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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Life is beautiful.


    Does anyone write/review here anymore?

    I'm on Facebook (yeah, I know) if you want to keep in touch:


    www.facebook.com/alia.vancrown


    Hope you are all still writing.

    --Alia

    ...Created 2011-11-02 19:37:08

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: In Love




    The English translation does not do this justice:

    The weather stretches its limbs
    Rain ripples and spreads
    A gust of wind will come and this light will be extinguished
    I haven't let the lamp of our love be extinguished
    O beloved, this lamp hasn't been put out, nor will it be
    The lamp of my desire!
    My beloved, come to me now, my love
    With this lamp, every inch of my body is burning
    Come to me now, lover
    O my love, come to me now, beloved
    There was distance between us, a remoteness
    There was distance between us, a remoteness
    A world of separation
    My eyes were fixed in wait for you
    And you were there
    Shining, sparkling, swaying in happiness
    And here I was, burning for you
    The clouds have thundered again
    With a great rumble the rains have fallen
    A wandering storm has arrived
    But it hasn't managed to quench you
    O my love, this light hasn't been quenched,
    However much they torment it
    The rain, the wind, the lightning!
    My love, come to me now, my love
    O my love, come to me now, beloved
    Look at this crazy girl!
    She knows nothing of the world
    A gust of wind will pass through
    And bring with it her lover
    My love, come to me now, my love
    With all my heart, I didn't let this lamp of love be extinguished
    O love, this light
    With all my heart, I didn't let this lamp of love be extinguished
    O love, this light
    O beloved, beloved, beloved





    ...Created 2011-04-03 15:27:11

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood:






    Gaza waterprayer
    --after Mary Oliver's "Wild Geese."



    Dear human body,

    You do not have to be good or bad.
    You do not have to pray angelic,
    veil each thousandth tide this dying body.
    You only have to let each shrivel
    loosen and tell what it tells: fire from the air, fire from the sea.
    Love me, shrivel to shrivel, as I've loved each unwanted red flower.
    Meanwhile each cell of child in bodyprayer.
    Meanwhile each fold my ocean still swell
    awash such jail amassed through years, the terror each backlaw
    bone grown brittle, dry from such weeping.
    Meanwhile the quiet dust of sage and cardamom
    still speak to the restless ones, the wild now resting in my heart.
    Meanwhile we all are returning home again.
    Whoever you are, no matter how lonely
    the trailing paper you condemn or praise, how ill the restless imagination,
    it calls to you, swimming my waters, still wild in love's embrace --
    over and over announcing return:
    simple prayer of each living thing.


    -- Vanessa Huang




    ...Created 2011-04-01 10:12:19

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood:






    The Long Journey Home



    I.

    I have wandered sand dune seas
    Drawn mountains from ancient rites of lava and glacier,
    Stood among the dead spirits
    Conjured under coyote moons, until I longed
    To howl at my brothers,
    And bark the meaning of my life
    Fixed with sparks in the ovum, the evanescent
    Iris fused to womb-mind
    Mama's little messiah
    Come to smash the forbidden gates of fire
    Crush the eggshell throats of priests
    And lay waste their sacred temples --

    But I did not hate them, their god
    Of steeplejack towers, ghostly in gray morning mist,
    Wounded Man transfixed above the altar, his
    Wings pinned to cork, wooden rictus
    Agape in mute scream,
    An angel standing in the sun,
    A crystal tree
    Flared white
    Against the corkscrew kinesis
    Of silicon skies --

    I was born to a world
    Of skyscrapers
    Ribbed in sepia mirrors,
    Shedding prisms of shattered light, slanted
    In the looking
    Glass of Mammon,
    While the swords of Man gleamed naked
    In the garden
    And the seven silver trumpets, blowing
    Sweet defiance,
    Proclaimed Chaos the new Lord of Mathematics,
    And sat his ocular skull, grinning
    Gold atop the anthracitic throne
    And bowed
    In reverence to the express
    Hieroglyphics
    Of his sixth most intricate projection --

    The Wise said I was an infant of vision, but
    Doomed to claw on fours up a mountain of human
    Flesh,
    They predicted that one day
    I would call down fire from the sky, scattering
    Bodies
    Like sparks on a roaring wind . . .
    Blow them into a rim of fabulous stars, now . . . resolved
    And winking in the void,
    Transform
    A pointillistic swirl of molecules, a dislocated hum
    Grown fat on white noise, into a buzzing swarm
    Of hornets, but their
    Stingers dripped purple poison, and jabbed me
    Until I shed
    Tsunamis from the pits of my eyes,
    And cried out in terror from the depths
    Of my psychokinesthetic prison,
    Snow blind, lost
    Amid that searing . . . white
    Annihilation --


    II.

    And so I escaped,
    And Pariah, I am named
    Like the cast-off skin of a synthetic snake
    Bound to an age, when
    All the scales measured the shifting sands
    Of my life
    One molecule at a time . . .
    Relegated to an arctic clime, where the snow swirls
    In flakes of chalk,
    And crashes my temple like a cold-drunk wasp . . .
    I am companion unfit
    For these armies of naked white birches
    That stand stock-still, a ring of ghosts to mock
    The dying wind,
    And move only to shiver, to rake stark
    Black claws
    Against the bare
    Pink belly of dawn --

    Now,
    The arctic wolves are my brothers
    Their tribe and mine are of kith and kind
    Living out on the fringes, in the vanishing tundra
    Unaware of the concepts of space and time,
    In the wilderness
    Surpliced in a guise Nature intended, in oyster
    And pearl
    To blend in with the fog-frothed mists
    And lope our bounds unseen
    Hurdling frigid drifts
    Where I run wild and free, a member of the pack
    And if someday . . .
    The huntsmen ever came for me, I'd fight
    And die --
    And never, ever . . . go back.



    -- M. Andre Vancrown --




    ...Created 2011-03-15 12:48:25

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood:



    ...Created 2011-03-08 14:08:59

    dotsJournal: dots
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    Mood:











    ...Created 2011-02-16 22:02:03

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: In Love

    ...Created 2010-07-05 01:06:56

    dotsJournal: M. Vancrowndots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood:



    ...Created 2010-06-25 14:39:37

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Inspired





    ...Created 2010-06-11 05:15:14

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: In Love






    Things can be--
    and their Being is grounded
    in Nothing's ability to noth.

                   --Kenneth Burke
                   Language as Symbolic Action




    ...Created 2010-04-23 02:22:53

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

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