with homemade food and drink

we swim, we dive
in this ocean of sun
with happy little saunters
and the rains quite welcome.

She's Waking Up, by Miss. Emily Klarer

2010-08-17T21:49:00.000-07:00

She’s waking up; considering the day ahead, the bullshit she’ll have to deal with, the phone calls, the questions, the e-mails and meetings. At the faucet filling their tea kettle, a thrift store-find, she’s brewing coffee. He’s still sleeping. She can hear his heavy breath on their pillow, she can smell him on her skin. Mug in hand, she’s biking; past the construction workers in their Carhartts and ripped t-shirts that are now the color only white can become after days soaked in sweat, beaten by the Utah sun. The men sit on the stone benches in front of Dave’s, their Fords and Dodges parked at their feet. The sun is shining, the mountains are only a silhouette. She’s at her desk. There are notes from the previous day, asking something of her, requesting her time, her knowledge, her hands. She’s working, calling, giving. She’s deciding and answering. The requests are kind enough but she can’t ignore the unsettling feeling that follows her around. It tags behind her like a shadow that she can only see when she looks away. It’s behind her eyes, in her hands, she can taste it in her mouth, bitter and metallic like a paperclip, like a nail.

But she’s smiling. She’s smiling as she walks out the door, done for the day. Bicycling home she thinks of the world outside this place, this town. She thinks of the city, of the throngs of people, strangers, faces she will see only once in her lifetime. The anonymity intrigues her. Which is worse: to feel lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces or to feel alone surrounded by your closest friends? She is wondering. Doesn’t anyone else know what this feels like? Doesn’t anyone else feel the dull, nagging sensation that everything has fallen completely out of balance? The helplessness consumes her.

But, she loves. The beauty of this life sustains her. She loves the wild places that
surround her, the rivers that are the definition of time - moving, winding, and pushing through canyons and valleys, mountains and gullies. She loves the smell of the desert after it rains, when, if you listen closely, you can hear the plants breathing a long-awaited sigh of relief.

She loves. And that is all one needs.

emilita

2010-08-07T10:55:00.000-07:00

arms full of basil
wet sky

there is standing room only
in that roofless closet
where city and mountains
breath soft side by side

your alone-ness
a voluminous
sigh

the exhale of
ripped

fresh

baked bread

A reason to celebrate

2010-05-10T10:14:00.000-07:00

Cinco de Mayo, they say. Tequila?
Why is it important, I say?
They don't know...independence?

-

My nephew sometimes has a difficult time sharing.
He cries when I remove him from playing
after grabbing the other baby's blocks.
We go outside.

Look at the blue sky, I say.
The fierce wind-
there is no reason to be upset.

Feece wind, he says?
And stares at the cottonwood leaves shaking.
It's beautiful, I say.
And we watch together.

It's Just There

2010-04-08T08:04:00.000-07:00

Driving to the city with my co-workers
the sky keeps drooling on us.
We enter the suburbs with
liposuction bill boards and teens
in skinny jeans standing in the rain.

A tiny trailer store
an empty
Food 4 Less
parking lot.

And it's not that I've never been
in love with a city,
it's just, how can this compare
with wide open blue skies?
With shifted sand
where the bones of earth poke through.

And there's no looking for God,
it's just there.

Don't Lets

2010-03-06T22:57:00.000-08:00

I have been waiting for the universe to contract again, to get shriveled and manageable, like a rung out dish towel, grey water slipping away. And it's as simple as if my fourth grade teacher is standing next to my desk, her hand on my shoulder and long hair making so small a sound I can't even hear it.

"You want this. You don't want that."

Expand the moments you enjoy; the longest memory of my life is a crescent sliver of beach worn rippled by the river's sighs. Artificial tide coming in and lapping the colored bocci balls in falling twilight.

I hope god just keeps doing the dishes, wiping the counter and squeezing the rag of existence.

Don't lets go so long forgetting again.

