Tuesday, February 24, 2009
o youth
this picture is hatsune chan who has been on my mind recently. i miss this little lady. we used to sing and play together, and i was "Barker teacher" at English class. how can you not be charmed by that wink and smile?
today, i played soccer on the sunny, soggy grass with a handful of law students and a flock of fifth-graders. i was so happy after that little bit of exertion, my heart sang a hymn to youth. how subtle those experiences are when we get to interact with children and experience their innocence once again... and feel free of care... and to think - i was once a child too... so why do we see them as a whole different subset of the population now? what changes occur that make us cease to "make-believe" and instead begin to doubt? i think i've forgotten too much what it was like to be a kid. do they know they bring joy and vibrance with them?
Monday, February 23, 2009
petit allegro
two tall queens
one blazing, one ice
standing on my instincts
of bricks, black and white
rosy cheeks, coy smile
magenta drapes
white chords
warm gaze, cool response
wink in the blur
against the pulse
i'll borrow that genius
borrow the burden too
'cause it was just two days
fearing not seeing you
one blazing, one ice
standing on my instincts
of bricks, black and white
rosy cheeks, coy smile
magenta drapes
white chords
warm gaze, cool response
wink in the blur
against the pulse
i'll borrow that genius
borrow the burden too
'cause it was just two days
fearing not seeing you
Friday, February 20, 2009
words part IV
i'm not really an artist.
you made me realize things about myself
as we talked across plastic glasses of life.
i'm not really a poet.
i come, directions not included,
stumbling across my words.
i don't know. maybe it's not what i'm not.
maybe it's what i am.
and our lines crossed
like the kites in those lyrics that i like.
and i'm not sure which is stronger for you,
the wind or the pull.
i'm hovering over right v. wrong and
someone ate tonight's directions and left
a styrofoam leftover in my lap.
you made me realize things about myself
as we talked across plastic glasses of life.
i'm not really a poet.
i come, directions not included,
stumbling across my words.
i don't know. maybe it's not what i'm not.
maybe it's what i am.
and our lines crossed
like the kites in those lyrics that i like.
and i'm not sure which is stronger for you,
the wind or the pull.
i'm hovering over right v. wrong and
someone ate tonight's directions and left
a styrofoam leftover in my lap.
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