Missing

Have you seen this dream?

It was very brief
   and boisterous
   and bright

a single red balloon
I sent to the stars last night.

Concentrate On Quiet

A sweet smile
for her laugh, too loud.

I pursed my lips
and hushed her,
the way I would an infant:
tenderly and without disdain.

She blushed and apologized
and looked to the front
where the professor

danced back and forth
before each of us
ignorant pupils.

Come What May

The clutter I've accumulated:
thousands of books, stacked
into neat piles that reach the ceiling -
I crave the knowledge folded delicately
between each page.

But what use is knowledge
when I have no strength to act upon it?

Come what may,
I must rouse myself.

Come what may,
I must revive my slow-beating heart
which even now
wears the mask of untimely sleep.

Sahasrara

Eternal.
I have surpassed myself
and rest easy, filled up
with stardust and fertile soil.
I am the nesting ground
for the raven and the dove,

I am the throne of the greatest power
and the greatest humility.

Come watch the blooming lotus,
tranquil and unmoving
on the mirrored sky.

Come join yourself with me
and let your roots carry deep
within my womb,
that you may see the World and

remain untouched by death.

Source: www.redbubble.com/people/goldenisis

Ajna

Deep in that feral place
where from river-washed stones
spring wild green toads
and fallen logs hide lazy crocodiles
that sleep by the water's edge,
we might find ourselves
illuminated by the sunbeams
that tumble through the shady treetops
and brighten the ground beneath us;
a golden daydream.

Follow me there, a brilliant star
that reveals the hidden way.
Eyes open and filled up with the world's color;
I will be your sight
that welcomes truth and illusion alike.

Source: www.viyett.com.au/yoga-articles.html

Vishuddha

Before the light of day appears
to cast away night's shadow,
clear voices of songbirds come
filled with hope and filled with sorrow

but fearful? not these courageous tones
which ring with all their might, of
the truth that lay in the rising sun,
the joy which gives them flight

and remember now, that I am here:
the howling wind
the quiet tumble of water over rock
the crackle of your flame,

the irrepressible voice
which causes mountains to crumble
and the immovable heart
to shake.

Source: www.trulyorganicfoods.com/blog/tag/healing-with-energy

Anahata

Breathe in deeply as my
howling gales surround you,
the chorus which remembers
every slight, every triumph.

Now,

Listen to the cacophony in your breast.
I am there, the joyous uproar
which has captured you,
a throne upon which
your soul rests eternal.

I am the citadel of your freedom
and the bearer of your guilt, the weight
in your chest.

Source: zeitgeistmusings.wordpress.com/

Manipura

Don't test me.

I've got a fire inside me,
one that even your icy demeanor
cannot extinguish.

It is true what you've heard,
I am a bright flash of light
and an insatiable spring of life.
Give me your hunger,
Give me your desires,

and I will be your strength.

Source: mindnutquest.wordpress.com/2012/07/05/jung-on-kundalini-manipura-anahata

Swadhisthana

The endless toil,
the ebb and flow
that erodes away obstruction;
I am that patient bitterness,
the trickling stream which carves canyons.

Hold me in your tender warmth,
and be gentle with my heart
for I am the ever-changing tide,
your muse, your solitude.

Source: www.yogaturk.com/yoga/chakralar

Muladhara

 I see only me.
The wind that sings
so sweetly between each blade
of grass;
the melody does not touch me.

I am the raw diamond,
your hunger,
the dark soil beneath your feet.

source: www.yogawithtanja.com/first-chakra-muladhara

Chocolate Veil

Source: http://www.flickr.com/people/caryndrexl/

The wishes I sent to the reddened moon,
sealed in parchment and wax,
were filled with sighs and longing -
I hope you'll see them soon.

Recorded in the darkest ink -
the raven's wing it rivals -
a simple, desperate request;
written here, as follows:

let this chocolate veil
which I wear without cessation,
that once before was my distress
now be my liberation.

Moon Picnic

The Madonna and Child

Mother woke me late one night
and told me to step outside.
Above my head, a silver crescent
casting off thick streams of moonlight.

She pulled from behind the house,
a small boat and a little oar;
inside was tucked a woven basket
filled with food she'd prepared before.

I climbed inside the wooden boat
as she pointed us toward the sky,
and we set sail for the twinkling stars
on a river of glowing light.

Mother grabbed the little oar,
splashed it in the glowing stream,
and toward the sharp-edged moon we flew,
to Her meteor-speckled shore -
and we stepped down on the moon,
with basket and blanket in hand,
and laid us down a little feast
upon the silver sand.

