Kintsugi

There's a beauty in it

In being a survivor

I'm invincible

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum (Wikipedia).

It Shows

Wordless histories
There are novels in my scars
Origin stories

Disappearance

New beginnings mean much needed
Endings.
Close the book on those
Undeserving.
They don't get to know how
I'm doing,
My failures and least of all
My successes.

Pakistani mulberries growing in the streets of Jerusalem.

Pakistani mulberries growing in the streets of Jerusalem.

Small gifts of sweetness enriching each journey.

The abundance of life ripe, hanging, awaiting to be plucked.

Alice's Haikus

If you had asked me
ten years ago whether I
would be here today,

I would act aloof
and maybe indignant too,
and I'd say, "Never there;"

And yet here I stand,
tending a secret garden,
chasing Caroll's dreams.

----------------------------------------
Sorry it's been such slow output.  I went from putting 125% of my energy into school straight into the garden.  It just happens to be 1:23 and I'm buzzed and listening to Kanye West.  So, you can imagine the state I'm in.  But in any case, what I wanted to say in this note is that I'm watching my poetry/style/subject material transform (albeit slowly, but transformation non-the-less).  It's scary and thrilling and mundane all at the same time.
Maybe I'll consider going to sleep now...who knows?  I certainly don't.

The Nature Of These Things

This is for all the pretty girls I never forgot.
The ones I star in the dreams I concoct.
This is for all my firsts who brought me to constellations
The ones who crumbled my very foundations.
For all those times I cried and pined,
Unable to have what I had found divine.
I write this for my future conquests and endeavors,
The time we will have together, that I will inevitably sever.

Top 5 Poems

I reached 3,000 views yesterday.  I want to thank everyone for supporting me and reading this blog.  Some of you I know, but most of you I don't.  Thank you so much for visiting.

Here is the top 5 most visited poems on this blog as of yet.

Interred Haiku
Firestorm
Authoritarianism
The Karve
When She Comes

I Rarely Do This

But I wanted to show you one of the places I draw inspiration from.

Kai Davis is who I wish I could be.  And this particular video is what I have felt the last two days.

He thought he escaped my gaze.  I planted my sickle in his throat and uprooted his head.  King cobras always fall victim to charms.  

When She Comes

An insatiable quest to know
What's out there, where am I to go?
Ever elusive death will show,
On that day I'll follow in tow.
My unending fascination
One day drives me to salvation,
On another, meet starvation.
I see death as a vacation,
A reprieve from unending pain,
From struggle, and numerous bane.
Though I do not welcome the drain,
I have no fear of the profane.




Short poem I've been thinking about for a while.  Bit of wine lubricated the creative cogs. Like I've said before, I'm just another poet with a morbid curiosity about what comes after all of this.  I don't think death should be rushed.  When she comes, I'll fight like any other animal on this Earth...But after my fight I'll walk willingly, beside her, fearlessly, unlike so many others.  Does anyone else still think the Reaper is female?  I like the Viking's take on Valkyrie.

Oracle's Haiku

The crazy woman
Laughs in the face of danger.
I admire her.

The Karve

It's time to move like a soldier.
There's a second chance; I'm the beholder.
Now I unwrap and shed my chains,
Forget my pains and strive for new great plains.
Somehow, blessed with that second chance,
Determined to walk straight and true, to dance,
I know there's no hesitating,
No room to question, no speculating.
Quieting the doubtful voices,
I am defending my final choices.
I'm ready to walk through fire,
If it means I will reach something higher.

Firestorm

Wake up to the alarum of a phone.

My home, my city's burning down. 

A city built with hedonistic bones 

Never worries about ghost towns. 

But tonight God decided to restart 

And threw matches into dry shrubs. 

The neighborhood eerily fell apart  

As fire ravaged country clubs. 

Surprisingly egalitarian, 

The rich and the poor fled for life. 

New converts, new humanitarians,

Shed their belongings and their strife.  

We survived and slipped into our old ways.

Let it burn again!  Rid us of malaise.

Modified sonnet.  Firestorm '03, '07, ...

Letters to an Ex-Lover Anthology: Unaccompanied

Last night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The fan sent me sailing in the breeze,
And then the music sent me reeling.
It was the soundtrack you gave me, love's reprise.
Suddenly I couldn't breathe, again I was vulnerable,
A feeling and state I deeply despise.
So I decided that it finally ends tonight.
I promised I'd kill you next time I saw you,
With the weapon kindness, rather than a fight.
Forgiveness wasn't enough, maybe this will be.
So here I lie, with the breeze on my face,
And I'm forgetting all the things you did to me.



How my poetry often starts out (as disjointed, ugly, stupid-sounding notes):
"I was listening to that cd he gave me when we first met."  "Used to be soundtrack of our love."  "I feel vulnerable again and I can't breathe."  "So tonight I'm going to lie down and forget all the things he did to me."  "Kill them all with kindness."

Fiona Apple has been inspiring me.  "Remember when I was so sick and you didn't believe me?  Then you got sick too, and guess who took care of you.  You hated that didn't you?  Didn't you?" from her song Regret.

Sometimes, I feel like I use rhymes as a crutch, because they're so easy to work with.  But there's a romantic element that plays into this.  I want to transform the simple rhyme into something complex and beautiful.  Maybe one day I'll be satisfied that I've accomplished that, but not yet.  Never yet.  Rhymes do so delight me.  I suppose Shel Silverstein was more whimsical with his, but I like to think that maybe we shared a similar fascination.