Theo

2010-02-14T10:14:00.000-08:00

Sometimes there is no recourse for him but to stub the dirt harshly (but not meanly)
when there is nothing else to say, when he looses
the thread
of what is said. And
even though he loves the talkers, the curve of their face and
the sweetness of their thoughts
he can't seem to make his own

heart
known.

And not until there is unexpected jazz during a cafe visit
does he think perhaps it doesn't matter as much.

Autumn Beans

2009-10-03T10:31:00.000-07:00

In the first days of true fall, the sun so welcome and warm I wonder when the cursed heat of summer took its leave, I learn from beans.

First, I sit and shell dry beans for seed saving. Hulling the dormant life from dead, dried pods, we work together, the two of us sitting and scooping beans with our thumbs and I listen to the update of her life. The end of one relationship, the beginning of another.
She tells me about her ideas of "ethical love" and how after a painful exchange with her ex, she goes to her mother's house and draws a tarot card. Just one, and it's death. "What does that mean?" I ask. "That something has to end," she says.

Later in the afternoon, I am harvesting the last of the green beans with two people I have just met. We get to know one another, a steady stream of pleasant conversation as we more bed to bed, bent or kneeling. The garden is yellow and dry or green and wilted and the air smells like earth.
I ask the boy if he will stay here a long time, after his job is done. He is silent for a moment, then cautiously tells me of his father's death this past summer, the suddenness of the cancer's spread, and how his mother is alone now, across the country. I feel heavy and then ashamed that I have nothing more graceful to say than, "I'm sorry;" to ask a few questions and to say the desert is a land made for healing.

I die too, sometimes daily, or now, hard and deep for a week. Everything seems to be suffering and the shape of a window is painful, my frail existence inexplicably unbearable.

It doesn't occur to me until now, on the back porch with the October earth tilting from the sun, that this is the season of death, of pain. This is the way things move. Beans that are dry and scatter across the floor when dropped from my hands or the last green beans pulled from the garden, the loss of love or a loved one is all laid bare in the autumn. We must die and till and replant with last season's seeds to have new bounty. It doesn't hurt me for a moment to smile at the desert's cliffs and breathe the crisp air.

I Ate Too Much for Dinner

2009-09-30T08:35:00.000-07:00

I ate too much for dinner last night

And now there is a
terrific morning storm raging outside my bed.

As if God were saying,
"You want to feel full?
Eat some lightning. Drink this thunder
with cold wind and rain.

I promise you won't get indigestion."

Sharing

2009-08-03T10:49:00.000-07:00

Please click here to watch a video by filmmaker Mika Kiburz inspired by this poetry.

But Sigh

2009-08-03T10:43:00.001-07:00

The morning after we bought the van
we drove down the mountain,
last night's rain still clinging to the 27 year old paint.

Cows bobbled slowly across the scrub oak hills
and clouds coalesced where no clouds had been the day before.

We clinked coffee mugs then, brown liquid sloshing with the washboard road.

The cat prowled and bounced in the back, searching for some stability.

My favorite Irish folk singer sang a song about a forest.

Few are the moments where we feel so perfect,
feel that the life is everywhere and there is nothing to do

but sigh.

Spring #4

2009-05-13T11:51:00.000-07:00

Snow melting on Mountains
honey black locusts bloom
thick fragrance falling,
my heart opens wide.

Marvel

2009-05-06T07:55:00.001-07:00

The sky is orange today,
desert particles blocking the sun
like a bride's veil
or
red scarf over lamp.

The rim is distant and out of reach
and the sound of the creek
drowned by the wind.

Biking is going nowhere.

You kiss me twice before you leave
then come back for a third
and I can't comprehend how the world
is still turning,
how everything doesn't stop what it's doing
and marvel.

Voice Grace

2009-03-28T06:38:00.000-07:00

If the noises of feet
rustling in grass
were amplified

and cricket's tones
were slowed,
it would sound

as children singing
amazing grace around
a campfire ring sound

when moonfilled mists
surround still thicker
smoke trickling

from a smoldering
coalbed that cradles
nimble flames unsure

of whether they’ll waver
much longer, but dancing,
at least, until the voices

finish lingering in mist
and echo back
off the hillsides,

the moon,
or some other source
of light behind

the obscured sky,
returning to tuck
them into the ashes.