Mother made hot cocoa
and cookies and tea cakes,
topped with the heart-shaped designs
and red candies that she often makes.
She pointed out to me,
our home far down below
and told me her well kept secret,
of the magic, hidden window.
As I munched upon the sweets
and sipped my chocolate drink,
Mother turned to me, catching starlight
in her eyes, and whispered:

"When you are feeling down, my dear,
when the world seems dim and grey,
go through that crystal window
and you'll return to this holy place.
Then look above the cloudy skies
which below seem so forlorn,
and see the Earth's true beauty,
the paradise where you were born."

A Necessary Evil

In the quiet of an overcast afternoon,
when we are together and watching
the sky pass through us,
thrums a kind of roar from above

that casts itself upon my skin
and awakens something in you.

In your eyes, there, in your eyes,
where your lips are upon my throat
and we are tumbling together, blindly,
down this grassy hill,
I am tossed aside by my own inhibitions

and left vulnerable and awake
in your tired arms.

The thunder above us
that threatens the rhythm of our hearts
and calls us to wrap around eachother
and make an altar of my womb

is a necessary evil, that
even in its threat of annihilation,
pushes us ever closer to
re-creation.

"The Stars In Her Hair"

This is my first painting in quite a while, but I'm very happy with it.  Let me know what you think!

The Stars In Her Hair

Also, just as a side note, I'm sorry for the quality of the picture.  I don't know where my main camera is so I had to settle for less.  I'll post a better quality photo when my camera reappears!  Enjoy!

:3

Fantasie

I stood, uncomfortable.
I waited for his response.
I bit my lip, and watched him take in the silence
that followed the last note.

I closed my eyes
     and imagined myself away.
I opened my eyes
     and still he had said nothing.

Was it something about the way my hands
drifted up above the keys, as though to catch
the last ringing tones hanging above our heads?

Or was it the anger that filled each forte,
the tugging emptiness in each rest,
the bittersweet lullaby
that wrapped itself around us, and
bade us dream of our mortality?

Perhaps it was the way I sought the answer in his eyes.
I should have been less forward.
I should have diverted my gaze from him,
allowed him to tuck himself away
and become impenetrable.

In any case, I didn't know.
He kissed me, but he wouldn't tell.

Metamorphosis

in much the same way
that a moth, once freed from its cocoon,
flees into the sky away from itself,
I am falling away into something new

that calls me down into the depths of -
I, drag myself underneath the palpitating heart
and watch the clustered cells pulse violently
I, hide myself between the follicles of twisted hair
and watch the skin cells slough off

and become the wind and the snow atop mountain peaks.

I am made to watch those pieces which -
hitherto unconscious of their magnificence -
breathe new life into the wearied mind,
and show me that light I sought,
which Prometheus threw down to the curious Eve,

in much the same way
that a moth, once freed from its cocoon,
flees from the sodden ground it once called Paradise.

To He Who Holds My Heart

The feel of your arms
around my waist,
your lips, tender and wanting --

I lifted my face to yours
and fed your hunger.

Who I Am

Who am I?

I am not the wind or the sunlight,
though I have stood within them
and felt their kisses and caresses on my skin.

I am not the ocean or the rain
though both have caught me unaware
as I walked to school as a child,
or along the yellow shore, ignorant of the coming tide.

I am not the eggplants and zucchini
growing in my garden, though
they have sustained me
and made me smile with pride.

I am not my family, though
goodness knows how I have tried,
to please and become them,
they, the only ones closest to me, I know.

I am myself.

But I have not yet discovered who that is.

Cursed Dream

Sorry for the late post. Enjoy!
***************

I couldn't imagine I'd be here.
Burying her.

But the man was coming.
This was her only protection;
Their only protection.

In this forbidden land
Where seeds planted refuse to grow
Where time has stopped and sifted underneath
Thousands of years of sand,

I am burying her, breath and tired eyes,
In the hope that the man will pass by,
And the youthful condemned

Will be spared.

The Premium Wash, Rinse, and Drive

I hadn't gone to one of these since I was young.
I knew what to expect.
I suppose I didn't.

My car rolled slowly into the automated wash,
and I parked it, ready for my five minute-
Super Saiyan snooze.

The water was calming, and drizzled down the side,
and I watched it, suddenly fascinated by
the light it reflected.

It reminded me of...
something.
I closed my eyes.

A sudden roaring sound,
and I was alert, hands at the wheel
10'o clock and 2'o clock respectively, at the ready.

It was the spinning washers,
blue and snakeline, circling above my windshield
seemingly consuming the window on the driver's side.

It was a storm, it seemed,
that swallowed whole my view of the world,
that drowned it in grey soap and multi-colored car wax.

