eeyore_grrl: (2016/17)

  	       i am from	
(the hudson, part I)	



i am from a city on the hudson 
  green
          trees envy me
  because i walk with the legs they dream of

this river is like sap in my veins
   rooting me
                  to this land
   touching me
                 with beauty
    chaining me
                 with invisible threads

my prayers go out to the river
dropping like child thrown pebbles
       and then forgotten
               as waves devour the ripples
                      of my concern

i envy the trees the simplicity
     of their capture
  they need the land until death calls
  there is no question
                               only dreams

i have the possibility of distancing myself
   the physical        foot     follows    foot    ability

but my roots dig far into this soil
clenching at bedrock
refusing to give me wings



	



		tidal.
	           (the hudson, part II)


the problem with poetry is that
				 sometimes
						the truth changes
there was a time i wrote about the hudson
				 and how it was the blood in my veins	
						how i couldn’t leave its banks
						how it held me there
						chained

it was truth
i ricocheted 
				away and back
ebbing and flowing like its tides

it           was           truth
 
but my truth has changed 
				i have aged and moved
						i am 3000 miles distant
and cannot go back

what was once life-sustaining
				feels more like poison
				tainting me still
				breaking down my shores and sanity
						breaking down myself

this is my truth
i haven’t lied
it’s just that 			the truth
						is tidal








		this is home
           	      (the hudson, part III)

my toes feel that they are made of ice
	crystalised, cold
they reach into unstable bedrock
		avoiding faults
		avoiding fault
this is a new home
	a new place to be and grow
my roots are shallow
		my toes clutch the riverbank 3000 miles away, still
	but here i have planted myself
 like a flag
here
	i have chosen to call home 
here
	i grow and
here 
	i have planted new seeds
			a new life

my son only knows of the hudson river through stories
					    through maps 
					    through pictures on the internet
he doesn’t know about tidal estuaries 
	and the indescribable beauty of my river on a late september day
		when the reds and oranges look like fire and life across the mountain side
	he doesn’t know 
		what it’s like to shovel driveways and slide on ice
	he doesn’t know the endless grey of winter
			when the sun is nothing but a figment
		or the joy of warming weather in the spring
			the first flowers green and delicate poking through the thawing ground

my childhood river is a fairytale
	a story told when i want him to learn something
	morality tales and dragons

		my past is only a storybook setting
		and silicon valley is so real
			where water comes in waves of drought
			rivers the size of creeks on a good day
				fade into fossils
					just memories of what was
		his home is here
	we are planting his roots deep
		finding nourishment and bedrock
		growing down past the moving plates of earth
		reaching for its molten core
	this is home
		the hudson only a shadow in my blood
		
this is home
	i sing of the ocean
			and water the trees



https://youtu.be/4vbirFS7hWo

--------
This poem is written as a triptych, a single poem built in three parts. In this case the poems can be used separately, but form a much fuller picture with all three taken together. In honesty I will tell you that the first two were written long ago (the first being over 12 years ago, when I still lived in New York). If, for the LiveJournal Idol game you feel that I should only be judged on *new* work, feel free to vote for (or not) the last poem. That is new and shiny. Also, it's hard to record a 5 minute poem!
eeyore_grrl: (2016/17)

		nevertheless, she persisted

she spoke the words of our predecessor 
	and she was told to be silent
		she was told to sit down
			she was told, implicitly, that her words do not matter

but his bid to silence her failed, explicitly
and, damn, her words matter 

she followed his rules
	she shut her mouth
	but only in his presence 
		and only for a short time
	she spoke the words she was told not to
	she stood outside his door and she spoke the words of her foremother
				and herself
	
Liz spoke the words of Coretta

it turns out that we’ve been warned 
					twice
about racism
about the nominee for attorney general
about how those two intersect in a venn diagram that looks like a single circle

and after she was silenced on the senate floor
       after she was told to hush now, little girl
	men spoke 
		reading from the same letter
		reading the same words that were used to silence her
	men spoke and were not warned of reprimand
	men spoke and did not have things “explained” to them

	men spoke after a woman was silenced

and i’m told we don’t need feminism anymore

i have one thing to say to that:

	no comment


eeyore_grrl: (2016/17)

where the calm is going to be


mind awhirl with thought
learning to meditate is rough
body awkward
	sitting still can be so hard
			     so uncomfortable
			     so looong

keep breathing
counting your breaths	
				deep and sure
				in and out
				calm and grounding

keep breathing
believe in calm like gretsky believes in hockey
skating to where the puck will be, not to where it is
	breathe to a place a calm that you want to be
		not to the place of chaos where life leads you

life is motion
	the pump of the heart
	the churning of the stomach
	the blood flowing through your veins
	the thoughts in your head
			vast and quick

in the maelstrom of your day to day 
	be the calm that you want to see
	be the calm 
		fortified by deep breaths
strengthened, at peace
		where you want to be
	racing thoughts slide off the ice
	i     am     calm
		    grounded
		    i     am     where     i     want     to     be








---
This topic was difficult for me write. It took far more thought-energy than I was expecting. Finally, I got something decent.
eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)
(It's a contestant only vote this week, but you can read the other entries at http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/958277.html )
            brushback pitch


we should be better than this
i should be better than this
but tonight i don’t believe


should i put it in baseball terms?
	is that all-american enough?


right now the bases are loaded at the bottom of the 9th
with two strikes
the score is 5-4


i stand, bat up
	i stand, batter up
the throw is wild
	but controlled
	a brushback pitch, i’m told
		so close i can smell the leather
		so close my skin bears the marks of its stitching
	i jump
		trying for bodily safety


THREE STRIKES YOU’RE OUT
	
it’s as easy as that 
	i flinched 	
			game over


eeyore_grrl: (carey purple streaks)

                 life used to be hard
	 	                 (for maria and tina)




life used to be hard


i mean, in a way that breathing was difficult
	   opening my eyes every morning spelled failure
               and placing footstep after footstep was momentous


i mean, in a way that every bridge with a low fence struck me as a blessing
            the trees beckoned to me while i drove
            and razorblades wrote their poetry on my skin


i used to know life only through pain and struggle
	i thought that they were one and the same
	i thought that life was only numbness and tears


life used to be hard
	i knew laughter and smiles
but there were so many more messages of fighting
i saw blood and weapons on the street
drugs and violence in the places we lived


i became the daughter that learned of books and silence
my brother learned about adrenaline and jumped off mountains
we grew from rocky ground evolving into different species


i thought that i needed the struggle to feel alive
	that it was the only way 
	that
	       there was only pain


but now i breathe deeply in california
	kiss my husband every day
	and i can feel my son’s heartbeat when i look at him


i wash the sleepies from my eyes every morning
	glad that i have woken yet again
	that i am alive to see a new day


most mornings i walk my son to school
	foot follows foot for a mile
	we talk about our lives and about what we are learning 


i relish the fact that life itself is no longer a struggle
i mean, i view bridges as paths 
      	 trees are now friends offering oxygen and beauty
	 and razorblades are nothing more than tools and memories


i want you to know that i am not alone
	that you are not alone in this world that feeds you struggle after struggle
	keep hanging on
	
i mean, i mean that i want you to live
	because you are worth the struggle
	and i’m not done learning from your songs

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