other bits of blog

Friday, April 15, 2011

letter to you

Dear you,
All you readers,
Thank you.

Last Dance
He is here
There
Here
Tonight

Am I here
There
Here
Tonight

This is life
Dance
Love
Tonight

Keeping time
Beat
Pound
Tonight

Music blares
Slow
Loud
Tonight

Twisted tongue
Words
Speak
Tonight

Speak of us
Them
Us
Tonight

Hands in mine
Waist
Heart
Tonight

To and fro
Sway
Love
Tonight

Verses bloom
Now
No
Tonight

He said no
Her
Me
Tonight

He said yes
Me
Him
Tonight

The last dance
Yes
Yes
Tonight

Never dreamed
Like
This
Tonight

Now I know
Love
Truth
Tonight

Is it over
Strength
Speak
Tonight

Is it true
Love
Us
Tonight

Little Incidental Acts of Will:
Part One
Dear you,
My friend,
My solace,
My only hope,

Life
Is an incidental act of will:
A note written on the back of my hand
In neon sharpie,
Chinese calligraphy
That means what I don’t want to hear—
And what I will never stop dreaming about.
Dreaming,
Dreaming,
Heart pounding,
Hoping that,
To the end of my days,
I will find solace
With someone or other.
Solace,
A place of safety,
A life,
Not a nightmare.
An incidental act of will,
That I, incidentally, will never forgive you for—
But always thank you,
Forever and ever.
Never.

Love,
Me.

Postscript:
Thank you.
Forever.

Little Incidental Acts of Will:
Part Two
Dear you,
My solace,
My friend,
My Solus,

Love
Is another
Incidental
Act of will—
That I refused,
And you agreed to.
You said yes.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
When I asked,
When you asked:
Yes,
Yes,
Yes.
A single word repeating in my mind,
A broken record that I could listen to
For eternity;
A copy of
The fine print the back of my hand,
Illegible:
A hope,
And a wish
That I will find solace—
An incidental homonym.
A secret-keeper.
A life.
A love.
A wish that I will find solace,
But Solus, too.
What’s the difference
Between a secret of a secret
A secret
And the truth?

Love,
Me.

Postscript:
The difference is easy:
It’s simply life,
Simply love,
Simply what I choose to say,
What you choose to hear,
And what we both choose to interpret,
To take away from this life,
From tonight.
And I can’t help but wonder,
Do you dream of me, too?
I dream,
I hope,
Forever and ever.
Forever.
For solace,
For Solace,
For Solus,
For you.

It's amazing how many poems can come out of a single night.

Heart on My Hand
Neon
Orange
Bright, aching heart
On my sleeve
On my hand
Dripping blood and dripping life
Don’t know what to do
Don’t know what to say
How to leave you and never dream again
Hoping that I can still dream
Can still live
With my heart on my hand
Holding it
Covering it
For the reasons they all think are wrong
Yes
They’re right
In some ways
In some minuscule, accidental ways
And they’re wrong
Wrong
Wrong
Wrong
Like the bells
Rusted
Clanging
Aching like my heart
That pounds too fast for life
A hummingbird in a garden of clocks
Ticking away
Too slowly
I wish
I wish
I wish
I dream
I hope
I wear my heart on my hand
My life on my hand
And I protect it
For your sake
To give you solace
And love
Holding you there
Giving life
Giving love
Giving death away
Too keep you
Neon sharpie
Orange and blazing like the fire in my heart
The flames within me
That burn and burn and burn
With the hope
The hope
That threatens to make me dance
Around the school gym
Legs flying
Arms swaying
Not caring who cares
But you
Dark
Purple
Black
The hope
The wish
The dream
The neon sharpie
The heart
My heart
Drawn on my hand
And the hope
That threatens
To make
Me burst

And I know some of you won't understand, it isn't that what poetry is? A metaphor for the things you don't want to voice? To speak? The things that are your secret fears and loves and hearts? And a million things that you don't ever want to say? It doesn't matter if the words are wrong, the beat is wrong, the rhyme is wrong. It doesn't matter if nobody understands it but you. Because poetry is one single thing:
solace for the life you lost. And for the life you live.
Jeez, I'm writing another poem.

Metaphor for Life (A Million Questions)
I know some of you won't understand,
And I know some of you will never understand,
Never even want to understand,
But isn't that what poetry is?
A metaphor for the things you don't want to voice?
To speak?
The things that are your secret fears
And loves
And hearts?
And a million things
You don't ever want to say?
It doesn't matter if nobody understand it but you,
If the words are wrong,
If the beat is wrong,
The rhyme is wrong.
It doesn't matter,
Because poetry is one single thing:
Solace
For the life you lost,
And for the life you live.
Jeez, I wrote another poem.

P.S. Sorry, I didn't have time for any photos. Just be content with the words.
Love,
Maia.

2 comments:

  1. WOW. That was a lot of poems.....
    You know, I AM expecting details..... :)
    TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!!
    (trade???) :P
    Sounds like someone had fun!!
    But seriously.
    I'm expecting details...
    :D

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hi maisies...can u visit my blog and tell me what you think of the new theme??? I might have it GONE by the end of today, so....Anyway. Also a new poem, Once More, that I think u might REALLY relate to. :D so yeah. OKay. see ya.
    -me

    ReplyDelete