By Mr. Keefe Keeley

There's Magic Everywhere!

2009-01-20T16:51:00.001-08:00

We went off the trail, followed
a wash north west. Came upon
mouse track highway, shrub to tree.
I worried for you climbing steep slick
rock with all that extra weight
wrapped across your back, that
tender-small body sliding forward.

In an alcove above a pinyon, we
spelled the names of loved ones
in shadow with body letters. When
the sun eased himself below distant
cliffs, we waved our arms and became
invisible as our silhouettes disappeared.

My love, I ask you to tell me
is there anything more in life than
these simple moments? Any God that
resides elsewhere but in the
setting sun, speaks in a language other than
our harmonic hiking song and your baby's coo?

Furry Fog

2008-12-10T17:15:00.000-08:00

A furry fog thick on the back of my teeth.
"Oh, I don't really get drunk anymore," you say.
The highway curves like tangled yarn.

I am a flowering tea.

Couch Surfing

2008-12-05T12:59:00.000-08:00

Some tiny, tinkering piano
forces my cautious feet forward
and sets the stage for finding
your empty apartment.
I can feel the city swirling around outside
like a horde of locusts in the sunshine.
But here, in your unfamiliar home,
all is swollen wood and hollow metal,
afternoon shadows and house plants,
quiet rushing
and my delicately
shattered heart.

November Morning

2008-11-21T11:05:00.000-08:00

Hands leathered and dark stained from
outside cold cozy a tea mug and accompany
his impatient wait for her return. Dark rolls
away across the ridge top. Finally, breathless,
she bursts in trailing the aftertaste of cold, rushes
to the table. "I brought you a gold leaf covered
in frost," she says. "But it melted."

He looks at the pile of withered yellow leaves
tired and dead next to his hands, equally
fruitless. His mind slides to the cupboard, to
the drugs that keep him from bringing about his
own death, see them to his art like the wood stove
to her frost: destroying brilliant unique beauty
but keeping the house comfortable warm.

He glances down, see his hands have moved of their
own accord and are squeezing the acrid scented bundle.
He meets her eyes and they blink together, sigh. Smile.
"Tea?" He asks and she resigns herself to a chair as he
and reaches for the kettle.

13

2008-11-21T11:02:00.000-08:00

We lay on your bed, the ends from a
hunk of wood shaped into a bowl and
shipped overseas. Shattered sunlight
broke the winter morning
and made shapes on the ceiling.

Before, we went out on a root
windy night. The city was empty, save our
streetlight sentries and their halos of
gold suicide spattered on the sidewalks.
We held hands and sang soft
lullabies to the sleeping concrete.

Homecoming

2008-10-14T14:06:00.000-07:00

He repositions
the water glasses so
they catch
afternoon light
a little more.

The clean clothes wave
on the line and

we laugh and
wait for you.

Sunrise in Needles

2008-10-14T13:53:00.000-07:00

The earth turns on her axis,
gravity forcing rotation, revolution
about and around a huge fire star,
light years away.

And what I see seems equally magnificent:

centimeter by centimeter the red rock walls,
spires, capstone mushrooms touched by light,
as if that heat, that rising sun, is unfolding languidly,
deliberately slow
so we pause over breakfast and pay attention.

But really, even now, we move.
It is US that dances,
the rocks that move to meet the light,
the world that turns.

Nothing stands still, the fusions of atoms
a wild flurry in that star,
the rocks falling apart and sand blow-washing away.

Blanket

2008-08-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

Rolling clouds, un-carded wool.
She's weaving a blanket.
Spun with fingers old and deliberate,
A juniper trunk hand.

The loom?
Sandstone, ancient ocean:
layered, slabbed, cracked.
The material water-sun softened
desert varnish and color changing
crypto soil stained.

