Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.
Jan 30, 2009
⭐ View statistics (Premium feature)
Two poems of January 30, 2009
1. dried rice
i cut my finger on dried rice
this morning, scraping it from
the bottom of a pot
i left overnight, sticking
to the cold,
raw
it wears through
the skin and emaciates the bones
of survival,
no,
it wasn't deep enough to bleed
and sometimes
i lose myself in
the formation of icicles, like
see-through wedding bands stacked
one on top of the other,
and the last drop
holds on
so elegantly in ths sun
but this poem is not about small surface
breaks in skin or ice formations,
i think this poem is about hope
it's about mountains that reach
the sky and lonely beds
of water,
smooth stones.
2. two mountains
i walked across a chasm
suspended between two mountains
one i lived with hesitation
and fear, with loneliness
and anger, with all the voices
i thought were mine
ringing in my head,
louder and louder,
i learned to silence
the tongues of my cursed blood
relations, coursing
through the memories
that break through all that
is and begging inside
my bowl of emptiness,
sometimes
it was the laughter of my peculiarity
and sentimentality that formed the
rope, taut and strong, between
my two mountains, wolves of
persuasion, howling through the
canyons, deep cuts like caves
and lairs, a river winding,
spilling a waterfall of silver light
and snow melting
eons of time
the other mountain is the life i had
not lived, will never live, for i have
learned i can not be two,
i can not be one,
i am the dream, forever walking
the tightrope, the thin red line
between life and death
and the wind,
the wind will carry me along
hastening me with angel's wings,
stopping me
just before i reach the other side.
The first poem is inspired by Ann Harvey from a conversation we had about stones; the second is this video posted to a yahoogroup I belong to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?hl=en&v=90xfWYnz9KM&gl=US It never ceases to amaze me how everything in my life is a poem to be born.
The only thing missing is a someone to share it with... It's most likely going to be a poem I'll be writing sometime in the
fecund ground of today.
i cut my finger on dried rice
this morning, scraping it from
the bottom of a pot
i left overnight, sticking
to the cold,
raw
it wears through
the skin and emaciates the bones
of survival,
no,
it wasn't deep enough to bleed
and sometimes
i lose myself in
the formation of icicles, like
see-through wedding bands stacked
one on top of the other,
and the last drop
holds on
so elegantly in ths sun
but this poem is not about small surface
breaks in skin or ice formations,
i think this poem is about hope
it's about mountains that reach
the sky and lonely beds
of water,
smooth stones.
2. two mountains
i walked across a chasm
suspended between two mountains
one i lived with hesitation
and fear, with loneliness
and anger, with all the voices
i thought were mine
ringing in my head,
louder and louder,
i learned to silence
the tongues of my cursed blood
relations, coursing
through the memories
that break through all that
is and begging inside
my bowl of emptiness,
sometimes
it was the laughter of my peculiarity
and sentimentality that formed the
rope, taut and strong, between
my two mountains, wolves of
persuasion, howling through the
canyons, deep cuts like caves
and lairs, a river winding,
spilling a waterfall of silver light
and snow melting
eons of time
the other mountain is the life i had
not lived, will never live, for i have
learned i can not be two,
i can not be one,
i am the dream, forever walking
the tightrope, the thin red line
between life and death
and the wind,
the wind will carry me along
hastening me with angel's wings,
stopping me
just before i reach the other side.
The first poem is inspired by Ann Harvey from a conversation we had about stones; the second is this video posted to a yahoogroup I belong to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?hl=en&v=90xfWYnz9KM&gl=US It never ceases to amaze me how everything in my life is a poem to be born.
The only thing missing is a someone to share it with... It's most likely going to be a poem I'll be writing sometime in the
fecund ground of today.
— Kailashana, Jan 30, 2009
Share this poem
Critiques
RSScheerer
17 years 4 months ago
Hi, Anna
Kailashana
17 years 4 months ago
Wat? Rhonda? Were where