I LEARNED TODAY
I LEARNED TODAY HOW WONDERFUL LAUGHTER IS FOR THE SOUL EVERYONE SHOULD LAUGH BECAUSE LIFE IS SO DUMB AND IF WE CAN’T LAUGH AT HOW BAD WE ALL ARE AT ROWING BOATS AND USING PROPER SPOONS THEN WHAT KIND OF LIFE IS THIS
A heart can be wild,
what a terrible thing
to drive at 85 to the future
already dead. Am I too focused
on time? Perhaps a different smile
would help, but passing
into and out of anything
is how rashes start, and what did
I expect trying to trounce
through an unplowed field?
The sun moves…
ABRAMS President & CEO Michael Jacobs reflects on National Poetry Month.
Me–for better or worse, I’ve lately been beset with a bad case of the “Emilys” as I am both deeply in thrall of and horribly confounded by an ongoing encounter with the Belle of Amherst. She, whose thoughts and sounds, syllables and images as always both entice and elude and leave me, in the morning, at noon, in the dusk of evening and in the dark, starlit night in awe of her words:
The Red—Blaze—is the Morning—
The Violet—is Noon–
The Yellow—Day—is falling–
And after that—is none–
But Miles of Sparks—at Evening–
Reveal the Width that burned–
The Territory Argent—that
On a frequency
I’ve not found
Since the day
A picture has a frame,
And a story has an end,
And in a book there is a limit
To just how much there can be penned.
But the imagination knows no bounds,
And though some may show refrain,
In your mind there is no limit
To what a book cannot contain.
Softly the sky moves
Softly the sky moves.
Softly it takes my bows.
Softly the tear is shed,
and softly I tend to forget.
Softly the wind dances with my hair,
and softly the destiny dares.
Softly I look at my side
just to find
the rough taste of life.
and my life dries out like a rotting orange.
The day you touched my lips.
and I told you I loved you to bits
no one will take away.
But your soul belonged to another place,
and harshly I had to accept
that you were not going to be here.
I look at my side
and there’s a hollow cavity in my bed.
This is your throne and it’s waiting for you.
Days, months or years will pass.
You might never come.
As of by now the wind occupies your place
and it’s hard to listen to it telling me
that I am alone
that all my hopes reside in the frontier between the pillow and my head.
Every night the wind talks to me
and I cry myself to sleep.
I buried a word, muted, deep
The sight of you silent in trauma, I
Kneeled, weeping, penitent, wilting
Peony, Lily, the chanting beauties
Passed by, left me on the frictionless plane
Paled by light,
Murmuring, my toil is only worth
But you – and only you
You clasped my heart by roots
Bloomed, gone and came, plundered my light
Why haven’t you punctured my brain
Why haven’t you consumed in vain
It was I who left, the tyrant, hardly alive
You shall hear my trembling voice, growing
Evading your sky
Where should I begin? I begin here.
When should I begin? I begin now.
How should I begin? I begin by starting.
Why should I begin?
I begin every moment because nothing more is meant to be more than a moment endlessly.
Being forever without intent and always knowing where the moment went. I am beginning… I am
Cali St. John
When will the Days Change?
Ever felt so weak and tired from days that have aged and aged
A dullness that sweeps and lies on a solid resting place
Drain me of my losing mind, of eloquence and manner
Of active searching through the dust and bones and clamber
Why can’t I escape? I don’t know if I want to
Don’t know if I’ll have nothing left to hold onto
Break me down for a long winter
When Autumn’s only just begun
Begging for relief I lie awake through days of faking, greying minds that leave nostalgic beauty behind
Counting the times I’ve fallen and spotting the dry and parching
Souls wearing a tidiness and loneliness that’s never quite confronted
I hear of a satisfaction and remedy so rare and rarely hunted
Bring back eloquence and bring back new life
I crave for a fulfilment that drives and drives and drives
Oh how I crave to be pretty
but what will I gain?
Is there really nothing more to life than looks?
Shallow thoughts injected into youth
The parents don’t realize it.
They are already brainwashed.
Helping screw over their kids
by wearing makeup and styling their hair.
But what for?