Hour 17 – Tarot
Tarot
Simple paper with intricate designs,
Though many find them mystical,
It seems to me, nonsensical,
cards of random chance can divine.
Kaleidoscope memories.
There’s a thin line
between who I am and what I am.
Am I the one you think of
when the rain washes down your window?
Am I the reason you stay up at night?
Am I what the poets call hurricane?
Am I the monster they scare children with?
Or the lullabies they fall asleep to?
What am I?
Am I the scars on my body?
Am I my tears?
Am I the person lingering
in my kaleidoscope memories?
In the glint
of the broken broken fragments of my mind.
Is it who I am or what I am?
Lucky
Found a rabbit’s foot.
Found a 4-leaf clover.
Found some change.
I did not break a bone.
I did not get robbed.
I am not homeless.
Kaleidoscope
Kaleidoscope.
Memories melt into colors and
Pour into this wound hungry for life.
To heal is to sew the mouth of a
Wide country [wound] and come to
Terms with living with the scar.
I let the blood parasite eat from
My core of energy, what’s worth
Giving life, is worth killing.
I open my mouth and I’m my wound,
I let the gap between me and my people
Determine how spacious our
Tales of survival can be.
A love song runs from the heart
Of a lost lover, we mix colors
Without ever knowing sight.
Hour 17, Poem 21
Take a peek
And you’ll see
Colours, shapes, patterns
Infinities
Just a little twist
And there it is
Change, beauty, dynamic
Infinities
A little to the left
Or to the right
Is enough to open more
Infinities
Take it away and back you will be
Taking a peek, twisting, left, right
Just to get another glimpse of them
Infinities.
Hour 17 – Push Through
Something in me
won’t let me give up
no matter how hard it gets
I gotta keep pushing
something in me
finds what I need
just when it seems
impossible
I gotta keep pushing
there is greatness
waiting
I can’t give up
I won’t give up
because there is
something in me
Kaleidoscope
Summer colors mixed with winter lights
swirling apexmesmerizing vortex of mirrors
held to the child’s eye
as he slowly turns it
so the colors fold themselves
in on unending varieties of patterns
of wonderment.
Hour Seventeen: The Pose
Start with your feet hip-width distance apart.
Begin to slow the breath, noticing your weight evenly distributed between both feet.
Find your drshti; balance is breath and focus, strength and faith.
One last slow breath…
Now shift your weight over to one leg, keeping the knee unlocked, accessing the quad.
Take a slow breath in and out.
Then place one foot atop the one bearing your weight now, gently, with little-to-no-weight, resting there.
Extend your arms out to a tee, one arm at a time.
Breathe.
Three more slow breaths.
Now slowly sweep your arms back behind you as you curve your spine forward over the bent knee.
Bow your head, redistribute your weight to the ball of your supporting foot.
Breathe.
Concentrate.
Think pink.
Fluff of feathers,
Channel your inner flamingo.
Hour 17 – Holding hope, a sestina
I have been holding onto the hope
That I’ll find answers in the moon
Or that I’ll be revealed as a fairy
Released from the expectations of a society that make me want to die
There is too much going on to be bored
But there is also too much going on for me to sleep
–
Sometimes while I am sleeping,
Their eyes blue bore into me again and I wake up with hope
In my heart, i wish that I was bored
I’d prefer that to wailing at the moon
About all the versions of me that have died
When someone stopped believing in fairies
–
I had a dream I met a fairy
And he begged me to help him get to sleep
He told me he could make it so I didn’t have to die
He expected me to take that, but I don’t have that hope
I can’t wait to rejoin the moon
I bet with all the night sky to keep her company, she’s never bored
–
I wonder if the sun gets bored
Maybe that’s why it invented fairies
The stars are always out to party with the moon
While the rest of the world sleeps
Neither of them should be lonely, that’s my only hope
I know how much isolation can make you want to die
–
I don’t have a desire to be young when I die
But when I am low, there are moments where i am so bored
Of being alive. The highs of this roller coaster give me hope
When I can go out to a party and drink beer with a fairy
But on the days I can’t sleep
I try to make stories out of the clouds over the moon
–
I think of certain people when I look at the moon
I don’t know if I can still call them friends, or if that label has died
There used to be nights we’d stay up ’til dawn talking, choosing that over sleep
Being loved by them felt so easy, it was impossible to be bored
My peter pan and my stubborn fairy
Now unanswered text messages, unmet hopes
–
I have been holding on to the hope that I won’t have to keep wailing at the moon
I dream I make friends of a fairy and the loneliness doesn’t make me want to die
But even in moments where I am so bored, I’d still choose living over endless sleep
Hour 17: Kaleidoscope
Kneel down and look
At a myriad of colors
Light and dark
Energetically twisting around each other
In perfect formations
Dancing, lifting the spirits
Of young and old alike
See them, and vow to live a
Colorful life
Of unexpected encounters, journeys, and surprises
Painful at times, but always leading to a sweet
End.