3/15/08
Overnight flight to Ireland.
“May you live all the days of your life”. Jonathan Swift
The Black Pond
Names are just sounds.
Take the murmur of the wind
the cry of the mother
the innocent question of the child
and make of those, my name.
Sometimes it is Elizabeth
in those days I come from two verses
that cannot understand each other.
I take from life everyday what belongs.
Sometimes my name is just A
Anjuli, the musical one,
Akansha, sitting quietly in Europe.
Anderson, and I am a chameleon,
a reckless Arturo, a lonesome Andres,
if I am April, I think of my daughter's smile...
sometimes my name is Andy, Los Andy,
I think of better times.
Meet all the conditions and I'll stay.
My name is Linda, Veronica, Maritza,
When I wear my olive skin, my Latin smile,
Karina,Johanna, Maria,
the world could fall for me,
but if my name's Milly, I simply disagree.
Sometimes I'm Nad. I've built a revolution in your soul.
don't ask. just inhale me and know.
If I change into my Gina name I am in awe,
If I call myself Shawntae, I am the witness,
Effat,
like a stranger's song,
Rei,
armor of light,
and you can call me Kyle,
listen,
I've only got one name, it could be Caitlin.
Sometimes I'm Neil and you want me in your system
then I'm Lauren, 50 year old Lauren...
sometimes I can be Tamika and look good in a purple spell,
and back to my Sierra name...peaceful spring fountain.
Sometimes my name is Lucy
in those days I come from two verses
that make absolutely no sense when put together.
I cannot adapt to silence, so I've started searching,
I come to greet myself with stranger eyes,
rediscover the million letters of my name,
I am the largest city of the morning sun
men and women I am, and all love awaits for you.
Steal from the air whatever syllables you find
and call the memory of me.
Evoke it.
the small cracks of my existing box will heal,
no pain is permanent when there is hope...
I'm the black pond.
All I want is for you to remember,
and repeat my name once more.
Take the murmur of the wind
the cry of the mother
the innocent question of the child
and make of those, my name.
Sometimes it is Elizabeth
in those days I come from two verses
that cannot understand each other.
I take from life everyday what belongs.
Sometimes my name is just A
Anjuli, the musical one,
Akansha, sitting quietly in Europe.
Anderson, and I am a chameleon,
a reckless Arturo, a lonesome Andres,
if I am April, I think of my daughter's smile...
sometimes my name is Andy, Los Andy,
I think of better times.
Meet all the conditions and I'll stay.
My name is Linda, Veronica, Maritza,
When I wear my olive skin, my Latin smile,
Karina,Johanna, Maria,
the world could fall for me,
but if my name's Milly, I simply disagree.
Sometimes I'm Nad. I've built a revolution in your soul.
don't ask. just inhale me and know.
If I change into my Gina name I am in awe,
If I call myself Shawntae, I am the witness,
Effat,
like a stranger's song,
Rei,
armor of light,
and you can call me Kyle,
listen,
I've only got one name, it could be Caitlin.
Sometimes I'm Neil and you want me in your system
then I'm Lauren, 50 year old Lauren...
sometimes I can be Tamika and look good in a purple spell,
and back to my Sierra name...peaceful spring fountain.
Sometimes my name is Lucy
in those days I come from two verses
that make absolutely no sense when put together.
I cannot adapt to silence, so I've started searching,
I come to greet myself with stranger eyes,
rediscover the million letters of my name,
I am the largest city of the morning sun
men and women I am, and all love awaits for you.
Steal from the air whatever syllables you find
and call the memory of me.
Evoke it.
the small cracks of my existing box will heal,
no pain is permanent when there is hope...
I'm the black pond.
All I want is for you to remember,
and repeat my name once more.
3/16/08
Arrival in Dublin. Walking tour around the city, enjoying its architecture.
“Love (understood as the desire of good for another) is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself, the soul being unable to become virgin again and not having energy enough to cast itself out again into the ocean of another's soul.” James Joyce
The Spar of Light
They can see it too
the quest we were meant to follow
the sacred sign stands here
the mystery unraveled
and we can’t do much but welcome it
allow the transformation to begin.
