an in-sight drove me
here where the entry code 'eye'
opened a word lock
so timely fashion
is responsible for words
on 'invisibles'
our subconscious 'scans'
it is just information
our library
and we are the 'eyes'
an only librarian
that seeks references
in experience
of clues we focus upon
and weave stories from
to create movie
science and pulp fiction themes
that rattle the mind
the more we focus
on hollywood plot and script
we are blind to scan
stan
Ce réveil
est lent
Ces instants qui se suivent sans décompte
Comme un levé de soleil distant
Il s'approche
Baigné dans une rose chaude
cette fleur ne pique pas
Non pas cette fois
"Ne la haïs pas".
Chaque inhalation mécanique
Une main qui guide le regarde effleuré
Les paupières s'ouvrent
Dans une noir paisible, dans le pénombre
Le regarde et les mains invisibles
ne sont plus les miens
Avec le souffle
Je me lève
--TRANSLATION--
This awakening
is slow
These uncountable instants filing one after the other
Like a distant sunrise
It approaches
bathed in a warm rose color
This flower does not prick
not this time
"don't hate her"
The mechanical inhale
a hand guiding the brushed gaze
Eyelids open
in the peaceful blackness, in the darkness
The gaze and the invisible hands
are no longer mine own
With a breath
I arise
It's my last day with the old giants
In mourning I hike the lost trails,
sniffing the aroma of the bark,
that cinnamon of the forest
Under tepees of wood
in a membrane of shadows,
I stalk the earth, its mammal traces,
its elusive tracks,
to sit on a fallen log
where spiders macramé,
moss sloping to my knees
unaware of invisibles within,
grubbing in their tunnels
A lizard taps my foot,
responding, I muse to its touch,
my thoughts like Indian visions,
And when daylight mushrooms into night,
and an owl hoots from cedar,
I still sit with a lizard on my shoe
Huddled with the ancients of the woods
It's my last day with the old giants
In mourning I hike the lost trails,
sniffing the aroma of the bark,
that cinnamon of the forest
Under tepees of wood
in a membrane of shadows,
I stalk the earth, its mammal traces,
its elusive tracks,
to sit on a fallen log
where spiders macramé,
moss sloping to my knees
unaware of invisibles within,
grubbing in their tunnels
A lizard taps my foot,
responding, I muse to its touch,
my thoughts like Indian visions,
And when daylight mushrooms into night,
and an owl hoots from cedar,
I still sit with a lizard on my shoe
Huddled with the ancients of the woods
Words Made Of Breath
Words made of breath come soft
Under the knife of night like silk on air
How correctly they pass through lead
Solids are not their friend
Words live above the grass on oxygen
Particles of dust, bugs and warm winds
Disseminated, taking on measured meaning
The inaudible invisibles
Unencumbered in the dark
Words made of breath are taken in
Exhaled, gentle to the touch
They say so much
Breezing past
Though her light shines
And blinds
No one notices
No one see's the girl inside
The one who cries
Day and night
And wonders why
She catches no one's sight
She shivers
Though surrounded by the warmth
Of her family
She aches
Though recieving comfort
From her companions
Because no one see's
That beautiful girl
Who possibly
May change the world
With her words
With one pen
She just has to find
The beauty within
The beauty that blossoms
As she sings
Along to tunes and melodies
The beauty that blooms
When she writes
Those wonderful poems
Of her life
Yet she hides
That special notebook
Away from everyone's sight
She still has yet
To win the battle within herself
This war she must fight
And still today she remains invisble
Her soul fragile and translucent
Her trust fades away
Each breezy day
Her identity
Hidden in the wind
Thou, this page is blank,
It’s just for a while.
As I peer thru it,
I realize what surrounds me.
Day and night, applause follows me;
It’s the silent applause of encouragement.
From cyber poets, invisibles, yet friendly;
Uplifting me to a new level of life.
Mostly, as I speak in peripheral solitude,
Words flowing out, instantaneously.
Like running water of river wild,
To an endless trip of songs and lyrics.
Then, as I sing it to a happy end---
I am done for the day.
To be surrounded by invisibles,
Yet friendly, is beyond words. I guess.
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