the river

when we moved to Africa

we couldn’t eat no dinner

wandering and wandering

and bathing in the river

when we moved to Budapest

we couldn’t get no thinner

wandering and wandering

and fishing in the river

when we moved to Lebanon

we were seen as sinners

wandering and wandering

and drowning in the river

sleeping like bats

feasting on rats

prowling like cats

and drowning in the river

sometimes

sometimes i feel like i'll never stop crying
tears of joy and tears of sorrow
tears at someone else's pain
tears at reunions not my own
tears at the mournful cry of goodbye
in such salty lakes i wade
unknown tears for unknown families
fighting back tears because
sometimes i feel like i'll never stop crying

parchment

an overripe peach
is sitting on the pavement
poaching in the sun

a dark and terrible bird is perched
on the wires above

and i am perfectly arranged on the porch
in an olive dress and matching shoes

perchance today someone will
move me out of the sun
or bring me down from my wire
or look my way

until then the passerby excuse themselves
with a touch
or a glance
or a taste

full moon

full moon
full heart
empty bed
that's a start.

the thing desired
once it comes
is a tree of life.

the things you are to me
root me in earthen soil
and clay
and desire

your branches reach toward the ceiling
of the sky
and the roof
of my mouth

your roots twist around my ankles
and pull and squeeze and beg me
and let me know
you are still there.

even if your
leaves are scattered
and fallen

and I have burned some

and someone else collects them
to adorn her hair

the tale of the nine fish

there were nine beautiful fish
well, eight, really
one was ugly
so there were eight beautiful fish,
and one that was ugly
and all the other fish hated it, because it was ugly
and they were beautiful
but then, one day,
everything changed
the ugly fish died and the eight beautiful fish were free at last

the end

vacancies

there’s a tiny place
in between the space that is mine
and the place that was his
that can be yours

but it’s growing

the trouble with prosthetic devices

i left my coat at your house
and my leg at his house
and i couldn’t help but laugh
when you crossed each other in the street
and he recognized my coat
and you thought
that leg looks familiar
 

the island

an entire island of lies
carefully fabricated by a desperate architect

who

rather than drown in a sea of memories
would rather rot on an island of lies

the moonrise

my judgment is entirely clouded by the moon
that dawned when our eyes met
and is setting on the perfect horizon
of your lips

this is the whole poem

i want to write poetry that will make you

He Loves Me

Once we were young
You came into the store and asked me where the milk was
I hoped you didn’t hear or see
The quaking in my heart
The shaking in my hands
I thought I loved you

Time passed
I didn’t work at the store anymore
You asked me another question
(I said yes)
It was warm outside, but there was
A quaking in your kiss
A shaking in your touch
I knew I loved you

Years have passed
Now we are old
As you walk to warm the milk for me
I notice
A quaking in your step
A shaking in your voice
I still love you

He Loves Me Not

Didn’t I swim down by the river
With joyous abandon and your hand in mine?

Didn’t you kiss me on the side of the road
With my arms full of apples and your soul bound with mine?

Didn’t we vow on the train at the station
“This is just for a little while, you’ll always be mine”?

Why are you so far from me?
Why are you apart from me?

You’ve left me with a heart that is no longer mine.

I've Always Found This Car Wash Breathtakingly Beautiful

New Wine Into Old Wineskins

You're stomping on the grapes of my heart.

Growing Up

If my calculations are correct, I was 14 when I started this blog. That makes me 21 today, for you mathletes out there. That makes me feel a little bit better about some of the laughable things that I've skimmed from my past. I wish I had written more? But at the same time, it's probably better to leave things as they are. Maybe I should have written less! I've deleted legions of my written material off the internet and my computer before. It's all too embarrassing, too incriminating, too darn silly. But something draws me back here. Maybe I just want to see my 10 year anniversary with this little hole of cyberspace - my little hole of cyberspace. And how can I forget? I love writing. Do you hear that, Chelsea?
I LOVE WRITING!
YOU LOVE WRITING.
Don't forget.


I've busted out my Essay Writing Chair, the one I steal from my sister when I absolutely must get to business. It's that time, folks. I absolutely must get to business.

Oi Lienda
Bella che fa?
Bonita, bonita que tal?
But belle
Je ne comprends
pas français
So you'll have to
speak to me
Some other way

Hidden Treasure

A 'found' poem using cut up pieces of The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo.

