"Epiphany"

April is usually celebrated as poetry month. It's in light of this that the Oakville Lit Café holds a poetry competition each April. I think this is the first time (since I started attending) I'll be in town for it. (I'm usually on vacation to celebrate my birthday.) So, I submitted my entry the other day. The entries will be judged by a panel - not the audience. Also, the poems should include three of the judges' given words - all starting with the letter 'E'. Out of the list of about 10 or so, I chose: epiphany, evanescent, and ethereal.

It'd be nice to win.

EPIPHANY

I hear the distance I travel

I feel the distance I fear

Spanning the height 

Between ground and endless sky

My feet are off the ground

And I am high.

This is neither flying

Nor soaring. An epiphany.

I'm being transported into

A vast nothingness

Losing all sense of context

And motion and time and space

I feel the distance increasing

I go up, up, and away.

Hands over ears

I melt inside

No tears

Can't cry if I can't feel

Now, can I?

Am I there yet?

No, higher yet.

Soon, I morph into a shadow

Of my former self

Looming evanescent

Still.

Nothing happens.

Suddenly

My thoughts are crystal clear.

This moving, my doing

This distance, my desire.

Is my fear of heights weaker 

Than my fear of loving you?

Than I fear being loved by you?

I was prepared to die flying

Than I was to die trying

At something new with you.

Something ethereal, yet true.

I don't have a fear of heights

I have a fear of falling

I have a fear of loving

And falling into you.

Update 2015-04-30: I won! :-)

Claudia

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"Back to Life"

What's a new year without poetry? C'mon. There's always room for poetry. Back to Life was written...ok, I won't say when it was written. Let's just say it's on the sunny side of Without the Kill. Because, well, seasons change.

Back to Life

I thought I had

No more strength or time for love

Until you came

I made the time

Your love gave me strength.

I wanted more of you

Wanting me

You said I gave you hope

By just being me.

In your eyes I see

How you take pleasure

In pleasing me

My love, no need to fear

Losing me at all.

For the first time

No second thoughts

Your strong arms

And long kisses

Comforted me home.

Your words wooed me

Your actions moved me

Into the new me

As you loved me

Back to life.

- Dnafcnatgada

Claudia
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"Holes"

Holes

There are no holes in my arms.

Like the girl - early twenties?

Pants - if you could call them that -

Maybe the Lululemon yoga sort

They had to finally recall

Too sexy; too sheer; too revealing

Shares fell after that.

Her pants - as she stooped to get

Something from her bag -

Slid below the crack. Way below.

So far down, I looked away

For shame for her.

Did she not feel cool air

Against that vanilla-pale, soft, smooth skin?

Then, as I stole another glance -

Or, maybe it was just that her move to stand

Caught my peripheral vision -

She stood

She rummaged

Pants still half-way down.

As she rummaged through her bag

Just moved to the top of the table

Her hands came into view.

They bore holes - large, healed, gaping

Waiting?

From the back of her hands to her forearms

Wherever there could be a vein.

Holes.

They held my gaze for more than the polite two seconds

When I finally looked away

I cast my gaze upon nothing in particular

Pretending I could taste

The iced tea I was sucking through a straw

Too large for that.

She found what she'd been searching for

She must have

She abandoned her bag

- Not caring, it seemed

Whether any of the hundreds of

Food court patrons

Would prove themselves untrustworthy -

Reached into the upper part of her pants

Pulled them up just a little

Before going for a refill.

It was on her return

I saw her face

Too young

Too old and long a story

Too weak

Too worn

Too familiar

Too easy to get sucked back in.

No fight

No more

All gone

What's the score?

Doesn't matter

All lives used up

Way too late to start over

Again.

As I looked around

And sipped my iced tea

I somehow managed to be thankful

There are no holes in my arms

That you can see.

- Dnafcnatgada

Claudia

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"If He Loves You"

I was tempted to share my latest poem - written yesterday! But, I've shared it with only one person so far. And, it does need a bit of editing, I think. Plus, an additional stanza has been engraving itself in my brain. So, there's that.

The poetry work-in-progress is almost through. I've had it edited. There is a category I'm hoping to fill with poems that speak of happiness and loving and being loved in return. Grabbing the closest piece of paper I could find yesterday, I hurriedly penned such a one. They do not come by very often, so I dared not lose the moment. Turns out I'm pretty excited about getting those words down on paper or some electronic device. They carry with them a measure of...hope, if you will.

And, hope is a good thing. :-)

This one is entitled, "If He Loves You". It's from that batch I wrote in April 2012 when I took off for vacation and ditched the playwriting contest. But, I had to keep myself writing, so I went on an "A Poem A Day" adventure! Glad I did. I produced some that took the focus off of myself for a bit.

And that was a good thing. :-)

If He Loves You

I overheard someone at work today

Talking about a fight they'd had

Sounds like it was pretty bad

Between she and her lover,

And, like any other love story

It had the element of surprise

I saw it in her eyes

She blamed his mother.

