Contributors * more photos to appear soon

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

Saturday, February 12, 2011

on ashes and change and so much more

so we stand there

and i can feel the ashes of this

sliding 'tween my fingers

hands open-winged at my side

but i dont say a-thing

i just say


perhaps because ive never taken the time

to watch the full decomposition of a thing

perhaps because i hate knowing

before im ready to allow for what i know

so we sit


letting the world make its slow slide into the sea

as if the crumbling will reveal something semi-precious

that we can still grab

but this is not a poem for sadness

not a poem for things lost

things betrayed

things sullied by deceit

this is a song for what can be rebuilt

after cities have settled to the bottom of the sea

this is a hymn for the fertility that springs from volcanic ash

a manifest for what we let go (of) and take in

i let go as the snow fell

i let go as the singer sang her words

and then took hold of what is waiting

knowing one day the words i'll say

that there you are

that i have traveled so far to come back to where i began

and we dreamed to find that we were no longer strangers

i came back to reclaim

all that has been laid out for me

to let the erosion make way for what my heart intends

i came back to rebirth again in the middle of my life

i am as she told me

that angel circling round my own head

telling me

what i have always known

that here

is where i will find


with my ashen outstretched hands

and well timed out heart

today the world itself is humming change

change that comes from hope

today the world rejoices

and tomorrow some day when it weeps

we will know what we have always felt

that we have built - destroyed - and rebuilt all this crumbling beauty

from our words

and with my sentences i can create you into being

and form that thing that has just been waiting for me to


and say

"ok. im finally ready"






gathering ashes to breathe new life into.

we were formed from dust and ribs.


kim thompson. yesterday sat 12 feb. seoul. s.korea

Friday, February 11, 2011

(i am)

(i am)

drinking cold coffee left over from late morning's brewing

smoking dry cigarettes for how they hang from my lips

like they somehow make me look that much more the writer

(i am)

thinking how i want to do (with you) like neruda wrote of spring inhabiting cherry trees

remembering lines by frank o'hare

remembering the lines of the girl who exclaimed "each day i am something new" - forgetting the poet who penned her into being

(i am)

recalling every time when i thought i might never breathe again

which is exactly right now why i know i can exhale quite freely

knowing what i want

uncertain of how to get it

determined to not repeat past ways of running

(i am)

wondering how it is that most of the best lines are in songs

but how poems never work well when sung

and how saul williams has this crazy poem about love that makes me say "hell yeah"

and punch my fist in the air to show my belief

(i am)

wooled down in a blue cardigan that would make mr. rogers proud

and contemplating how much is too many when it comes to leather wrist bands

and how im certain i need more

but not with studs

(i am)

reminding myself i really must do something about eating

as its something i keep forgetting

reading my horoscope on every site possible

with hopes of finding one that tells me what i want to hear

even redrawing reshuffling till i read my ideal spread

and then mumble "yes yes so true. wow these things are so right!"

(i am)

here on a friday not wondering too much about saturday

twittering about nothing to no one

hoping that someone tweets back

for one second making today so exciting

(i am)

listening to what the air is saying

how the trees are changing

and what i think i know

is about to happen

all of this while

still holding cold coffee in my mouth.

- kim thompson. friday. afternoon sometime. seoul. s. korea 11 feb