She swaddles us up, safe and soft.
We dwell-sleep in her work,
cradled, caressed, cajoled,
into knowing
into true faith believing.
We
are
loved.

Dongzhimen, 6 p.m.

2008-08-01T17:15:00.001-07:00

The lights come on at dusk.
Red,
neon,
four characters
advertising 'sleeping house'
eight stories down,
three streets over.

Vein of steel shuttles bodies
up
down
up;
doors shut with a prison cell's bone crack.

It's visiting time to hallway inhabitants.
Dust covered clock,
forever bicycle with birdcage,
dog piss stained stairwell.

Roses and cabbages grow in the weak window light.

CARI II

2008-07-01T08:39:00.000-07:00

The big moon rise sifts through
layers of cloud wet wool torn apart
felted against the stars.

We're dome enclosed
the vaulted endless heavens bending to drink
trees on all sides
while we lay in the field and listen.

Owls call south to east and
something moves in the
tall prairie grass on woods' edge.

The cat watches with sharp green eyes.

Fungi

2008-06-08T20:44:00.001-07:00

My mother

sent me a magazine
I had already read at home,
before moving abroad.

There was an article on mushrooms, nature, and god,
and a poem about married life.

I had read it while soaking in a tub,
dreaming of waterskin.

Later, I wrote a fairy tale poem
in two languages as homage.

I put it in the mail.
I hope you got it.

Sweet Love

2008-06-08T20:40:00.000-07:00

Sweet Love,

where did I leave my hat
last night
before falling into your arms?

I can't find it now!

Perhaps I shall have to
come back this evening
and have a look around.

Late Night Snack

2008-05-10T17:04:00.000-07:00

I stand in line and wait for my bing like every one else.
Tonight I will try the one that comes with carrots.
Someone on a bike goes by, ringing their bell in the dark
just outside the circle of steam formed when the batter hits.

I look up and see the clouds lit bright against the sky
back framing a new glass, 40 some story building.

For a moment, I consider asking my bing man where he's from,
how long he's run this cart in the central business district,
selling late night street food to security guards and construction workers
moving concrete in the wee hours.

But I don't want to shatter this second, this city,
this quiet peace I am imposing.
So I wait, listen to the sounds of egg breaking,
sauce brush painting, spatula scraping,
give him a five kuai note, take my warm bing bag and
trip along home.

Spring

2008-05-04T23:32:00.000-07:00

My father, in a gentle voice,
tells me how the wood he cuts is so beautiful
and he picks and chooses each piece
to split open.

The asparagus is tender
and the cat is living outside.

Electronic Sufi

2008-04-27T08:26:00.001-07:00

One Dream
with two head phones
and you,
shaking with laughter.

2008-04-23T03:37:00.001-07:00

seek your friends always with hours to live.

an orange octopus hanging in a glass window so hot men without shirts flipping crates of sharksfins under tree roots breaking concrete walls and grateful for you somewhere in the back of mind singing with cats on walls under embassy street lights and soldiers following us along the yellow lines outside gates with nowhere going but walk.

2008-04-15T20:39:00.000-07:00

That Afternoon

Warm air,
White seeds flying everywhere.
In want of being held in arms,
He stands there, crying.

Little coat, little bag and little water jug occupied his left arm and hand,
Bent down,
The grandfather gently patted the kid on the buns,
Asking him to walk by himself.
Each time the big hand landed on the little buns the crying mouth opened bigger.

那天下午

温暖的空气
弥漫的杨絮飞在空中飞舞
他站在那里哭
要爷爷抱着走

小小的外衣，小小的书包和水壶填满了爷爷的右臂和右手，
爷爷弯腰，
腾出的右手轻轻拍打孩子的屁股，
要他自己走路，
大大的手落到小小的屁股上
每一次那哭叫的嘴都会咧到更大。

By Ms. Jane Yang

2008-04-11T04:34:00.000-07:00

Fy's notebook

There was a hesitation in her step that I immediately fell in love with. Not that she wasn't beautiful to begin with, but I've never liked those people that yell confidence with every perfect pore. I don't believe them; I believe the only truth is uncertainty. My wife will be that woman who pairs her ignorance against my experience, and therefore makes us fit.
But what am I writing about? This should be a book about art, a real masterpiece with plot line and characters who commit murder and fuck close friends and move off the farm because their sister's friend stole their weed and the whole town found out or at least it should have some flying machines.
I'm going to go take a shower.