The material treasures I possessed
have been buried in this island.
Have they considered us worthy?
The place of far away
wont be home anymore
the greetings of our return
won’t remind of past friends.
The much I knew since then
lost its value by the bridge.
The mask of stone I wore
fell off my face and now I see.
Will I pass unperceived among them?
They can hear it too
it resounds and echoes within each of us
the spar of light stands here
our eyes fixed upon it
knowing that we are transmuted.
3/17/08
St. Patrick's Day. St. Patrick's Cathedral. Book of Kells. (Trinity College) ...
IMI Residence Dublin, Ireland
“But I've no spade to follow men like them. Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. I'll dig with it”. Seamus Heaney
your body sleeps
but where are you?
Superstitious Richie says I shouldn’t dance on your grave
but this dance is in your honor
I bring to your bed
the music of the living ones.
I do not wish to sleep after the last hour.
You know better. Where will I go?
will you greet me?
but this dance is in your honor
I bring to your bed
the music of the living ones.
I do not wish to sleep after the last hour.
You know better. Where will I go?
will you greet me?
I see only the engraved story of you
forgive me for wishing I could remember more
did you make of your life a good narration?
Charles of 90 years ago
the sun shines in Dublin just for you and I.
Shamrock and petals bloom.
forgive me for wishing I could remember more
did you make of your life a good narration?
Charles of 90 years ago
the sun shines in Dublin just for you and I.
Shamrock and petals bloom.
10 years from tonight we’ll be the same age
in 90 more I’ll lay next to you
my flesh will pass on to the underground creatures
don’t let my love become another legend
hidden under dust in someone’s desk
written in small letters on the pavement.
Superstitious Richie says I shouldn’t dance on your grave
but I know you wish to stand and dance with me
why would music offend you, sleepy one?
Everyone else dances in the street, they celebrate St.Patricks memory.
What difference does it make, if many others fought wars, loved and died there too?
Receive with humble spirit
my gift of vowels and sounds.
Celebrate with me, Charles.
3/18/08
Ferry accross Irish Sea To Wales.
"I came here to tell of the bells that live in the sea that dream of the sea --- Within the sea. Thus I live here". Pablo Neruda.
Irish Sea, limitless Sea,
listen to my silent plea
I am but a woman, I am but a child
but he has requested that I guard his dreams.
Soften your waves as we cross,
it is now that my egoism is put to the test
if he awakens I have nothing to offer
but enchanted by your spell, by me he quietly rests.
There's no shelter for us in your foam
grant your mercy to this minuscule ferry.
There's no shelter for him in my arms
in your water my secret I bury.
Irish Sea, infinite Sea
remove from me this aching curse,
He is but an ocean of fish bones and winters,
I fear the depth in his eyes, not in yours.
Following the current with shrouded little hearts
We arrive to your house of tide,
Today I am free of the thunder of solitude
but tomorrow he will rest by her side.
I cannot claim his love, nor do I intend to,
but every sailor once deserves a chance...
Allow me one more hour of your bliss
embrace my broken chant into your dance.
Irish Sea, vast Irish Sea
Whisper to him riddles of the past
I am but a child, I am but a woman
the kiss I gave to him won't last.
listen to my silent plea
I am but a woman, I am but a child
but he has requested that I guard his dreams.
Soften your waves as we cross,
it is now that my egoism is put to the test
if he awakens I have nothing to offer
but enchanted by your spell, by me he quietly rests.
There's no shelter for us in your foam
grant your mercy to this minuscule ferry.
There's no shelter for him in my arms
in your water my secret I bury.
Irish Sea, infinite Sea
remove from me this aching curse,
He is but an ocean of fish bones and winters,
I fear the depth in his eyes, not in yours.
Following the current with shrouded little hearts
We arrive to your house of tide,
Today I am free of the thunder of solitude
but tomorrow he will rest by her side.
I cannot claim his love, nor do I intend to,
but every sailor once deserves a chance...
Allow me one more hour of your bliss
embrace my broken chant into your dance.
Irish Sea, vast Irish Sea
Whisper to him riddles of the past
I am but a child, I am but a woman
the kiss I gave to him won't last.
