4:12 pm
There.
I stole the show
Can somebody drive me home?
Eight: Strings
Strings
Eight
After Max Richter’s “On the Nature of Daylight”
A Tanka
The sweetness of strings,
Whispering truth to starlight
is what love sounds like.
We are a bough’s smudged smolder.
We are the product of song.
No love in war land
No Love In War Land!
Ever seen your lover
Pushed to the ground
By the vomit of a merciless bazooka
With an heart- piercing sound
The hair of the man
Which you caressed so tenderly
Is all bloody
For he’s been shot!
His crystal eyes
That stared at nothing but you
Now stare tirelessly
At the butts of the flies
And his lips
…those pink…rosy…juicy lips
All blackish and stained with blood. By
Never love in war land!
I was a Victim too
Heed my words beforehand
Don’t say you had no clue!
Women are gorgeous
And men are handsome as they be
But once the grenade kicks off
Please forget your lover and flee!
Hour 8 – Hello From Earth
Hello from Earth.
Are you out there somewhere on one of those twinkling stars?
Are you looking out into the vastness of space back at my star?
Hello from Earth.
Do you know I am here looking up at you?
Do you have advancements that we have yet to make?
Hello from Earth.
Do you wonder who else is out there on all those other planets?
Or are you content within your own place?
Hello from Earth.
Are you trying to build rockets and spaceships to try and reach us?
Or is that something you have yet to dream of?
Hello from Earth.
I hope to meet you one day and that we can become friends.
Until then I will wait and look up and imagine you waiting and looking up at me.
– Diana Kristine
In This Garden
Poem #7 In This Garden
The sky is a witness and accomplice to daytime,
Daytime a brightness the night lacked.
Lack is a thing among others your loving ,a midnight thief, took away.
Away with all the noises and stresses of life we are in this garden,
Garden filled with the green of our soulful hearty intentions towards ourselves.
Hour 8 – The Midnight Sky
The possibilities are endless
as I look out at the specks
of light
stars
light years away
but clear as the day
of night…
this is why my dreams
are possible
Hour Eight
Yikes! My soul is stretched among the stars
pulled tight to encase galaxies
dancing naked with cosmic juice.
Energy pulses through me
and inhabits me as tears
leap from my cheeks
flying off to become stars that soar
through the mystery darkness of existence.
My soul tightens as emotions unknown pull and strain
at the false reality of this primitive world
where hatred lives and fear soars,
seeking the unimaginable joy of the cosmic wind.
hour 6
after franny choi
the world keeps ending, and the world goes on
the same could be said for the days
the months, the years, the decades
all neverending ending things
it used to be hard to get out of bed on weekday mornings
the world keeps ending, and the world goes on
now i struggle to get out of bed on weekends too
even ones where i have my mom’s borrowed car
where autonomy of that sort is more within my reach
the city seems too big to even see
perception sometimes too much a cost to pay
seasons too
cyclical endings
the world keeps ending, and the world goes on
on & on & on & on
tipping back and forth
between axis and moonlight, sunlight and smaller stars
were worlds ever meant to last
certainly not this one, not at this rate
not in this way
the world keeps ending, and the world goes on