Memory Shopping

2008-04-07T06:32:00.000-07:00

I went to the market looking for an old piece of metal
dug out of the dark earth somewhere much further south than here.
A door knocker fallen from rotted wood
accidentally oiled by child fingers in summer.

I found a bell, most certainly not antique
that rang with an assertive yell
each time my bicycle went over a crack.

I hurried home to where I hung it above my window
glinting dimly, garnering the wind.
It is not a knocker, but a bronze voice that still ushers visits
from my long gone wife, saying, "It's a nice day today."

2008-03-30T23:51:00.000-07:00

i broke twelve times yesterday

once seeing our two arms side by side
again when the throat singers stopped playing
again when us foreigners displaced the baby and her family
from upstairs bar since we would spend money
and
for a fourth time when her little hand closed on my fingers

once when no one said hello to the taxi driver
and again when no one said thank you
for a sixth time when you told me it didn't matter what i said
as long as i was honest

once broke with disgust for myself for staying out so late
embarrassing bar smoke smell in church
with the ambassador's daughter
eighth time that no sleep feel shaking hands with a rich woman in black

shattered shivered perfect the ninth time reciting the lord's prayer

once seeing the hills that exist beyond beijing
only when there is no smog
and again noting small bush blossoms pink white yellow
in the shadow of skyscrapers

last and wholly
into a million pieces in the hutong
old woman wheel chair child kites setting sun on broken brick

2008-03-30T21:34:00.000-07:00

spring kickapoo haikoo

snowmelt, old linens
redbuds, eyes easing open
bedhead of burdock

by mr. keefe keeley

2008-03-25T06:01:00.001-07:00

But that was all before

she started walking into walls. Before she started smelling the emotions of those in her near vicinity, getting distracted, loosing her balance and crashing. Oh, but I get ahead of myself.
What was before? The mixing of the road signs with store signs with books so she might suddenly look a stranger on the street in the eyes and with flashes of "please do not smoke," and "Buddha says everything has to be forsaken," running around somewhere in the gymnasium of her mind, she would say directly and loudly, "Where please smoke forsaken Buddha?" and her mother, (the vessel of shame,) would shovel her along blushing embarrassment, while she, poor fool, continued to stare hard at where the building met the sky.

2008-03-22T19:29:00.000-07:00

Chrysanthemum blossoms sleeping in a plastic bottle
cradled by the cracked concrete
lulled into afternoon 休息 xiūxī by a 5,000 y.o. history.

The steel dragons rise from the broken earth
rearing their proud faces to the smog sky.

We hold hands and giggle wiggle walk.

(休息 xiūxī Rest. 休 = a person stopping to rest under a tree + 息 a heart under a nose as when we stop and rest we smell the flowers and feel.)

2008-03-17T23:02:00.000-07:00

I like riding the subway here
and being pushed and shoved, everyone loosing their balance
in the cradle shocking motions.

We crash into each other.

Gills

2008-03-09T18:25:00.000-07:00

Again we are underwater.
In the desert, this reality
was encouraged by
the scraggling green plants
straining from rocks
to the huge open sky.

Here, the smog is so thick
I think to walk
through it
I must swim.
What an appropriate haze
to bumble through
humming a happy tune surrounded by poisons
created of ambitions.

2008-03-02T01:57:00.000-08:00

For Sonya...

Language Lessons

in concrete city
miss trees and stars and fungus
oh lost love night sky!

在具体的城市
想树和星和真菌
哦晚上天空的爱丢了！

Wanted to set up and the star and the fungus oh evening sky love in
the specific city loses!