3/19/08
Hand Hotel & Dinas Bran Castle, North Wales, U.K.
"Relics of kings, wreck of forgotten wars, To the winds abandoned and the prying stars." Wordsworth. (about the Dinas Bran Castle).
The Llangollen woman in the red dress
dwells for the lust of the visible
she plays the organ to welcome
the unexpectant sensitivity of the visitors.
"Come to room 28, I am beyond your volatile rest
Stay in the palm of The hand, my lullaby heavy on your breast".
Away from her rhymes,
from the yellow walls,
away from his refusal,
from the piano's cry,
from the moon's reflection,
from the river's spell,
high above the Dee Valley,
Gogmagog the giant in his grassy bed.
Dinas Bran, Dinas Bran, the fairy folk claim
In the city of crows, a castle once great
but only few know, and only few care
for only few bother to decipher the tale.
If you aspire to find yourself,
bring along desires, prayers and pains
climb to the medieval relics
where the golden ox remains.
Follow the harps of the magic mountain
of the brave nights and their blessed trail
cleanse your heart's sorrow within the stone walls
unafraid of the tears that blossom away...
they fall on sacred vessel,
here lays the holy grail.
3/20/08 dwells for the lust of the visible
she plays the organ to welcome
the unexpectant sensitivity of the visitors.
"Come to room 28, I am beyond your volatile rest
Stay in the palm of The hand, my lullaby heavy on your breast".
Away from her rhymes,
from the yellow walls,
away from his refusal,
from the piano's cry,
from the moon's reflection,
from the river's spell,
high above the Dee Valley,
Gogmagog the giant in his grassy bed.
Dinas Bran, Dinas Bran, the fairy folk claim
In the city of crows, a castle once great
but only few know, and only few care
for only few bother to decipher the tale.
If you aspire to find yourself,
bring along desires, prayers and pains
climb to the medieval relics
where the golden ox remains.
Follow the harps of the magic mountain
of the brave nights and their blessed trail
cleanse your heart's sorrow within the stone walls
unafraid of the tears that blossom away...
they fall on sacred vessel,
here lays the holy grail.
Ibis London Excel London, U.K. Warwick Castle, Sightseeing of Stratford, home of Shakespeare. Arrival to London, met with Guillaume.
POEM YET TO BE POSTED.
POEM YET TO BE POSTED.
3/21/08
London, day 2, St. Paul's Cathedral & Tate Modern:
The violin in St. Paul's Cathedral
house of invocation,
awarded me the hope that I hungered for
centuries ago.
My ancestors would've healed with its music
they would have never built weapons
if their souls had been awakened by these notes.
My heir will be wiser in one thousand tomorrows
for its melody has struck beyond the flesh, beyond the spirit.
Forgive us, children, we know not what we do
we pay with coins of gold that which we cannot own
we step on holy ground attempting to control
but this earth isn't ours,
their heaven won't embrace us
the blood we spilled wont bloom in spring
hugs perish daily in us,
this is the planet we destroyed
are you still proud of your creation?
In Tate modern hope was found again
twice in one day, fulfilling promises
temple for contemplation
poetry, what have I done to deserve you?
I feel alive and know not what to do with this
should I reclude and cry for I am one of few?
if only I could explode
and infect everything with my hallucinations
and make the world breath again
breath again
burn again
like inside me
breaths the flame
and it hurts
ah, unrestrained peace...
I am not of clay anymore.
house of invocation,
awarded me the hope that I hungered for
centuries ago.
My ancestors would've healed with its music
they would have never built weapons
if their souls had been awakened by these notes.
My heir will be wiser in one thousand tomorrows
for its melody has struck beyond the flesh, beyond the spirit.
Forgive us, children, we know not what we do
we pay with coins of gold that which we cannot own
we step on holy ground attempting to control
but this earth isn't ours,
their heaven won't embrace us
the blood we spilled wont bloom in spring
hugs perish daily in us,
this is the planet we destroyed
are you still proud of your creation?
In Tate modern hope was found again
twice in one day, fulfilling promises
temple for contemplation
poetry, what have I done to deserve you?
