The stifled sounds
Drowned commotion past the doorway
Vocals from mobile bodies
That idle in the hallway
The sterile walls above my head
Encapsulated.
The stationary figure
Idle in bed
Metal machines
Thick plastic tubing
Highlighted by the one shard of sunlight
That divides the room
Late afternoon
Carefully she lay
To the beat of the medical
metronome Suffocating.
The sheets that blanketed her body
Forced alive
All hours awake
Land of the free
They say
But people are more chained
Home of the brave
They say
But people are still afraid
This paradoxical paradigm
Compels me
To escape
So I board
The aircraft
“Welcome to Korea”
The root of my kinfolk
Significance of origin
Weight of my history
They flood
the inner workings
Of my soul.
An experience
not welcomed
back home
An invitation
Granted
Mere steps down
The diamonds of heritage
Embezzled in
the very land
Of which you feel
With the soles of your feet.
Eat
of the food.
Speak
with your people.
And remember,
Your identity.
Take the elevator
And reach the top,
Where the view lays sprawled
Before you.
Walk to the edge,
To the very, very edge.
Lean over,
And have a frightening
Thought,
One that you never
Expected to have.
I could jump.
Right now, I could jump.
Now hope to God
You ́re not crazy
To feel that way.
You ́re not.
The french have a saying for it.
L ́appel du vide.
The call of the void.
It beckons
For your body to
Take control.
But something jerks you back.
It’s your mind.
What a twisted way
To let you know you are
Grateful for the view.
He stood atop the white, vast mountain.
His home.
Covered in darkness
The wind chilled across the layers of life
the pitch black ripples in parts of Bear Lake.
His friends swaying loosely in the wind
Giving off pleasant drafts of sweet caramel and soothing vanilla
Nothing but silence as the falling of snow began to bow at his friendly feet
Every step causing the snow to hug to his boot one by one.
Walking towards a bright blue ball of light and warmth that rose in the midst of the white spects
Melting the hearts of living things around.
He no longer saw the dark ripples but saw them begin to
Transform to a teal and light blue body that freely flowed, elegantly making way for all in its path.
All except the friendly moose
gracefully eating the lush green
Wet silky moss hidden beneath the sheets of the ice.
As he stood up pridefully with his rack of enormous horns.
Light glimmered across the glassy lake
reflecting light onto the darkened trees
On the animals in the sky and on the ground.
An unstoppable force to be reckoned with.
If only he could be there to experience it once again.
The big yellow house
With the large green yard
Where I grew up in Connecticut
My memories,
still
Here,
There,
everywhere.
Fishing in the pond
Just down the road,
From the big yellow house
Flying down the zipline,
In the backyard,
Of the big yellow house
Jumping on the slip n slide
Swimming in the pool
During the summer
At the big yellow house
Walking in the backyard,
to the woods
To the river,
To the pond,
That is just down the road,
From the big yellow house
Suspended and surrounded by nothing,
alone.
Neither to one side nor another,
Always up and down.
Always here and there,
But not in between.
A partner doing the same,
Farther away that I can see.
In time but not together.
Faster than light, or slower.
Or maybe not moving at all. No one knows.
Always present,
A part of everything, but
Never visible.
A frontier to never explore.
Winter is a white time placed in between warmth
Cold ice under your boots
Cold air bitting your face
Pine trees snow covered
January sun reflecting off of the snow blinding you
The frigid spruce
The clinking and clanking of bells
Winter holds the darkest day of the year
And always good wishes
Candy cane breath
The peppermint bliss
Ho, Ho, Ho, the cheerful stretch of year
The time has come.
A year in waiting.
I walk into heaven.
Black smoke flies.
Burnt chocolate flew.
A volcano filled of Hershey’s milk chocolate
Spurted out of the chimney.
Oh no! It’s snowing ice cream!
The chocolate drizzled to make a sundae.
I bolted back to my house
Opened the refrigerator door
Grabbed a perfectly pudgy plump cherry
I raced back outside
Chucked the cherry on top a mound of a
Perfectly scoop of strawberry ice cream.
I could feel my stomach growing in size
As I continued to devour several pounds of ice cream.
But, Halloween was just as expected.
Little kids bolting house to house
Getting chased by their parents.
The annoying rings of doorbells.
Jolly ranchers. Candy corn.
A poem should be like the view
of the ocean from the shore,
Ending, but endless.
An ambiguous blob,
of words,
engraved in paper,
or manifested in speech.
of silence,
an idea, just waiting.
Like a child,
Understanding, expressive.
Yet wordless.
A poem should be like the sky,
Seemingly empty, but full.
That’s what a poem should be.
A shapeless identity,
Made from
The shadow-like
fragments
That was once a whole story.
Like the color Black.
One color.
But a mixture of all.
It should be like a flower shop.
Containing not something,
But something more.
Up a winding road
with the ocean
at your back.
no sign
of any town.
But,
next to a seven-eleven
there is
an alleyway,
only three people wide.
This tunnel
takes you away
To a secret maze, hidden
From the outside world.
Small streets lined
With shops,
Twisting and turning
Along the side
Of a mountain.
Like a tangled up wire.
Not a car to be seen
Only rivers of people
Rushing through every street.
When the day is over,
The town transforms.
A ceiling
Of lanterns light up,
Strung over every street
Glowing, bright in the night.