2008-02-29T01:03:00.000-08:00

JANE'S GUESTHOUSE

the river is speaking
overunder Chinese soap opera
supporting this dull light
that sways with
mountain breeze

how do these buildings stay upright?
sag slouching against rock
rough hewn working cuticles

happy dirty cat rubs my legs and
the woman with the crinkle nose smile
moves dishes in a second level kitchen
treehouseish desserty
at the mouth of a gorge soon to be flooded
Green Blue Water
Run
Free

alldaylight

2008-02-18T20:23:00.000-08:00

in the country
never thought
before
in big city
get morning sun
from east
and west
reflected off
nearby glass building.

2008-02-09T07:36:00.000-08:00

PAUSE GATHERING

in the 17th story window
watching
the power plant bleed into blue sky

2008-01-25T15:48:00.001-08:00

KURT

I was on the subway yesterday, bumping along with the yellow plastic and remembering my thoughts from when I was 12. I know I am going to die soon, not like a premonition, but when you are old as I am, there isn't much to stop death from coming.

Across the newspaper floor a little girl sat under an advertisement for Cancun. She was wearing white sneakers and a pink sweater and held to her mother's ringed hand as we sped in the artificial light. As the door danced open, I saw her age, 16, 24, 46, 72 and she smiled at me in her oldness and I remembered we were friends.

In the rustling din the woman mother stood and walked to the door, balanced and beautiful in black heels. Her daughter followed, holding the wool skirt because it was a request, not a desire. As they skitted the aisle, her blond hair swung and she raised her head, looked me in the eye, and whispered, "Mycelium".

I nodded and when the metal clanged closed I sank into the seat,
soothed and satiated.

2008-01-19T17:18:00.000-08:00

"They Say it is Easier for a Camel to Fit Through the Eye of a Needle than for a Rich Man to get into Heaven"

So let's take off, shall we,
to rolling hills and moonlit trees
and bring some more old souls into the world
crusaders for the life of the planet
we will be poor lover poets
feasting on music and stars.

Oh Beloved, answer my call!
"My heart can no longer live without real love!"

2008-01-19T13:30:00.000-08:00

王子和真菌

一度在农村
一位王子走路
看最美的真菌。

他说：我还没看到我的妻
可先在没有女人会让我感觉满意
你是我的灵魂，我不会离开你！

他的爱强迫他不走
所以在那他一个洞抠
和死跟他美的蘑。

2007-12-21T14:05:00.000-08:00

Though Levi had many times taken different types of drugs, today he was not on anything in particular. His dream visions of the night before lingered like a happy memory one looks forward to but can't quite remember what, or why. Still, it was somewhat of a surprise when he placed his hands on the stainless steel counter and experienced the sensation of moving through the metal. He looked down and observed his flesh resting on the top, motionless and seemingly stable. Yet his mind created its own story, the infinite space in each atom making way for his hands to drift between molecules. They were gone, exploring the sub-nuclear void.
There is definitely not a substansive physical world, he thought. And then, I do not do drugs, I am drugs.

2007-12-19T14:30:00.000-08:00

The edge of a canyon
a cliff
a dimension
a dream
our souls tell us
reality is not as it seems
a collection of thoughts
a choice
a decision we make
to pick love
and give
more than
we take.

2007-11-24T05:21:00.000-08:00

PRUNING

the sodden November dusk
the big moon echoes on first snow

bonded to the terrestrial oeuvre
of water formed sedimentary hills

I rearrange clothes in an unfinished closet.

2007-11-13T09:18:00.000-08:00

Together in the Art Museum Looking at the Song of the Lark

She whispers
We see people like we view paintings.

Look at them quickly
a three second glance
and pretty much get the gist of what's going on.

Usually we walk on to the next exhibit and get a coffee.

Sometimes
though
the image calls
and we are pulled in to explore each brush stroke's texture
to study the balance or lack thereof
to consider the colors
and to inevitably understand and fall in love.

