Contributors * more photos to appear soon

Contributors * more photos to appear soon
Christy Namee Eriksen, kim thompson, Jon Schill

Friday, May 28, 2010

im out of words today

some days... some weeks
even writer poets
have no words to write
so i figure
why force the sentence
if its not wanting to
come out.

- kim thompson. seoul, korea friday 28 may - 1 day past thursday

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Poem for Brian

NOTE: An adopted friend of a friend just got diagnosed with cancer and will be starting chemo in a couple of weeks. I have never met him but have heard horrific stories about him and his sister, also an adoptee. I guess this is for all adoptees who wear a physical reminder of their adoption.

Came into this world harelip split open,

figured it would help him tell stories

but was just a baby

with nothing to draw from

so lit lies and fanned them

with the books he got for Christmas

but didn’t read--

scorching his story into

pages penned by white dudes.

Twisted leg broke his pace,

kept sentences unpredictable--

kept one foot where he was born

by choice, helped him look East

while his stories stayed “too yellow.”

Eventually, eyes turned from slanted to hollow.

Dealt a dick hand by dirty dealers

full of history no one knew,

didn’t bother to read--

but they liked his stories well enough,

felt sorry he stopped writing

to lay his head in common ground.

In Full Bloom

Like every year about now,
the same plain stems are yawning,
their first words brilliant red petals,

And a grizzly in a rock hole,
alone at the end of his dreams,
does a sun salutation.

The ice has broken,
if you haven’t heard,
soon only to be crystal pages,
another winter someone’s father’s father
will read from memory, will turn
with bestseller lips.

And Lena, woman of pauses,
takes two when I ask her how she is,
fifty something rivers and
my winged minutes between us.

Towards me,
the generation she sees through,
the cardboard snappers with exhaust in
our shoes, our noses, our stories,
a water wheel that will only turn over ten more times
this morning, she
nods and puts her words in anyway,

I woke up happy
for the first time
in a long time.

And like that
I can’t see the ground,
her voice in full bloom.


a shinkansen of smells tells
the stink of the day pervading invading
a symphony of sniffles ripples
past my wide-open ears tears
dribble down my cheeks silent violent
convulsions shake my heart apart
searching for something aimlessly gainlessly
feeling alone in a people field yields
not a single emotion worthy of thought wrought
with feelings warm + pure sure
i'm enveloped in the glow though
blow by blow i fall all
i know + love gone song
waves cascade + provide hide
behind colored yarn harm
still finds my core bore
deep, deep inside past my breaker faker
and faker my emotions become mum
is the word I can't express chest
full heavy weighed down found
not the reason why I cry
from the inside but not out doubt
still rakes its fingers down my spine time
doesn't heal a wound that opens again defend
against these assaults is futile while
I die inside at every train station inundation
of sadness at every stop made laid
damage to my spirit aflame game
played + overwhelmingly lost cost
to my heart is more than the fare dare
I search for the reason season
changes mean nothing to this gnawing drawing
upon my mental faculties belies tries
I've made + failed trailed
back towards the road less traveled by try
as I might I can't stay on track back
in time I progressively regress less
of myself I bring back to the next place erase
my face from the window happy sappy
songs lip-synched but never manifested arrested
heart drops crimson like dew new
situation arises never forever
burning under my own match catch
myself running back to moments long past fast
journey back if I can fan
not turned on I sweat let
it drop from my conscience swift gift
to myself for leaving behind mind
situations that find me constantly
despite sequestering attempts exempts
my mind hurdling any obstruction construction
of barriers mindless + weak streak
lights dazzle my eyes but not my soul control
of those plastic walls falls
upon the part of me that never rests requests
a return ticket to my dark corners foreigners
don't understand this why should these please
I'm too tired to stand demand
a window seat to rest confess
my sins to my mind to allay parlay
a compromise to this emotional discontent repent
all the wrong I've done none
can offer comfort complete replete
with kind words to alleviate deviate
does my mind towards the effects rejects
the kind comments as laden with the devoid avoid
like an emotional plague vague
unclear the course permutates fates
get me off the beaten track back
I can't go until I know so
much confusion turns my spirit gray day
or night it doesn't matter shatter
the windows I see myself in win
my heart desperately screams dreams
mix to make reality soup hoop
is the shape of my progression regression
renders my soul raw thaw
my soul from it's slumber cold hold
my soul in your arms until returned life knife
my soul into pieces to remind find
my soul injured + uncared for bore
my soul with a sharp drill kill
my soul until I can rise disguise
my soul before someone will decieve receive
my soul unto a new sun one
day I will ride this train car far
into the distance without thinking sinking
down towards the depths of despair care
not of these problems pervasive abrasive
thoughts will never again hurt curt
stopping of these processes will prevail veil
necessary no longer stronger
will I become one day soon moon
will be welcoming to be return burn
with passion to love once more door
will open and through it I will file smile
will once again shine thru darkness

Desert's blush

She has no questions, no words or sentences; a language is made up of sounds that don't spell meaning, only feelings. A simple touch, or a smile, comfort the silence; except for sweet laughter. The desert is home to many a family, but even there she learned to be alone, to be more; she desired to be more.

It was long before a wayward god or goddess had, on a rainy day, come up with poetic love. It was even before clouds could bring rain, before water would bring life; instead all just was, flowing on endless sands. There was no love yet, there wasn't sorrow either.

And one day, while she lies asleep in the vastness of it, a soft blush of red and purple appear as a soft breeze caress the desert, changing the colour of the sand. There was no sun, as the night hadn't been invented yet; stars - iinkwenkwezi - have forgotten their shyness and appear on a canvas of deep ocean blue. Before the very first daybreak, long before that, she learns to make love to herself.