Sunday, January 21, 2018

Slow Dance by Matthew Dickman



This is one of the most popular poems on my blog.  I posted it in 2010, so this is a worthy repost.  It's a magical poem.

~×~×~×~×~

SLOW DANCE
By Matthew Dickman

More than putting another man on the moon, 
more than a New Year’s resolution of yogurt and yoga, 
we need the opportunity to dance 
with really exquisite strangers. A slow dance 
between the couch and dinning room table, at the end 
of the party, while the person we love has gone 
to bring the car around 
because it’s begun to rain and would break their heart 
if any part of us got wet. A slow dance 
to bring the evening home, to knock it out of the park. Two people 
rocking back and forth like a buoy. Nothing extravagant. 
A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey. 
It’s a little like cheating. Your head resting 
on his shoulder, your breath moving up his neck. 
Your hands along her spine. Her hips 
unfolding like a cotton napkin 
and you begin to think about how all the stars in the sky 
are dead. The my body 
is talking to your body slow dance. The Unchained Melody
Stairway to Heaven, power-chord slow dance. All my life 
I’ve made mistakes. Small 
and cruel. I made my plans. 
I never arrived. I ate my food. I drank my wine. 
The slow dance doesn’t care. It’s all kindness like children 
before they turn four. Like being held in the arms 
of my brother. The slow dance of siblings. 
Two men in the middle of the room. When I dance with him, 
one of my great loves, he is absolutely human, 
and when he turns to dip me 
or I step on his foot because we are both leading, 
I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer. 
The slow dance of what’s to come 
and the slow dance of insomnia 
pouring across the floor like bath water. 
When the woman I’m sleeping with 
stands naked in the bathroom, 
brushing her teeth, the slow dance of ritual is being spit 
into the sink. There is no one to save us 
because there is no need to be saved. 
I’ve hurt you. I’ve loved you. I’ve mowed 
the front yard. When the stranger wearing a shear white dress 
covered in a million beads 
comes toward me like an over-sexed chandelier suddenly come to life, 
I take her hand in mine. I spin her out 
and bring her in. This is the almond grove 
in the dark slow dance. 
It is what we should be doing right now. Scraping 
for joy. The haiku and honey. The orange and orangutan slow dance.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++I

I love this guy's poetry.  I own his book and each and every poem is amazing.  And guess what?  His twin brother, Michael, is a poet also!  I have his book, "The End of the West" and it's also a fabulous book of poems. Imagine being able to share poetry-love with your brother?  It must be amazing...

Monday, January 15, 2018

How to Kill a Living Thing


How to Kill a Living Thing

Neglect it
Criticize it to its face
Say how it kills the light
Traps all the rubbish
Bores you with its green

Continually
Harden your heart
Then
Cut it down close
To the root as possible

Forget it
For a week or a month
Return with an axe
Split it with one blow
Insert a stone

To keep the wound wide open.

—Eibhlín Nic Eochaidh

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

How You Learn to Live Alone...



How You Learn to Live Alone (a bittersweet, true, gorgeous song)...

First you fall, then you fly,
and you believe that you belong
up in the sky.
Flap your arms, as you run,
every revolution brings you closer to the sun.
You fall asleep in motion, in unchartered
hemispheres,
and you wake up with the stars
fallin' down around your ears.
And when they hit the ground,
they're nothin' but stones---
That's how you learn to live alone.
That's how you learn to live alone.
Bit by bit, you slip away,
you lose yourself in pieces
by the things that you don't say.
You're not here, but you're still there
the sun goes up and the sun goes down,
but you're not sure you care.
You live inside the false,
till you recognize the truth.
People send you pictures,
but you can't believe it's you.
Seems forever since your house
has felt like home---
That's how you learn to live alone
That's how you learn to live alone.
It don't feel right, but it's not wrong.
It's just hard to start again this far along.
Brick by brick, the letting go,
as you walk away from everything you know---
When you release resistance
and you lean into the wind,
till the roof begins to crumble,
and the rain comes pourin' in,
and you sit there in the rubble,
till the rubble feels like home---

That's how you learn to live alone.
That's how you learn to live alone.
That's how you learn to live alone.
Songwriters: Gretchen Peters / Mary Gauthier




Sunday, January 7, 2018

Quietness By Rumi

Full winter moon...


Quietness
By Rumi

Inside this new love, die.

Your way begins on the other side.

Become the sky.

Take an axe to the prison wall.

Escape.

Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.

Do it now.

You are covered with thick cloud.

Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. 

Quietness is the surest sign
that you have died.

Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.
 
The speechless full moon
comes out now. 