When we meet people
it is the same.

Usually we take in the black wool coat
the septum ring
and hurry on.

Yet every now and again it happens
we must look look look
and so become enamored.

Yes
I say
regarding her blue eyes.

But in the end
it's still just paint on canvas
and what we saw originally:

a picture of a woman
standing in a field
under the big open sky.

2007-11-13T09:16:00.001-08:00

We Didn't Bring Any Water

Cut across burst capillaries
yellowing
with rest
the fire stars lick November air

death swollen metal
of trains over rivers
song stories
keep us tearing holes
in the sand bar.

2007-10-22T00:41:00.000-07:00

PLEASE REMEMBER

like a beautiful piece of music
you are quiet and gentle

you do not yell loudly
to grab attention

you are your own attention
conversing with yourself

and all else that seems silent.

2007-10-20T20:29:00.001-07:00

TINNITUS

At first, we long for god,
for the beloved in every depth
of our bodies
We call for love's tender hands
to moisten our wounds
that without care
would infect and swell and kill us.
But we are so ready to take an
easier friend.
A lover who will kiss us quickly
and assert that there is no cut
that the hurt does not exist
and to come watch a movie on
the couch
where we hold hands and laugh
but with the nagging hum that
we're lying
or being lied to
though it doesn't really matter which
until the hum itself seems to swell
and break
and only a ringing remains.

2007-10-13T23:17:00.000-07:00

EQUANIMITY

I ran into truth last night

talking to my sister on the phone and doing a puzzle.

And today has that favorite feel

of equanimity that comes only

after the facades of life are effectively dissolved.

Like silk sliding off the skin

or

meat slipping from the bone.

2007-10-06T11:14:00.000-07:00

SILENT RISE

geese honk in the morning sky

waking from a hot drunken sleep
there is no rest

dropped needles
under open skies

they have lost the baby

2007-09-28T06:54:00.001-07:00

Sew a beautiful dress
and it is the skin that speaks in space
between the seams

Write a stanza of poetry
and it's the hollows of words unformed
holding intuition

So we should be
creating a substructure of truth
from which to hang our love

2007-09-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

CARI

Sunlight stealing
through door hinge crack
to bed of down covers
her sweet optimism
invades greasy hash browns
while
the cat
watches the tree change
colors

2007-09-20T18:48:00.000-07:00

3037 (Daughter)

whn we bcam wht we r nw it ws strang 2 us
at frst we only knw wht it ws lik 2 b alon
2 b in isolaton
we spnt so mch tme
sepratd n cut off

i remmbr whn i ws a lttl grl my fthr trd 2 mke me n othr kds be 'frnds'
he drv me n a cr 2 othr kds hmes n mde us ply gmes
bt we knw evn thn it ws slly 2 tlk
it ws a wste of tme
som kds wr te sam as me n we commnctded wthot spking n te othrs i knw wuld die nywy
bt it nvr flt lke we wr dffrnt
it flt lke evryn lse ws

2007-09-18T16:30:00.000-07:00

LOOKING AT THE STARS

On an old blanket
we found in a cold room
after pie
we dropped our fingers
in the wet grass
and spent the rest of the night
searching.

2007-09-14T16:07:00.000-07:00

THE LAND INSTITUTE

A golden sun on desperate grasses
and a single lover's
lonesome sighs
to witness such beauty
and irrifutable truth of life
singularily and multitude bound
like one plant's
deep root system
in
Kansas summer
soil.

2007-08-23T09:23:00.000-07:00

ADORATION

You were born in love
and we all go back there,
so why spend this life alone
when I am dying to kiss you
and remind us both
where we came from!

2007-08-09T16:17:00.000-07:00

If I ever fall in love again, it will be very difficult. I don't think anything could happen to compare to mad-love. But it never happens at all to some people. Some people only love, and others only like, and some just do whatever they can to shut up God.

