poetry exercises

i call these "exercises" because they evoke--nothing more, nothing less. i started writing them out of a strong feeling for an image (or a strong image for a feeling), rather than out of a need to communicate some profound philosophical truth which was how i used to define poetry. so these may not be so "resonant" and "anthologizable", but it's much more liberating =) hopefully, these will evolve into something more significant hehe. the first one i wrote today for our poetry reading on saturday (see my calendar), to be accompanied by a dance (but no music =), so it sounds more like my "traditional" poetry than the others that follow. still needs more revision and thought (the "crafting" stage), so read at your own risk. comments are very welcome =)

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Sunrise in Boljoon

The rains have turned the sea black,

the clouds are low on the water.

In the distance, a tinge of

crimson bruises the sky in places

that must be east, where already

the cups are filled and steaming,

washed clean by morning light.

 

Sun eludes this coast’s cold dawn--

ships that come to bring last night’s fish

sail on to darkened houses on the beach.

But look, waves of light

are breaking silver on the sand;

in the grayest part of this gray horizon

appears a faint but luminous sky.

This morning of no-sun,

even the rocks are wet and alive.

 

Today, this is how I want to die:

adrift in a sea of rain, wind

cutting deep into my skin.

Lightning strikes my belly,

and I dissolve into electric air.

 

092105

Mango Square

The Redemptorist Collection

(poems written around the redemptorist area ;-)

Writing Poetry

I give you my heart,

from its depths draw words,

heavy and weightless,

weave them into stone, bright

light, gossamer and wool:

the blanket of rain you sleep with

to warm the dark silence,

transparent weight in your pocket

that pulls you down on the street at night,

hot ember burning your soles,

setting your dreams on fire.

 

081405

KFC

 

Where I Write

there are no clocks,

only infinite space

in a crowded café

where strangers drink coffee

to escape the day’s heat.

In this country,

minutes are unheard of,

and each moment flows

like amber into the next,

every second a landscape

of Arab desert, or thick forest

where the dark green leaves

of a thousand trees

lose their edges, fused

into a single canopy.

To find the words,

I must lose my way

here: the first step

into the brilliant whiteness.

 

090505

Spaceburger

 

Sunday Afternoon

Bikers in pointed helmets

breathing through gas masks—

and on the same street

they who ride through

the city’s black air,

hair loose in the rush of wind,

and smiling couples holding hands,

walking home from church

on gray sidewalks.

 

090405

Brown Cup