I don't attain enlightenment. I do enlightenment .

I haven't posted anything I've written in a while, because nothing I've written in a while has been any good.

Here are a couple lyrics I've written in the past week or so. The second one definitely needs some cliches and meter problems worked out of it, but I'm posting them because both lay out some concepts that I've struggled to put into words before.

Part of the reason is just that I'm always all mixed-up and indecisive like I am, but also part of it is that these are things I don't really want to say, or sometimes even think. The last poem I published (Gumbo Ya-Ya) was like that, and I know I spoke to a few people about why it bothered me to share the poem.

But at the same time, I guess, it's just poetry. And it doesn't have to mean as much to the reader as it does to the writer, and I'm okay with that.

So, ignore the second one if you like, because as I said, that's a major work in progress, but if you wanna read through these, I'd really appreciate your honest reaction. The first relates more to myself, and the second relates more to the people I share experiences with.

And if you must try to decipher their real meanings, at least realize that I'm using a lot of metaphors and symbolism that you'll probably overlook.

Thanks,
Christine

PS- I still wouldn't mind finding someone who could put some of this stuff to music. I mean, it's not a major goal of mine, but if you're interested in songwriting at all, maybe we can talk.

----
Mu-chu-setsu-mu
(Preaching a dream within a dream)

I didn't get my sleep last night
for the sake of the man who
tells me what I can't do.
I'm wide awake, but dreaming
that the crazy shit I've been through
will somehow help me get to
a place I've never heard of
where the walls have crumbled down
and there are flowers in their place
and I can see for miles and miles
that I've got a clean slate.

I didn't get much sleep last night
for the sake of a child
who couldn't help but cry
when the daylight fell away.
But I'm too tired to hold the thing
and I don't think she'd like me anyway.

Oh I've so lost control
But I just
I just don't let go
And I know what I should try
But I didn't get my sleep last night

I haven't had a drink tonight
but I'm honestly not sober:
drunk on thinking it all over.
I'm wide awake but dreaming
that the crazy shit I live through
is blocking what I should do.

Like I'd wash my hands
in a place I've never heard of
a place I'll never make
because I'm wide awake but dreaming
that I've got a clean slate
in a place I've never heard of
where birdsong drowns the clink of shattered fates
and I can see for miles and miles
that I'm

Well, I'm really not awake.

--

Doing Zazen with a Hangover

All my friends in rehab have the same face
Some of them keep talking like my mom
I always had my name spelled out in lower case
So I could keep them from saying it wrong

Well there's a light in their faces
So their blood must be warm
and I see bones in their fingers
so their grip must be strong
Even if somebody told be
They'd been blitzed all along
I think they'll turn out right
in the long run

All my friends in rehab walk the same pace
Like a schoolboy doesn't wanna leave his mom
Keeping their candy hidden in a painted vase
They're sleeping with their socks left on

Well my teacher had to tell me
how she let the garden die
when she found out that the flowers
had their petals up too high
and now she thinks she's got the lens
from the right dharma eye
because she started seeing
a new guy

All my friends in rehab got my number
one of them might call me next week
but my ringtone always sounds to me like thunder
God I choke, when I want to speak

So I guess I'll never tell you I admire you
Though I know you've got the potential to be a drag
I think I'll even keep this rattling bottle for you
while all our friends from rehab pack their bags

melting moment

down the nail-gnawed thread-bare staircase to the street.
where am i going which way do i turn?
to the end of the road,
to the lime streaked light smeared sun stained sky.
to the white steamy clouds that clump and curl space.

i lean into green quilted cushions
and let you draw me out like a thorn,
leeching all my bodies bad chemistry through your tounge.
the silence pouring in the open window
is composed into notes,
our fingers are soundless instruments
our eyes hum hymns of gibberish.
night coils up the slack behind the day going down,
so soon we are under the moon just like everything else.

removing our shoes we are icecubes at the melting moment
and soaking in the course tweed sheets
i open your mouth with mine.