2007-07-31T07:20:00.001-07:00

Sundays

in this mountain town
feel sweet
and slow
and we move gently.
To the bakery, the coffee shop,
bookstore, and photo gallery.
Standing in line
holding hands with my sister beside me
I don't know if I want to laugh or cry,
so I point to the picture on the wall
and say,

If we don't become the ocean,
we get seasick every day.

2007-07-29T15:40:00.000-07:00

My sister told me she doubles numbers when she's upset.
I've moved on to powers. It helps when there are snakes or men with curly hair.
Then I don't knock paintings on the ground with my backpack.

2007-07-29T14:37:00.000-07:00

NECK

2007-07-25T23:28:00.001-07:00

MYSTERY POINT

The wind
and the earth
are fighting
like two people
who have been together so long
even the arguments
are imbued
with affection.

2007-07-17T22:06:00.000-07:00

EVERY YEAR AND A HALF

There were two friends who loved one another beyond countries and age and money. They would walk through large cities arm in arm and tell each other their hearts once every year and a half.

2007-07-17T22:05:00.000-07:00

BONITA 1

It was in blinking that one could perceive the slight delay of Bonita's functions. Her right eye often waited, a fraction of a second, behind the left in its programmed habit. Sometimes it did not close at all and then all that could be seen was a pronounced twitch if you were looking at her left side, and nothing from the right.

Otherwise, she was an almost perfect replication. She was built with an impeccable memory that was capable of recalling the most pertinent quotes, and also rearranging them so they came out sounding original. She lived on the 11th floor of a hexagonally shaped apartment building eight blocks from where the ocean met the city and was able to walk to and from her job drafting in an Architectural Firm on the inland south side. On the weekends she cooked new and simple dishes whose recipes displayed themselves in the counter and rebuilt digital clocks and radios.

2007-07-17T22:04:00.000-07:00

NUMBER 12

There is little way I can sleep now
with the full moon
and you, my dear
all around

Simply breathing is painful
or
pleasurable

moment to
moment.

2007-07-10T20:13:00.001-07:00

THE ATLANTIC

A full fog is rolling from the south over sand covered in dancer's prints and the ever moving ocean. The perfection reality of each moment has been reflected on waves teach the problem of light: how it is a dilemma to be behave as both a particle and a wave.

2007-07-10T08:34:00.001-07:00

WHAT TIME IS IT THERE?

and other phrases from movies and books
echo in memory
after they are heard.
Familiar strangeness
like the moment
teeth stick together
when eating fish
of a particularly
sharky flesh.

2007-07-08T18:45:00.000-07:00

DRINKING JOY

I am tired
but sleepy
like the river that floated us
through the sun
over rocks
worn smooth by years
of drinking joy.

2007-07-05T18:12:00.001-07:00

IT IS ONLY LATE

and I gorged myself on
humid green
and
cyclical summer storms.

And I wondered what you did today,
if you drank beer
or wrote
your name with a sparkler.

Watching the clouds roll in
I thought of two lines
from other poems that said
to start
asking for real love
and
to stop
being so patient about it.

2007-07-05T17:31:00.000-07:00

SANDWICH

When he was a little boy of six or seven he would come in and sit at the wooden table in the front room as soon as school was finished. His mother would have left a glass plate on the table and in the middle of it sat a peanut jelly sandwich cut crosswise.

Before eating, indeed, before drinking even a sip of the milk standing off to the side, he imagined himself two millimeters tall and he would explore this strange land of sandwich. First he crawled around the endless craters, caves, and calderas. A scientific mind created hundreds of reasons as to how and why the landscape was shaped just so. The peanut butter sometimes held large fossils of giant bodied nuts and he would search for nearby fragments to fuse together. By the time his small self reached the third strata of jelly, his contained suit was gummed with the stickiness and all thought of further elucidation was abandoned for pure wonder and sweetness.

He had entirely forgotten his days of micro discovery until, at 37, the man behind the counter handed him his boarding pass and he noticed the pin stuck in the middle of the man's tie. It said, "On to Mars!" and he looked down, wondering how he got so big, and why he was going to Chicago anyway.