I feel alive and know not what to do with this
should I reclude and cry for I am one of few?
if only I could explode
and infect everything with my hallucinations
and make the world breath again
breath again
burn again
like inside me
breaths the flame
and it hurts
ah, unrestrained peace...
I am not of clay anymore.
3/22/08
Last day in London
Tell me if you had kissed my lips before,
London wind, London hail
talk to me of Victorian times
down the square mile, wasn’t my heart alive?
In Oxford Street I am in everyone
I caress with my million hands your streets and your visitors
and ask the wise man if he knows my name
and implore the foggy voices to repeat it
ignite the flame in me, I beg.
I see no recognition among the royal ground
the Parliament Hill remains asleep as I intrude
recruiting with my lens, erasing with my flash
the muted prayers of those who remain still
guarding a palace of governance and boundaries…
is it here where the light awaits?
London who speaks 300 languages
can your big eye see through me?
I’ve answered your call, I’ve come to your door
but can your skyscrapers understand me?
Take the hope that belongs, the promise that remains
stand omnipotent and spread
your arches, your monuments, your rails,
build another bridge on my chest
river of feet and beating souls
to the heavens above.
London wind, London hail
talk to me of Victorian times
down the square mile, wasn’t my heart alive?
In Oxford Street I am in everyone
I caress with my million hands your streets and your visitors
and ask the wise man if he knows my name
and implore the foggy voices to repeat it
ignite the flame in me, I beg.
I see no recognition among the royal ground
the Parliament Hill remains asleep as I intrude
recruiting with my lens, erasing with my flash
the muted prayers of those who remain still
guarding a palace of governance and boundaries…
is it here where the light awaits?
London who speaks 300 languages
can your big eye see through me?
I’ve answered your call, I’ve come to your door
but can your skyscrapers understand me?
Take the hope that belongs, the promise that remains
stand omnipotent and spread
your arches, your monuments, your rails,
build another bridge on my chest
river of feet and beating souls
to the heavens above.
Tell me you will kiss my lips again
London wind, London hail
take from me my forgetfulness
make of it a song of love
to last until my return.
London wind, London hail
take from me my forgetfulness
make of it a song of love
to last until my return.
3/23/08
Return Home....
The world appears to be
inevitably humble today.
Forgive our heartbreak while we walk away
we know no better
than to regret farewells.
Tomorrow we shall have recovered
grief will then become hope
of new encounters.
The sun will find us smiling
building towers of words
for the minds of those who listen
to our story.
In our voice they will read
the detailed architecture of the past
the fine materials,
the shoe laces,
the fish, the chips, the tap water,
the boredom of the statues,
the song of the big ben,
the black cabs speeding away,
the poem that fell off my pocket
at the Whitehall.
Tomorrow we will have embraced
reality whispering to us.
So let us camouflage today among the ghosts
and take with us a portion of the city
small enough to fit in our bags.
Let me one last time declare
that I have loved you...
even if tomorrow I return to my ignorance.
Let me testify that your heritage
resounds in each of us
making us worthy of new dreams.
The world appears to be
inevitably quiet today.
Forgive our heartbreak while we walk away
we know no better
than to regret farewells.
inevitably humble today.
Forgive our heartbreak while we walk away
we know no better
than to regret farewells.
Tomorrow we shall have recovered
grief will then become hope
of new encounters.
The sun will find us smiling
building towers of words
for the minds of those who listen
to our story.
In our voice they will read
the detailed architecture of the past
the fine materials,
the shoe laces,
the fish, the chips, the tap water,
the boredom of the statues,
the song of the big ben,
the black cabs speeding away,
the poem that fell off my pocket
at the Whitehall.
Tomorrow we will have embraced
reality whispering to us.
So let us camouflage today among the ghosts
and take with us a portion of the city
small enough to fit in our bags.
Let me one last time declare
that I have loved you...
even if tomorrow I return to my ignorance.
Let me testify that your heritage
resounds in each of us
making us worthy of new dreams.
The world appears to be
inevitably quiet today.
Forgive our heartbreak while we walk away
we know no better
than to regret farewells.