Seemed he found it hard

To give what due to each.

That one was out of my reach.

I smiled because, well, to be honest

I did not know what to say.

Not that she was talking to me

But I felt hard pressed to duly

Inform her it would be okay.

There was something inside that said

Tell her it gets better

It looks bad but it doesn't matter

If he loves you - and he does - 

Then you two will work it out.

But something else spoke even louder

Above the din of my despair

So, why didn't you guys work it out?

- Dnafcnatgada

Claudia

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"Thug No Show Love"

In the spirit of St. Valentine's Day - which, it seems, is spread across all of February - I thought I'd feature love poems in this month's posts. I came across this one a little over a year ago. It's by a Jamaican, Joan Andrea Hutchinson, and it's written in Jamaican patois. I remember reading it for a few friends shortly after I "discovered" it. What a challenge to get through it without cracking up! The irony tickled me to pieces!

Thug No Show Love

                    - Joan Andrea Hutchinson ©2007

 Baby mi love yuh and yuh done well and know

But a guy can’t too meck him feelings show

Yuh feel mi love and dat suppose to enough

But man a man and man haffie flex tough

So no expect mi fi come wid no lovey dovey love

Cause man a thug, an thug no show love.

Mi will tidy house an help yuh wash plate

Change baby diaper, iron cook an bake

Wash yuh hair an massage yuh body all night long

Hug up an dance like grandpa when mi hear love song

But outa street mi no eena di smoochie smoochie love

For man a thug, an thug no show love.

Most people no know say mi have a romantic side

Mi will give yuh sweet an tender loving till yuh clide

At home mi will bow, cause yuh control di remote

An mi ready fi go front a parson go teck oath

But John Public no haffie know bout mi romantic love

For man a thug… an thug no show love.

Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! By the way, did you remember to put on that deep "thug"  voice? No? Okay. Scroll up and read it again - in your "thug" voice.

Funnier now, isn't it?

Claudia

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"I Can Dream"

Later this month I'm scheduled to read my poem, The Haunting, at a literary cafe, somewhere in the universe.  While publicly reading my poem is not a new thing for me, publicly reading my poem, after a twenty-plus-year hiatus, is. I have been assured that they won't bite; that they will be welcoming.  I take them at their word.

In the spirit of the resurrection - the quickening, if you will - of this dimension of my life, I shall be sharing a few poems this month.  Today's piece, written by me at 17-yo, is entitled:  I Can Dream.  Signing it with my name that's "only for the poetry" and, again, I'll try to resist the urge of my 40-something self to edit.

I Can Dream

Maybe you won't hold me tight

As often as I want you to.

Maybe you won't kiss my lips

My face, my neck

As I long for you to do.

Maybe you won't tell me that you love me

As often as every day

But, I can dream about

These things, and more,

While you are away.

I can dream that we're on

A moonlit beach

Somewhere in the dark

Or, that we're taking lovely pictures

By the river, in the park.

Or, better yet, we're holding hands

Walking toward the sunset.

And, we're laughing at a joke of yours

Walking toward the sunset.

But, these dreams are no more

Than what they are, just fantasies

And sometimes help to ease the pain

Of not tasting the realities.

They're things you can hold on to

And make them last much longer

Than realities that come and go,

Making your longing stronger.

-- Dnafcnatgada

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"Your Dream"

Apparently, I wasn't always as happy as I am now.  I imagine, too, that I am not as happy now as I will be.  But, we'll wax philosophical another time ;-)  For this time and purpose, I'm sharing one of the poems I wrote just as I had exited my teenage years.  Seriously, I'm looking over these poems in this practically dust-covered book and going, "What was I thinking?"  Well, I kinda know.  For the most part, I was in love.  You can't really tell a teenager that what he/she is feeling isn't love.  So, most of my poems from that time had to do with love, as I knew it.  That, or my quest to discover life as I'd come to know it. I've tried, in sharing a few of these, to resist the urge to edit. The better writer / older woman / inner editor is having a tough time, but, here it is, as it was.

Your Dream

Can I...borrow your dream?

It's funny but it seems

Yours is so much brighter,

Filled with more...more hope.

Mine, on the other hand, is doped

With inhibitions, doubts and longstanding

Evidence (caused by a misunderstanding)

That it will not be realized.

So, before I lose

All faith in my future,

May I borrow yours for a minute?

While I try to suture

My edges, which I've all but gone over.

It's like crimson and clover,

Black and white.  No shades of grey.

You either have one, or you don't.

Dare you lend me your dream?

I'll either return it, or I won't.

- Dnafcnatgada

July 6, 1991

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"At Water's Edge"

Water splashing at my feet
Wind blowing salty air in my face
My body is bathed in the
Calm, cool, peaceful surroundings of nature.
An atmosphere of tranquility.
The seagull cries
I hear the noise of the water
As heavy waves hit the rocks.

I sit on one, remembering those days
When I used to wish I could enjoy this enchantment
With you.


-Dnafcnatgada
Oct. 1, 1987


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