Verse 33

I have met those
who picked up a bottle of beer
and decided to never put it down
and some folks who have
taken that eternal date
with the white lady

I got some friends
who took that trip to Jupiter
they say they wouldn't trade
the view for the world
and there are some good men
who can only relax with
hot tears rolling down their cheeks

And in my travels I've met
people with really odd names:
Citizen, Son, Daughter, Employee, Sergeant, Doctor
and some people who wouldn't dare
to breathe without asking Jesus first

And when I keep that secret to myself
I feel awful, I really do
I've actually been to the center of the universe
That's where I found you

An Arachnescent Star

I fell in love with the basement spider
Watching her spin her doilie web
Tip-tipping her little legs on the wall
I wished she'd wrap them around me instead
And I'd lay on the sheets with my head propped back
My eyelashes parted, and my hair all a mess
The air between us was thick with desire
She crawled to the edge of my bedrest
"Pretty thing," I said, "You don't have to come close
The poor girl would just die if we took it too far
Vixen fangs and long gentle legs
The moon lit her up like an arachnescent star

Now I won't try to say that I've never killed
A spider is a spider is a talented pest
But where is the threat in my Lovely's small fangs?
Where are the blades in her spinerettes?
A widow may poison, if only for spite
Recluses and Hobos are aggressive and threaten
But my little darling hardly has a bite
And with time she could weave us a heaven
Of gentle little threads that break and warp
At my touch, but keep my dear Beauty alive
Oh, I could never have her for my own,
But she's trapped me like a housefly

And gently tapping buggy feet
Will soon lure me to pleasant sleep
So she can spin my dreams into
Beautiful white dreams of passion
And when the morning sun is red
She'll weave me love songs by the bed
And if our love is good and true
What a beautiful web we'll fashion

But Darling, small, and brave and true
If I should tell the world of you
They'll think me mad, and in a fright
Might smash you at the very sight
And could I blame their instinct's fear?
Although you're gentle small and dear
It's human nature, truth of life
To live in fear and kill in hype

Verse 32

You remind me of
the freshman girl
from Dazed and Confused
with your big blue eyes
hanging like moons that
only illuminate peace lillies
and truth roses
and when they shine on me
I'm no longer that kid
throwing his long stringy hair
behind his ears, and
getting his ass kicked
by seniors,
but a lake, reflecting your peace
for anyone looking for some quiet

Delicate

Mister Melmoth has a past
and though I love him now
the rose in his lapel was once a seed.
And soon the flower withers dead
as Mister Melmoth too
but a moment of this grace is all I need.

He tells me that my hands
are much too delicate to long
to climb the iron fence around his heart,
but also says that I
should want a nicer cheek to kiss.
All while his face hangs like a piece of art.

But these are the only lies his little mouth could ever tell
And if secrets are for keeping, I will let him keep them all
Because no matter how it grew, whether by saints or fiends of hell
I love that little heart he holds behind his steely wall
And I love his weathered mind, just like that rose in his lapel
Whether still thorned or with its petals poised to fall

But Mister Melmoth has a past
And though I love him now
His heart has beat in places I shall never know
And he tells me that my mind
is much too delicate to long
to know of where his past selves used to go.

But he also says that I should want a nicer cheek to kiss
and if secrets are for keeping, I will let him keep them all
Mister Melmoth has a past, and though he thinks I'll die of this
I'm sure we neither see the edge from where I'll fall

Love Poem 27 & 28

27
You are one of the this world's simple pleasures
like the Beatles on a Tuesday morning

28
I was amazed but not surprised
when the sliver of sun
escaping through the clouds
shone down only on the spot
where we lay
and it enveloped us
in it's halo like form
like God was putting
gold stars by our names
to reward us for our
perfect moment together

And when the snow poured from the sky
It covered you like frosting
but you still stood out
against the vast white canvas
the closest thing to an angel
that has ever kissed me,
A classic Grecian statue
with her porcelain legs
hiding under slender leggings,
spread her wool wings
to reach my hands
and she locked my fingers in hers
pulling me into her divine imprint
in the snow,
gorgeous but lacking,
I embraced her, sharing
all the wisdom that
I had stumbled upon
and kissed the warmth
back into her numb red
nose and cheeks

Sometimes I let myself down

The only times I feek like a failure
Is when I have literature, busting out at the seams
of my brain
Yet, I'm too ME to let any of it out

Work In Progress

Yeah, this poem is still a work in progrss but I really wanted to get some feedback, so if you read it leave a comment and let me know what you think please?

After she had calmed fown
From finally being able to admit to someone
How cheated she felt when they used her
I admitted to her that I was a hack
Or I suspected I might be
Like a cynic who shrugs off Tao
as if it's an obnoxious mosquito
I had given up on changing the world
And had since been using my words
To try to convince girls I'm something
That they should be interested in

When I woke up I saw the sun wasn't coming out today
But everyone, sometimes, needs to lock the door
And stare past their wall, while letting all the excess
Seep out of their naked pores, and I do understand
But if the sun wasn't going to make the effort, neither was I
So I lay flat on my back, every now and then peeking over my sheets
To see if maybe your priorities had brought you to my side of the creek
But you are older and wiser, and working with what you are given
And I knew you were the only one who could help me through this
So I keep reaching out, only to get my hands chapped and dry
But I'm trying I guess, and I keep a few extra pens in my pocket
Just in case

aggregation

i.
i fell asleep choking
on waterfalls. a girl
gave me twelve good
reasons not to smoke.