Also, it's been a very long time since I added to this anthology.  I know it's just personal, but this anthology holds some of my favorite pieces I've ever written.  The first title for this poem was Otolaryngological Fatalities. But it doesn't start with U like the theme of the anthology.  So I changed it, for now...

One last thing, is this the end of the anthology??

Conquistadora

It seems my ship's run aground.
Time to explore the land I found.
Let's disembark and set up camp.
Hurry up, boy!  Set up the ramp!
I'll forge a path with my machete.
My name will eclipse Dante Rossetti.
We'll capture savages and steal gold.
My crew will tell you, it never gets old.
I am the blood of the conquistadora.
Whatever I want, I'll do it ahora.
I know no bounds and wear no chains.
I'll clear it all, until nothing remains.
I've always known I was meant to lead.
Enemies beware,  I'll make you bleed.




Modified English sonnet for the suckers.
Also I'm pissed as soldier ant right now.  I'm ready to prove anyone wrong about anything.  Yes, it's one of those nights.

Gettysburg Bullets

Gettysburg Bullets

An Ode to Lincoln

11/7/06

Battlefields are humbling.

Here stands a humbled man.

He's tall and quiet; he's orderly.

Don’t deny it, ‘cause he's ahead.

How much power? I do not know,

But he'll change us all forever.

He never knew what he’d do.

Death was much too clever.

But for now he stands upon this ground

Where many men have died.

He suddenly bursts out in speech,

A hush falls on the crowd.

“Not one,” he says, “will remember me,

Nor what we’ve ever done.

Nor will words be remembered,

From this speech that has begun.”

How wrong he was when he spoke,

Too wrong to comprehend.

Later, they say, he sat down

To watch the curtain descend–

A young man, just 26,

determined and misread.

–This young man crept behind

And put a bullet in his head.

It wasn’t long before our

Dearest president was dead…

Wrote this when I was 16.  Guess what we were discussing in American History.

Dumbledore Works For UC Davis

So I dreamt it was September, and I, instead of UCSD, had returned to UCD.  I was in a dorm with all really nice girls this time (thankfully), and there were some dudes next door who were pretty cool.  I felt like maybe, just maybe, this could work this time.  

Then, it sort of turned into Rawhide Ranch where there were kids of all ages around and camp activities.  We had to form groups (that didn't include the majority of our dorms).  Me and my roommate found a couple other girls and this 6 year old girl who was adorable.  Then, we were all gathered for some announcements, and I was carrying the little girl and got in big trouble for it.  I did it again, because I forgot and got taken to the dean's office.  

He was a real dick and made me insane, and I started screaming about how I knew "how to get out of here" and "I could be in San Diego, even if I had to bike there, I could fucking do it," and he couldnt stop me.  I started screaming at him some more like a crazy person saying things like "you assholes don't have a counseling center,"  "no one is a real friend here," "I don't need you!  Other schools will have me," "you people suck balls," "you're going to do this over me carrying a kid?  You're crazy," and so on.  

So, he locked me in his office.  I took the opportunity to hide behind his couch under two blankets.  This was the beginning of my brilliant escape plan.  He came in, couldn't find me, and I bum rushed him and left.  So, he sent out an arrest warrant.  I removed the pane of glass so I could leave easily later.

Finally, Dumbledore gets back and throws me a miniature goodbye party with its own miniature unicorn that I got to ride.  We ate cake, and I left.  Dumbledore set up a rendezvous for me.  

Suddenly there was an unexpected knock on the door.  I hid, and Dumbledore magicked away the party, but it was only Lupin.  After he left, I jumped out the window, crawled along the outside of the building and jumped onto a flowering hill.  I ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran until I found the 3 red cloaked figures waiting for me.  They took me away from UCD.  

From then on, I was on the streets trying to get back to San Diego without a bike, or money for that matter.  I found a white sheep dog, and he hung out with me.  We found this really dirty dock with dead snakes in it and live snakes all along the shore.  It was pretty creepy.  I found one snake that was black and white and like 30 feet long so I called over this snake dude.  He caught it but as he lifted it, the middle of the snake wrapped around my neck.  At first I panicked, and he shouted "fucking snake!  dammit," but then I relaxed, because I knew this dude was a snake handler and could unwrap the snake (which wasn't even squeezing that hard).  And he did and I was free.  I left the snake dock and woke up.

October 9, 2010

Kodi's Epic

Kodi's Epic

May 17, 2004

Listen, my children, and you shall hear

Of the midday chase of a speckled deer.

Twas Kodi, the dog, who ran for this fawn,

But ran into obstacles, just after dawn.

There was this malamute of fluff and hair,

Who hung with coyotes and made a dare:

If he could catch a deer in an hour,

He’d get to keep it, they wouldn’t be sour.

Kodi sat and waited for a stag.

He waited and waited while the 'yotes played tag.

Then, that fateful morning, came the delicious breakfast club,

And Kodi knew he’d brag in every coyote pub.

So, he ran like the wind for a small young one.

For distance was nothing, as if shot from a gun;
Ran so fast he was naught but a blur.

All that was left in his wake was small bits of loose fur.

He ran so fast, he gouged the earth.
He jumped aiming for the fawn’s girth.

He spooked the deer, but…Too late!

What a terrible fate!

Kodi had been running so fast that he missed!

All the coyotes laughed and hissed!
He jumped too far!

He began to howl at a star.

So, all the coyotes growled at the moon,

Drew in their breath to sob at that white balloon.
Kodi closed his ice blue eyes and threw back his head.

--Whence came the custom for canines to cry when we’re in bed.

I wrote this for English class in 8th grade.  We had to make a narrative so I wrote one about my dog, Kodi.