A haiku, and a poem

June. (Or, Of The Honeylocust.)
Dry rain, showering 
From a tree. Bees hover, drink.
Parched buds in my hair.

Heartstrings
So many people
I long to embrace
one last time.
To hold their firm 
shoulders,
their fluttering
hearts,
their shining
souls.
I long to just
one 
more
time
know their 
shattered hopes,
and their
growing dreams.
I long to 
once 
again
laugh with them
during their 
greatest triumphs,
and to weep
beside them
when they have
fallen far.
Now,
I can only 
watch,
Soul-yearning
from a distance,
tugged along
a shimmering string
leading from their
hearts
to mine.
I attached it
long ado,
before it was 
painful, 
back when we
were best-friends.
We are best friends 
no longer,
the string 
pulls me forward, 
relentlessly,
tortuously,
never
letting 
me
close
enough
to
touch.


   

Please

Don't watch me.
I'm the Caribbean queen.
I don't care what you say.
I don't want to be seen.

Don't watch me.
I don't exist.
I am under the sidelines.
I really must insist.

Don't watch me.
I cannot be seen.
I am not your average girl.
I am impossible to deem.

Don't watch me,
As I dance around,
If you watch me,
I will run aground.

Random journal excerpt. Just for fun.

May 6th 2010 Thursday.
My iPod seems determined that I should listen to Spanish/Mexican music today, it's been playing that and nothing else for the past half hour. (it's on Shuffle, by the way. Or, it should be on Shuffle. It might not be. Yeah, it wasn't on Shuffle. I remedied that. The first song to come up is "Start wearing purple" by Gogol Bordello.)

Bookbinding projects of late.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^What I made for my Dad for Father's day. I gave him a leather pamphlet book (?) five or six months ago, which I made in my bookbinding class. It started falling apart probably about a week ago, so I thought I'd make him a better one for Father's day, since he's been using the pamphlet bbok as a notebook.

 This is the book I made for my poetry. There are quite a few glitches, but I'm pretty happy about it just the same. I really love the paper, so pretty :)

This is a nice shot of the spine, which I did with the coptic stitch. I'm still kind of scared to try hard spine books. I've made them before, but the coptic stitch is sooo easy.  I generally fall back on it.

Soul puckers

I don't really mind
being alone.
It still hurts.
Seeing everyone else
in their gaggles, pairs
and amoebas,
hurts,
rain pours in my heart
for an instant.
The agony is fleeting,
I talk myself out
of the feelings,
the thoughts.
Too many people
have left me,
throwing half-glances
and stinging backward waves.
I must not wallow
in my puddle of tears
long,
I cannot seem to harden
it pains me
worse
every new 
colorful,
soul-shattering
parting.

As I hung the laundry to dry.

Zwitter
Summer flys, poised
motionless in the air.
Dangling, as if suspended
by a piece of transparent line.
Moving, ever so slightly from side to side,
like tiny, black marionettes.
Even flies can be beautiful.

No need to explain.

Adonai
I saw God
in my Mother's face,
and in my Father's careworn hands.
God was in the liquid-brown and gold, near blind eyes of my dog,
and in the cups of yellow daffodils.
I peered behind a sky-blue house, and saw him sitting under a sun-stained tree.
I observed God's splendor in the minute, single leaf of a watercress plant,
resting in a thirsty stream.
I found God resting on a decrepit concrete bridge, in front of an empty home.
God was there,
waiting for someone to find him.
So I sat,
and I spoke to God,
as my dog rejoiced in the stream beside.

June burthdays. Whatever. Oh yeah, and books.

I gave a friend of mine a hand-made book for her sixteenth birthday. I forgot to photograph it before I wrapped it, so I took my camera with me when I went to give it to her. Therefore, instead of some uninteresting photos of an otherwise boring book, we have this gorgeous model :)

P.S. I ordered some gorgeous paper and some neutral-color bookbinding twine from Hollanders yesterday!!! I can't wait 'til it all arrives!

Today, I walked a dog, I drank in beauty at every step, could my life be any more wonderful?

Both of these were written on this blazing, yet ever gorgeous day.

Remembrance
Friendships fade.
Hands part.
Rowboats separate, 
Sailing independent
of each other.
The ocean of life 
becoming wider,
more inhospitable.
I have lost so
many
friends, 
losing touch as we 
chose separate paths,
separate journeys.
Yet, the memories...
I will always have
the Jewel-like 
memories.
Every last one,
opalescent within
my hands.


A small forest in town
Bird in tree, head cocked.
Deer steps, vague silhouette.
Girl sees deer, breath stops. 

Summer

I wrote this poem for Max :)

Staring at walls

Blank walls, waiting for
Beauty. Tape, putty, tacks; no
awe there. Wait for it.

I write, you in mind.
Long walks, singing in my room.
Picnics at the park.


Scraps of nostalgic 
value. Unusual blooms.
A poem for you.


The wall, no longer
blank, white, or bare. Memories
cloak the emptiness.