so i swallowed two
butterflies and i
told her "true love
knows no bounds."

ii.
i am turning yellow
again now that rain
drops beat my window.
once i drowned near

nirvana and they
didn't find my
body for something
like lifetimes.

iii.
a young gentleman
asks if i am a
writer of haikus.
we both burst

into flames and i
notice how his lips
feel pressed against
my eyelashes.

iv.
each streetlight is
a work of art. every
gravel road writes
its own manifesto.

sometimes i wish i
could swallow this
place whole, just
so i never forget.

screaming-red leaves
fall to the ground like paper slips from anxious branches
and tall autumn trees
lean toward me in excited poses
like pictionary players in a fall-themed room

and that's when I notice that the sky is moving
and the clouds are playing charades with me
and it's three words
first word
sounds like heaven in a beautiful pigment of red-orange brown
where the grass is dying, but the winds are alive
and the cops are patrolling their teas

because it's far too chilly for larceny
and far too pretty for siren-lights

to distract us from the trees

mhmm, this is the time
the moment of grace I've been looking for
and you can burn these dying leaves
every tuesday if you like-
if you like destroying paintings
that only mother nature could brush
but that's just you
your silly way of hiding death from your
view
from your windowpane

let's turn on the music and take off our belts
because outside, it's a rave of aromas and hues
and the stars still glisten with the same silver sheen
but the moon is low
the wind is high
and the ground is firm for dancing on
while the autumn leaves crackle
and my senses are blown away
by this amazing november high

The stars are each millions of miles away
But we've got to reach more than the sky
Though the wise people say that the secrets to life
Are simplicity, strength, and acceptance
We know there's no chance to look at the moon
Without holding our heads up high
And I can't hold your hand if it's stretched to the clouds
So let's, both of us, strain to touch Heaven

under a tree of cherries.

Holding you on a september night
the sweet dead smell of everything unwinds.
heavy cherries drip from their branches
breathing branches bow under the sky
The sky bends over everything like a holy dome.
and then all the space between the stars fills up with light.
and the stars too swollen to sing

Hum down to me.

Love Poem 21: Pruriency

Pruriency is a virtue
And you are an entheogen
And your thighs are like ice cream
And I am a licker
And your neck is like morphine
I am a junkie, I am crazy
When you arch your back into me and
Purrrr
I'm a little wild, when you let my imagination go
Can't you see where I'm taking you?
Close your eyes, Trust me
I'm going to make you purr

Shadow People

No, it's not an outright lie
More of a repetition of
Numbers and positions
Into colors, extensions, and sounds
An Earth-shattering roar
Into glacier, hills, and valleys
It's the atom, which shows itself
to the scientists in diagrams
and to the artist in
hard-thumping souls
"When we were young, we had so much fun
because we did not see the dead ends on the road"
Either a curse, or a blessing

Out here in a meadow of hearts
We all come together
Out here we sit solemn
Disease rests on these walls,
and creates a horizon
It's an ideal we're all followin
With a tattoo on my heart, and
large bloody scabs on my chest
I will never take my shirt off for you
and as long as I'm breathing
Through heaves and sighs
I will never ever rest

Floranima

Roots and bark and chlorophyll
Xylem, phloem, foliage
Sap and leaves and stems and still
No better than your plastic hedge
For what is plastic, less than wood
but nature found and worked and formed
And whose to say what's true is good?
For paper roses bare no thorn

Love Poem:19

I know that you can't see
the stars beyond those city lights,
so I just wanted to let you know
that back here at home
they are hanging in the sky
like a chandelier
in my room of memories
the place I like to go
whenever I really miss you
And they really look so inciting
that I think maybe
we could meet up there tonight
and inside of our collective unconcious
lying in the field of stars
of the eternal cosmos

Optimism: a haiku

It is nice to know
That none of us are quite as
gay as Brett Michaels

an experiment

While you were gone and our chat had collapsed
While you were off doing whatever chore had arisen
And I was alone with a pen and a sober mind
I caught a glimpse through another perspective
Of what this whole damn thing might be
"I tell people about you," you taught me yesterday
"But I twist it around so that I seem like the cool one."
And we laugh because you're such a scared little child sometimes
And we both know I'm too old to keep growing
But it wasn't always that way
And you saw that too

And when the trees shoot out flower-buds
From their branches like fuschia bullets
And laughter is plentiful
And good times are free
Or when we're just roaming around in mittens
And Superman socks
Looking for a bit of dope to inhale
I'm not thinking of you
And you're not thinking of me
But sometimes I'd love to have you around
And sometimes sometimes
You want that too
But the flower-buds bloom
And the pot burns away
And the thoughts drift to insects and book reports
Even your return triggers no response
And I am alone with a pen and a sober mind
Drawing angels and hearing you say
"Life is funny sometimes-
"Life really is funny sometimes."

