finding the “what” (stigma journal XIII)

what did I say?

Oh, yes. “What.”

Now I don’t know if this is something between poetry or confession (both, most likely) but I often start with that one word- “what.”

And I never answer it- the question of something that is always “bothering” me. And I am a very “bothered” person. Just ask anyone, if I ever “bother” them. With thoughts or questions, and I myself am always “bothered.” By “what.” Yep, that’s just it! “What!”

It’s almost irritating, in a way. No, it is irritating! For you, for me, for the “what” that I ceaselessly run after like a deranged dog chasing her tail.

Maybe that’s the “what.” Just a very long “tail”, or “tale” or something that my wordplay isn’t clever enough to express.

So “what” is it?

(Can you tell why I get so “bothered” when they ask me these questions?)

Because I don’t know!

Here I am now, for instance! I’m writing! I’m running after some long “tail” (or “tale”) and I won’t get it. I never really do. I get all sorts of other things that “bother” me.

But not this. Not the “what.”

“What” is wrong, you ask. Or I state. Or I ask. Or you state.

Yes, that is it, “what.” That’s why I start with it (with “what” I mean)

the things she says

it cannot be perfect, she says.

it cannot be understood.

but when the sound waves shake this closeness in me

and I am bereft of your voice,

it cannot be perfect.

it will never be perfect.

for without you there is nothing.

the sky has no limits for me,

the oceans no shores.

there is just a bitterness in the wind

and a silence in the trees.

a hunger unfulfilled inside grows stronger

and it is never understood.

it is never complient or eased,

never soothed or comforted.

it ceaselessly grows

a constant desire

for something perfect, something understood,

and for something this is not.

nel songo

Mia sorella,

The distances growing deeper, nel songo

felt like soft waves,

I tapered through the skies,

and swearing to all those

who heard, ma non capisco

for the eyes awakened

suspicion eternally.

In foresight, there were

dreams waiting for you

to exhale beyond relief that I

would run away from

further thoughts, la bugia che

in our deepest faith,

our dreams come true.

Ma, il songo 

keeps me to be unshaken

by any further terrors,

al buio, we cannot escape

what we fear, for then

what we fear is but

an essence, un spirito,

will hold strong to

this prayer, mia sorella,

mio songo is a paradise

for you to fear and dream

and hide from deep

in your thoughts.

Sogni d’oro.

while I waited for my dignity

when spirits took deep

what they were owed

in power, not in virtue,

was but the greatest thing

we asked from God.

~

while I waited for my dignity,

the women left in silence

can do no more damage

then a tulip with burning petals,

her fingers could dance

with the smoke and shadow

play, but when all things

have passed in the power

and nothing is left but

in silence, what else can

one do to shake their chains

loose of rusted secrets, while

their spirits pray that

those lies would root themselves

in a softer bed, the spoils

able to nourish what was once

dead, weak, forsaken, and

utterly, unforgiven,

to give vibrant lips life

again and to vanquish the flames

with something more powerful,

more holy, and more perennial

so that we would be stronger

in the years to come.

sonnet LVIII

Don’t take me by my arms nor limbs, breaking

the days into sovereign winds and water,

the things that would keep me then from taking

my strides to run, fall, wonder and falter.

Don’t lose yourself to elements desire

that spread my soils and remaining hopes of

freedom to nothing but black sand and fire,

watching wisps of words to rise above.

Don’t take my thoughts nor heart into shattered

dreams when moments come and we fly away,

seated upon the monarch’s wings tattered

by elements which forsaken, the day

brought us to the ocean of peace, then where

my eyes await the last eternal stare.

told you so

-i told you to forget me-

-because-

-i like to remember you in such ways

that all the things that passed between us was like mist.

when times are right

and the air is just so, our thoughts could collect

and reminisce on what wouldn’t have happened,

to then fall like rain and cleanse us once again

of what was not to be-

dreamscape diary III

It never ends.

While I never sleep.

~

The time for a deviant,

a play of wood and bones.

Digressing into banks

of iron daisies

and rejection in thanks

for leveled heaps

of homes in stick and hay.

To wrap yourself in

bracken heart and dance

between the devil’s flames

would be to hold to

a cleansed brethren,

we would become

pristine, a whitened hide,

behind a happy day

and nervous stance.

~

Of that celebration,

I turned away performers

of a jealous type and set

my sights upon

a higher, brighter bet,

one that would hold

stronger to my leaves

while laces would fall

limp, dragged through

dirty wells and the soft

feeling of knowing that

we would let go of all

responsibilities, to smoke

and know that we would die

the same as you would

and all the same

as we did before.

a nameless sort

what faces left of me

were nameless and in doubt.

i could imagine it,

the clarity and strength

of being without and with

faceless thoughts enraptured

by spirits, long passed

beyond the empty space.

~

the later of two evils,

one sick and one secure

would not break

away devils from their

dreams or spaces,

or what we endure

when times spell heroes

and soliloquies into beings

and into truth, the last

of which we would spin, turn

to itch and burn and

hesitation waiting birth.

~

i still imagine the existence

and existential hunch of

waiting for the space

to open, for these thoughts

and feelings, the fingers

all once pointed toward heaven,

to be exalted and absorbed,

to not exist further than

these doors would reach

the streets of

a nameless sort.

dreamscape diary II

What dark clouds billow from

our fires, while white lips

present soothing foam and specks

of diamonds in the sand,

all alighted in the dust bowl.

~

Transfiguration and wrapping

hearts with mazes and

arms, legs with lips

holding tight to the gems

and precious stones

prepared to destroy

on the moments notice and

sequential stops.

~

But these revelations

in the sand, in the grass

where our youth would taste

sweetness as if it would not

begot a rotten thought

or waste the restless mind.

~

But while being held

in something stronger and

something larger than these loves,

while our tongues

dance and hold tight

the lips of life,

we see something in the distance,

something lurking within the clouds

and holding distances

transfixed in these arms.

~

Your warmer eyes hold

more than those dreams

begged of us while all

I had left inside me

was beside me in thoughts,

while I breathe your name

and forget that once again

these dreams have forgiven

my fears, my eternal envy

once, for now, and

finally, quenched.

when are you coming back

when are you coming back

I can say these words a thousand times and it’s still not enough.

when are you coming back

It’s like valor’s last grip on reality- I hold to the strongest things that yet bare me weightless and send me flying through hoops of self-doubt and good measure. and I wonder when-

when are you coming back

When are you coming back to me? It’s such a trivial thought when I never even know when you’re leaving. Within a blink of an eye the fog rises and sweeps you away from me, your silhouette becoming more and more distant while the dearest moments slip away.

when are you coming back

I’ve asked so many times. So many faces. So many names. But would there be one unparalleled child who would- who would come back to me and stay. Would there be but one promise left in the wind to come back to me, to bless me with fortune’s softness and reassure me that things will be safe again. That things would be stronger than before.

when are you coming back

And I ask the earth.

when are you coming back

And I ask the sky.

when are you coming back

While I wait for down-wind words

when are you coming back

And beyond the world’s end, I hope you are waiting for me. I hope you are counting the moments with arms full of promises ready to let go into the wind.

when are you coming back

I breathe the moments in. I exhale in prayers.

when are you coming back