~×~×~×~×~×~

All Alone is All We Are

No matter where, there they appear...I miss Sophie...

~×~×~×~

 "Against my will, I stand beside my own reflection...
It's haunting how I can't seem to find myself again...
My walls are closing in---" ~Crawling, Chester Benington

~×~×~×~

Just washing it aside,
all the helplessness inside
pretending I don't feel misplaced
is so much simpler than change...  ~Chester Benington

~×~×~×~

"Whatever you think your life's going to be like, just know it's not going to be ANYTHING like that! ~Abby, "20th Century Women" movie

~×~×~×~

"All alone is all we are.
All alone is all we are.
All alone is all we are.
All alone is all we are."
 ~Kurt Cobain, from 'All Apologies'

~×~×~×~




Thursday, January 4, 2018

Show Me How to Live

Chris Cornell, praying/singing, to no avail---


Show Me How to Live
LYRICS
And with the early dawn
Moving right along
I couldn't buy and eyeful of sleep
And in the aching night under satellites
I was not received
Built with stolen parts
A telephone in my heart
Someone get me a priest
To put my mind to bed
This ringing in my head
Is this a cure or is this a disease
Nail in my hand
From my creator
You gave me life
Now show me how to live
Nail in my hand
From my creator
You gave me life
Now show me how to live
And in the after birth
On the quiet earth
Let the stains remind you
You thought you made a man
You better think again
Before my role defines you
Nail in my hand
From my creator
You gave me life
Now show me how to live
Nail in my hand
From my creator
You gave me life
Now show me how to live
And in your waiting hands
I will land
And roll out of my skin
And in your final hours I will stand
Ready to begin
Nail in my hand
From my creator
You gave me life
Now show me how to live
Nail in my hand
From my creator
You gave me life
Now show me how to live
Show me how to live
Songwriters: Brad Wilk / Chris Cornell / Timothy Commerford / Tom Morello

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Conch by Olav H. Hauge

Conch shell on a beach...


CONCH
By Olav H. Hauge, translated by Robert Bly

You build a house for your soul,
and wander proudly
in starlight
with the house on your back,
like a snail.
When danger is near,
you crawl inside
and are safe
behind your hard
shell.

And when you are no more,
the house will
live on,
a testament
to your soul's beauty.
And the sea of your loneliness
will sing deep
inside.

From:  "The Dream We Carry" by Olav H. Hauge







I'm growing my wings, slowly.

I found this poem just in time.  It gave me what I needed to stay alive today.  And that's enough...

xo,
Marion

Monday, January 1, 2018

Basho and Kyoto

Prayer flags, 2015


~*~*~*~*~*~


Hearing the cuckoo,
even in Kyoto
I long for Kyoto.
                                      ~Basho


~*~*~*~*~*~

These ten words flay me down to my very bones every single time I've ever read them.  I sit...a shell, broken open, bleeding, sad, weeping, aching, burning, longing...for...?????  If you've ever thought that you needed an abundance of words to say something, then come back and consider these ten words.  

They mortally wound, then heal, equally.  How is that possible?  

xo,

Marion, shattered---yet

If you've never seen photos of Kyoto, then search online.  It's a wonder...a feast for the eyes and spirit---
 


Sunday, December 31, 2017

Time...in constant flux, a river...


.
A few recent reads...

And the days are not full enough
Ezra Pound
And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
       Not shaking the grass

New prayer flags...because life goes on---



Thursday, December 21, 2017

When the Going Gets Rough...New Tattoos

I, who mercilessly made fun of people with foreign language tattoos, went and got a Latin tattoo yesterday.  "I am not what I used to be".  I first saw this line in the book " House of Leaves" by Mark Danielewski, on page 602.  I then learned it was from "Homer".  Life is a giant cross reference.  

And I got a semicolon on my broken ring finger...to remind me that life goes on and that there's more to come.  I now have six tattoos and I can honestly say that this one hurt like a motherfucker.  Truly, I'm glad it was small.  I broke the finger fighting off my husband who was strangling me...and had to have my wedding rings cut off...how metaphorical, right?  


I leave you with my favorite Audioslave song...


I Am the Highway

LYRICS
Pearls and swine bereft of me
Long and weary my road has been
I was lost in the cities
Alone in the hills
No sorrow or pity for leaving I feel
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
Friends and liars don't wait for me
I'll get on all by myself
I put millions of miles
Under my heels
And still too close to you
I feel
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightning
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night
The night
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightning
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night
The night
Songwriters: Brad Wilk / Chris Cornell / Timothy Commerford / Tom Morello