"Yeah..." I say
And we part
To look at pictures we'll never take

Love Poem 18

I used to pace
and I would wonder
and then I would fret
because I was waiting
for the second
that I would fall
out of love with you
if even just for a second

But then one days
I was eating breakfast
and I stared into
my coffeecup and laughed
because it came to me
as simply as all real revelations do
This is love, and it is unconditional

The Almighty Dollar

Oh, almighty dollar
I want to offer you
my solemnity
or my empathy
but all I can really
force myself to do
is laugh and say
'I told ya so'

Love Poem 17

Why do I constantly
find my head lying on your ghost shoulder?

Divine Electricity

I have peeled back the illusory layers of perception, seen the unseen, heard the unheard, felt the unfelt. I have calculated infinity. I have understood that there is no such thing as the past or the future. There is only the now, and it is fleeting. I have understood that there is no such thing as the past or the future, really. That everything that ever was and will be already is. I have stacked the blocks of spacetime and seen how time's arrow does not only fly forward but in infinite directions. I have learned how my now is only an effervescent moment that will undoubtedly pop into the next. I have questioned how many of those moments are actually happening – an infinite amount of bubbles popping into an infinite more. I have wondered how many me's there really are, or if there is only this one that exists in many ways. I have embraced dharma. I have killed my ego and resurrected it, still attempting to understand the paradox of desiring nondesire. I have watched Christ & Buddha wrestle for my attention, only to realize they were actually embracing one another. I now understand the capital T of Truth, why some things are worth seeking.

But when the sun sets and I am done asking questions, I have sat beneath the Centennial, watched the stars reflect in the Mississippi. Here, Brahman swims.

About time

My name is Micaela Krol. I'm living in Chicago and thus far, I've had a damn good time. I enjoy literature,writing and you all. I must admitt my postings will be mostly reflective and just free verse. However, if you know me I'm mostly reflective and free verse with my attitude and conversations. With that. Love is all, Love is you.

As close as I get to a love poem

Sometimes in my daydreams
There are flowers in your hair
And we dance around like maniacs
On dewy Autumn grass
And I kiss you on the cheek
And we go spinning trough the air
Making love through smiles and laughter
But in real life you're an ass

More Musings on Words

I have always felt that words were ethereal beings, like transparent butterflies with fluttering wings, that swoop, dive, and flash throughout my head day in and day out. But once I summon the courage to catch those twittering, translucent insects and set them down on paper, they become still concrete statues. Deprived of their ceaseless energy, they are all the more beautiful upon being examined closely. Every time I complete the task of solidifying words, I am both heart-broken that they are condemned to an infinite stationary life and ecstatic that the world can finally see their essence clearly.

A Reflection on Words

My name is Rachel and I have wanted to be a writer ever since I learned how to read. I have greatly enjoyed everybody's posts so far. Sadly, my writing style is quite different from the wonderful poetry that has graced this blog, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway. I wrote this a few days ago, and I figured people might enjoy it since it is about the power of words.

I base this reflection upon one of my favorite quotes of all time; though it is not the type of quote that inspires one to persevere, to achieve, or to work together like so many that are currently in vogue, hanging of office walls and schoolrooms blackboards. Instead, it is the kind of quote that tells the truth with beauty, and that is all we can ever ask of ourselves or of life. This particular quote is handwritten in silver sharpie on bright orange poster board and is hanging on the wall of my new dorm room. Although the orange (my favorite color because of its energy, authenticity, and originality) badly clashes with the brick wall behind it, its beauty is not diminished. If the words were written in blood on a pile of nuclear waste, I would still be awed by their clarity and wisdom.
"A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work or art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language and not only read but actually breathed from all human lips - not represented on canvas or in marble only but carved out of the breath of life itself."
-Henry David Thoreau

Naturally, every artist is partial to their own medium; every artist believes their work to be closest to reaching the "marrow of life," to borrow another phrase from Thoreau. Following this line of reason, Thoreau then may only be preening and stoking his own artistic ego, making his art form out to be the best. But I prefer to think that he was writing more out of a desire to his own connection with the written and spoken word. Indeed, it is a connection shared by millions of human beings since the dawn of language. Language, the first art form, was born out of the necessity for communication. Although it still fills this capacity, language has since had bestowed upon it by creative humans the twin blessings of wisdom and beauty.
Language is the ultimate human art form. Since nearly all human beings can both speak and understand at least one language, all of humanity can shape and transform the ever-changing forms and styles of language. Flowery words are not required, only a desire (nay, a need) for self-expression. By expressing thoughts, feelings, and ideas in language, all humans participate in the creation of the greatest art work of all time: human discourse.

bad at introductions

Well, I'm Christine. And I guess since Nathan is the one who suggested me into this, I'll post the one he likes.