Was it adrenaline?
Or some unknown glamour that had gripped me?
I don't know, but it was exhilarating, and somehow even

Here, in this man-made cave,
I found my inner child, filled with wonder at the sudden
change in her world.  Suffocating claustrophobia, uncertain

where the world had gone.

Then the rain - the water came and washed away the worry.
Then the wind came and cleared my sight.
And somehow, we came out alright.

Sunflowers

Lined against the wooden fence,

a row of corn and sunflowers stood

defiantly, refusing to bow

to the heat of day.

I strolled along the perimeter of the garden

running my hand

along yellow squash

and zucchini blossoms,

and looked into 

the golden eye

of one of the awesome giants.

I peered up into it.

It peered down into me.

I lowered my eyes,

smiled,

and continued on.

Disenchanted Patriot

Okay, I'm sitting in class
and the room is dark
and the others are quiet,
listening to the man
                             with long hair
                             and bitter smile
speak.

Okay, I'm sitting in class
and we're watching the prospectors
skewer children like sick livestock
and steal away their homes
                                         with illegal contracts
                                         and toothy smile.

Okay, I'm sitting in class
watching the hidden genocide
unfold on the ground beneath my feet
centuries old -

Okay - so, I'm writing down -
 on torn, crumpled paper -
in blood
the history of this great nation
                                             with broken heart
                                             and bitten tongue.



*************************************
This poem was my attempt to reconcile with the fact that truly - this nation, the United States of America, was built upon the bloodied bodies and burdened shoulders of, not only my own African ancestors, but of the indigenous peoples of America as well. 

Especially after learning about the American Indian genocide in California - my home - which was a centuries-long attempt to eradicate the indigenous culture and to subjugate completely those whose land was stolen from them, I have been struggling with my allegiance to such a country as this one, one which I wish to raise up to what it could be... but one which I also want to expose to its populace, those who don't know the full extent of this history, or do not wish to contemplate the implications of this country's actions on our present-day lives.

It isn't much, but I hope the fact that its been on my mind, and that it won't leave my mind for decades to come I'm sure, is solace that the disgusting acts perpetrated against indigenous populations has not been forgotten.  I hope that remembering it publicly will at the very least be a first step in the right direction.

http://www.pbs.org/indiancountry/history/calif.html

Thirty-Seven Minutes to Close

Watching the legislature run wild,
each side scurrying to silence
 - with violent agility of tongue -
the other,
I wait and wonder

what will become of that unborn child
who sits unwanted
or dying
or threatening death to its host?

I wonder what will become of that woman
a victim of rape
a victim, who must carry the living memory
of her pain

And I - feeling monthly reminders
of my femininity

wonder what will become of my right
my freedom
to be the sovereign of my own body.

Here, where we question
the value of life not begun
we forget those historical chains
which patriarchy had thrown around
the uterus,
                had extracted from it
                dowries and heirs,
                had turned the living woman
                into a decorative safe
the uterus,
                a commodified asset.

we forget that
that which carries life,
lives -

what will become of my baby?
what will become of me?
what will become of me...

*****************************************

Here is the livestream for the filibuster going on in the Texas State Senate, to oppose a sweeping anti-abortion bill.  Watch here! ----> http://rhrealitycheck.org/video/2013/06/25/live-video-texas-state-sen-wendy-davis-filibusters-anti-abortion-bill/?upworthy

Where The Sun Rests

I wanted to go away
into the crevices of the
Bald Mountain,
and lay my skin bare against
the Sun's fingertips

and feel the light pierce through
my flesh
and explode my heart
into a thousand glittering stars
spread out across the wind.

I wanted to sit in little tufts of grass
and make myself small
between the pebbles on the cliff,
to look up - amazed -
at the ribbons of glowing white

that fell between the cracks
and wrapped themselves around my waist.

I wanted to open myself
and become the vessel of sunbeams;
earthen irises, stained glass
of this living cathedral.  Here,
this forbidden place,
where heathen gods and ancient wisdom
reside.

I wanted to go,
but some little devil told me no.


*****************
Below is a spoken word version of the poem (i.e. performed :3)!

Nowhere to Hide Dirty Laundry

I've nowhere to hide my dirty clothes
which sit in a pile to the right.

I swept them underneath my bed,
but somehow they fell back into view.

I pushed them behind my desk,
extinguished odor with scented candlelight.

Still, somehow, the unwashed pants and panties,
the self-disappointment and anguish
and slips

refuse to stay hidden.

I always find the pile, growing ever larger
in the center of my floor;
the sight becomes evermore difficult
to ignore.