Aftermath

There is snow upon the trees
Bloody branches in the night
And fallen warriors on their knees

Death spread through them like disease
Comrades met with sudden plight
There is snow upon the trees

With rasping breath their lives did cease
Nothing here but waning light
And fallen warriors on their knees

Returning home filled with unease
Remembering that awful sight
There is snow upon the trees

You hear their voices in the breeze
You see their faces filled with fright
And fallen warriors on their knees

Memories of their desperate pleas
There will be no sleep tonight
There is snow upon the trees
And fallen warriors on their knees

Sonnet

Come flower maid, reside under my shade
You need a quiet place to meet your lad
A hunger for his lips that will not fade
To be your place of meeting, I am glad

Under my canopy you can act coy
The lad is charming, true, make no mistake
I’ll never breathe a word about this boy
Glowing with the secrets you soon shall make

Your fingers around his now tightly curl
The sultry air stirs more than leaves and dew
Budding passions now threaten to unfurl
The thirst that parts your lips is fresh and new

Twist my branches ‘round your pretty waist
And bend into the river for a taste

the difference between me and you

new york
i see filth
fragility
waste and
wickedness
i like the subways though

new york
you see riches
glittering in the city lights
youth
glimmering in the night
alluring saffron scented opportunities

san diego
i see salty skin and sandy hair
a tangle of bodies and boards
sparkling in the ocean
suntanned skin and matted hair
a tangle of live wires
sparking in the sun

san diego
you see today’s weather forecast
as a cloud mass of predictability
scattered showers
with a slight chance of suffocation

this is a stalemate with no way out, mate
well, maybe one way out --

australia
the promised land?

australia
the promised land?

memories

buried under the ashes
charred
unable to get up
they are begging me to stay

i want to stay among the coals
they whisper to me
they tickle the ears

i want to sleep upon the cinders
this is where my life is

one smoky asp murmurs in my ear
come to me
i will refresh you
i will eat you alive

i raise a fragile limb through the ashes
i am no phoenix

a strong hand grabs me
i gasp for breath
my bones glow
the ashes stir

pulled from the wreckage
a warm wind blows
i can see stars

the ashes stir
a strong hand rests on my shoulder

it’s time to go

i grasp a handful of ashes
i let them go
a strong hand takes mine

there will be new memories
i can see stars

kiss

my breath hastens when you kiss me
my eyes shut when you kiss me
and i shut them tight
my hands shake when you kiss me
my lips tingle when you kiss me

my skin crawls when you kiss me
because there is suspicion
crawling all over me

cat

you eat the same thing every day
and you comfort me
(the same thing every day)

it's because i feed you
you do it, don't you

it's because you comfort me
i do it, right

maybe i do it because
you sit on my lap
when i have no lap to sit upon

or perhaps it is because
you are warm
and i can be

a cold woman

Revival!

I've got to be honest. Even though I've taken a...four year hiatus, I am more than a little thrilled to find this little beast floating around on the internet. Oh, how I've neglected you. I'm still smitten. Just...with different things.

Congratulations to me, for reaching and surpassing my 2nd anniversary with...myself. I can't believe I started this sporadic chronicle of my adventures over two years ago.

In celebration, I plan to take myself out to a fine supper complete with supple cheeses and delicate wines that dance upon my palate like an inebriated wood nymph.
I will adorn myself in silk, velvet and other luxurious fabrics and gorgeous dresses flown in from the fashion houses of Paris.
Actually that last part is what P. Diddy put on his birthday party invitations as the dress code. I, personally, would like see Daddy Puff cloaked in a gorgeous dress flown in from the fashion houses of Paris. But maybe I'm just bitter because I didn't vote, and P. Diddy didn't kill me.

Let's not complain about trivial things.
When people complain, let's respond with one of these:

a) Well, I'm sorry. This is the way we do things on planet Earth.
b) I'm going to punch you in the ovaries.
c) BALLOON PARADE!!
Anything of these will silence, frighten, or otherwise shut up the offending party.

I've moved my moniter to my nightstand and my keyboard to my bed. My cordless mouse rubs up and down my thigh, shooting wireless toxic rays into my leg. This is the life.

And just in case you forgot:
The lion of love trembled before the python of forgetfulness.

I love you.

LET'S TALK ABOUT SLEEPING ON THE FLOOR.
On a grassy knoll.
In La Jolla.
It probably wasn't a knoll, but that sounds good, doesn't it?
You must read it very rhythmically, outloud.
For that is how it was composed.

BUT FIRST, LOOK AT MY CAT.



crash into the grass
skin your skin on the skin
of mother earth
crash into the grass, crash on the grass
let the women with their
blue hair
wheelchairs
wooly blankets
brittle fingers
let them stare
let them stare at us sleep, sleep,
let them sleep
then them stare at
the grass, at the sleepers,
at the sleeping people and papers
while we slumber
awakened by the
wild whomping wumpus
of a wheezing
weed whacker
I shift down against my comfortable companion,
comforted by this warm human
electric blanket
my circuits are peaceful