I usually write with a rhyme and a structure, and it's usually pretty light and witty (or at least I try)

I write free verse and open poetry from time to time, but usually I don't show off things that honest.

-Christine

Father'd have a steaming fit of anger at the sight
and I would fight the quivers at the corners of my mouth
But all the world would maybe seem a little more alright
if you would peddle poems on the corner by my house

Stand there in your leather coat, and wait for passers-by
Ask them how they're feeling- if they're looking for an out
Deal 'em all the good shit. Let 'em know that you're their guy
to ask for peddled poems on the corner by my house

Love Poem: A Series

Hello old friends and new friends. I have a little time after class so I figured I'd try to get this blog started and share with you something that I've been working on.

I had a rather exciting revelation a month or two ago when I realized that the reason I had never written a decent love poem was because of how I was trying to write it. It's not that I'm not moved by love (I am to a crippling degree) or that I have nothing to say about it, it's just that I was trying to write a logical, well-rounded and cohesive love poem. When I started thinking about it, I realized that is not how love comes to me. It comes in fleeting feelings, it changes everytime I come into contact with it and so I decided to write a thematic series of poems. I started a new notebook, and I've been numbering verses; alot of them are only two or three lines long, but I know that I'll have at least a few that are pages along by the time I'm done with this.

I'm now gonna post a few, there's nothing special about them, they're just the ones that catch my eye at the moment.

3
You're the girl that every man in America
Wants to stay at home and watch crappy TV with
5
When I am old and rich
and can afford to commission a sculptor
he'll make a marble statue for my elegant hallway
Immortalizing you in my arms
legs around my torso
and your breath tickling my ears
6
I hope that you understand
that no matter what happens
or where your life takes you
You could do no wrong in someone's eyes
7
I loathe shopping
and I wish that
whenever I had to go shopping
instead I could just go
to the beautiful woman store
and walk around and watch
beautiful women be beautiful
8
Most women have a
futile battle with my ego
but with you, I never even
stoof a chance
9
Have you ever seen
someone with one arm
and you have to use
all your energy just
not to look at
their missing limb?
Well, everytime you come over
I'm biting my tongue
just to stop myself
from saying, "I love you.
I love you, I love you,
I'm crazy about you"

That's all for now. Hope to hear from you all soon.

The Holy River Manifesto

I am not a writer of manifestos. I barely believe in anything enough to declare it publicly. In fact, rather than try to articulate any personal goals, I would much rather drink several glasses of cheap wine, smoke a pack of cigarettes, and fondle myself to the media's latest coverage of whatever scandal Lindsay Lohan is currently involved in. However, after a recent decision to take myself more seriously – though not too seriously, obviously – it occurred to me that while I have tried to define myself as a poet over the years, I lacked a community that could nurture that hopeless drunken romantic inside my soul that relied on words to fool beautiful women into sleeping with me. This is not to say that I wish to form a writing community solely in hopes that more women will sleep with me, although I certainly would not mind if this happened. Rather, I feel that only as a collective can we further the development of our art. It is with this belief that I call on my peers, the next generation of poets and writers, to join together and in some way shape what will become of all of us.

The Purpose of This Site

This blog is not intended to be solely a forum for workshopping, and posts do not necessarily need to be literary in nature. The site will become whatever we make of it. My only intent is to bring together a group of poets and writers, and I hope that by forming a sort of online art commune, we will all become more encouraged to work on our craft. To give you some idea, I will probably at some point make posts in the form of the following: prayers, epistles, quests for transcendence, philosophical bullshit/hippie bullshit, sociopolitical rants, book/music/etc. reviews, any incoherent rambling I think is worth posting for other people to see. I may even do some Scrubs fan fiction, mostly because I'm pretty sure season seven still won't provide me with that J.D.-Elliott-Carla three-way I've been hoping for all these years. There are no rules, and if there were, I'd not be the person who made them. Although I've been speaking about my intentions, my real hope is that a large enough group of writers will jump on this bandwagon and turn this whole idea into something larger than I could hope to make.