"After Hours" Jazz Combo

Instead of posting my regular, weekly poem today, I want to showcase an awesome jazz ensemble named "After Hours", made up of four very talented Cal State San Bernardino students!

On Saturday, from about 6pm to 8pm, I had the pleasure of listening to them play wonderful jazz tunes like "Girl from Ipanema" and "Michelle" as I attended an Art Gallery showcase and silent auction at the City of Pomona's dA Center for the Arts.

With their trumpet player, bassist, guitarist, and drummer, this jazz quartet helped to perfect the already extraordinary atmosphere, setting the mood with a cool, Latin vibe that had the various art patrons snapping

their fingers as they sipped wine and bid on the showcased collection, a variety of sculptures and paintings made by amateur and professional alike.

It was a wonderful experience to be able to watch the "After Hours" jazz ensemble and to see the works of local artists; often, we are so bombarded by huge celebrities like Alicia Keys, Bruno Mars and -- *shudders* One Direction (I don't like them very much, myself :3), that we forget to take the time to celebrate our local talent.

If you live in the Inland Empire (Southern California), and are having an event in the future where you'd like some jazzy, artsy music to really set the mood for your evening, definitely consider the "After Hours" Combo!

I have some videos of their performance, but sadly, my phone has decided not to work for me today lol.  Check out my Facebook page, The Lackadaisical Firefly.  When the universe decides that it's time for my videos to upload lol, they will upload here!

Shadow Dragon

I have seen you
lurking around parks at night,
your tail twisting around lightpoles
like a hungry vine;
your breath, a heavy mist
trailing its dulled claws across the ground.

I have seen you, old friend.
     But tell me,
what battle have you fled?

What adversary inspired such terror
that even you of valiant darkness,
would resign yourself
to this grassy lot?

Ode to the Tiny Fly

A fly landed on my pen --
a gnat fell sideways onto
the words I wrote,
determined to map out
this unseemly terrain which
appeared without end, but
                                       which
at the briefest flutter of wind
might turn fully on its side
                                      which,
though wide, did not bear the weight
even to disfigure his wings.

I could see the distrust in his hundred eyes.

Even as he traced with each of six legs
a path on the wide frontier of my paper --
his disbelief, that such an infinite land
could end at such a thin, empty point.

On Being Underwater

I held my breath and listened,
knowing that one false move
and the music would cease.  My body

floated just under the surface
which was smooth like glass
or frozen oil slick.

Air escaped my lungs
and pushed me down; the silver spheres
broke the still sky, shattering

its image across the pool's perimeter.
Slowly, the sound of a heartbeat
began to wave through the silence,
filling my lungs and my fingertips.

The Green Man

I thought: how small my
house must seem
to those rocky mountain
peaks to the north.

I thought:
it must be some giant ogre, concealed
beneath all the brush and pebbles,
peering out from behind his
pine-tree camouflage

to watch with frustrated curiosity
the tiny beings below,
whose eyes are obscured
by their distance

by the dirt that smudged
    the hidden face.

Finals Week

Our hour of judgment.
Insomnia rush rules here;
the pupils' trials.

The Kingdom Dream

My eyes welcomed the darkness
     and omniscience that the stars brought.

My eyes saw gold rings and
     the face of power, reflections,
     in the unstained mirror.

I was not the queen
     bee, whose honey hole is lifted
     and plugged up tight,

     aimed at the ground.
I was not a slave to the production
     of slaves.
I was not feminine and fragile
     and filled with regret.

I was Woman.  I was King.
Omnipotent.  All-Knowing.
 - I woke suddenly and

my fingers darted to the keyboard and
I - waited impatiently
for the screen, which I could not rush,
to turn on.

Breakfast in Winter

The unmistakeable smell of water-swelled oats,
motionless and day-old, in
the plastic bowl, brushes frightfully slow
against my nose.

In my mouth they cling haplessly
to tongue and teeth,
dear to them
as mother's teat.

Awaiting the black gorge and
the confused expression of the
black woman.

She doesn't know whether to chew endlessly
or to swallow the bloated, whole.

Religious Detox

A note:  I like to write haiku in french.
             I don't know why I like to write haiku in french.
             But I do.  So deal with it. :-)
             ....Also I think there are two syllables in 'libre', but if there aren't, PLEASE CORRECT ME.
             That is all.  ...I love you. :3


Je suis toute libre.
Votre dieu n'est pas le mien.
Le mien: l'eau, l'oiseau. 

Aries' Horns

The sea found itself on my fingertips
a bright coral color to hold in the sky's reflection.
Bold and bowing only to the soft wind whistling
just outside on the porch.

The nail polish is your warning.

I start at audacity, and sharpen the tips of curled horns.
Your feeble attempts to sneak in and
steal my love make me laugh,
My heart will beat fast and rule you and win.
The heat of my blood will burn you and provoke words
like "Demon" or "hell" from your undeserving lips,
which crave nonetheless the cool comfort
 of my moistened kiss.

But come to me, vulnerably, and throw down your weapons.
Caress my skin and speak easy, relaxed words to me
sweet as lemonade in endless summer.

And you'll have me.
Then you'll be mine, eternally.

Bad Choice of Footwear

My poor sodden shoes were ill-prepared
for the torrential downpour which would ensare
them entirely in concrete-based currents
the morning of my last expense
of energy this week.

Before the grey calm of dawn,
I sat awake and listened to the soft percussion sounds
that raindrops often make.

Were you awake during dark slumber hours
with the presence of mind to hear
each distinct drumbeat that drowned out
song bird tweets and
played rhythms against vertical glass panes
and overworked storm drains
for the amusement of your dreaming psyche?

I was, and I heard the sky
drop down in singing spheres
on the roof of my house.

Still, I woke before the sun,
not caring to see the slick streets
that shimmered,
nor the raincoat hanging limp in my closet.
     I donned my non-weather proof boots,
     useless against the elements
     in a way only SoCal could love.

And I walked out into the murky day,
for which my poor sodden shoes
were ill-prepared.

Angle of Reflection

A stone, thrown swiftly
into the center of the quiet pond,
whistled and popped,
dropping onto the silver surface
and hurling ripples toward
mud covered feet.

It was only briefly that my reflections were obscured,
my thoughts resettled when balance returned.

They Delivered The Wrong Package

Two hours ago

I got a parcel and a note

which read, "You're welcome."

in letters a five-year-old

might've wrote.

Nonetheless,

I brought it inside

curious as to what

the light box was hiding.

A pair of scissors and 

a bit of grit later,

the cardboard opened to 

reveal a longer letter.

It read:

"The meaning of life doesn't exist,

in some sort of universal personification.

It isn't born with you at birth,

It isn't bound till death do you part.

Meanings of life bubble up

like an inconstant spring,

in small bursts of insight,

situational and temporary.

Meanings of life bloom

like new flowers in the

pretty month of June,

flowing and searching

and following sunbeams.

That particular meaning of life,

that path you followed so piously,

will wither

as it is short-term, dying

and spreading its seeds on

soft wind,

till your ass finds itself lost,

and those seeds sow again."

I sighed and closed the cardboard flaps.

This wasn't the life manual I ordered,

I'd have to send it back.

Naming a Hypothetical Son

Caden, as in a cadence, a rhythm which flows
And mimics God's tongue, a soft song,
Delicate and all-entrancing, Caden.
Eerily, the sound rings in my ears.  Familiar, close, a
Necessity - I listen, amazed, and breathe the beautiful spell again.

The Financial Panic of Now

I panicked today.

Not the kind of panic
where your heart trips,
stops, skips back into place.

Not the kind of panic
where you wonder how you'll
get through the task set before you
that grips you, seems to
strip you of your dignity
and forces to the forefront
that childhood fear of speaking to strangers
that you tucked so neatly
behind your lungs.

I panicked today.

I looked at my car note
and it looked at me and it spoke.

It said: this is all there is for you.
That house you hoped for? Loan.
That car? That higher education? Loans.
Debt for credit, financial prestige,
none of which are worth much of anything
at your age, in this economy?
Nope, not a chance.

Those 2.5 kinds you wanted are expensive.
They need cribs, clothing, companionship.
They'll say they need a dog, a cat, or a hamster.
They need good schooling
and daycare costs money, too.
They need, they need, they need --

Its paper-thin, mechanical voice echoed away.

I looked at the car note,
a makeshift crystal ball,
and I panicked.

In retrospect, this psychological
self-destruction had been expected.
Years of watching one-sided pundits
spew half-thought out predictions
of the fall of the nation
through my up and coming generation
(not once taking into account
the effects of that Great Recession
on my peers' and my collective depression.

Jasmine Dream

I pressed the stick of jasmine
gently to the flame
watched the smoke rise up
and waft against the window pane.

And I inhaled, slow and deep,
let the foreign heat fill my lungs -
And I inhaled, slow and deep,
lent my eyes to faraway dreams.

Soft, golden fields of overgrown grass
and a white cotton dress caught the sun's rays,
and warmed the hidden cherrywood-colored skin.
     I danced slowly toward your gaze

and I inhaled, slow and deep,
I let your touch ensnare me -
and I inhaled, slow and deep,
let you become my faraway dream.