Poem: Fever

CJ - SeaWeed - 2013

Doctor
Please
Help me.

I have this affliction,
It feels like addiction,
Oh, I don’t know what to do.

I crave the view
Of a landscape blue
And a sky of a similar hue.

It’s been so cold
That I’m feeling old
But, my longings would fix that, too.

I envision old Sol,
If the truth be told,
Warming sand that warms my toes.

What is it, doc?
What could this be?
Don’t declare me a dream weaver.

Oh, no, my dear,
Diagnosis is simple.
Your affliction is called ‘beach fever’!

 

 

 

Poem: Shot at the Sublime

Hollywood_and_Vine_Sign,_Hollywood,_LA,_CA,_jjron_21.03.2012

Once I took a walk down Hollywood and Vine
- some time -
and it hit me
that all this could be mine.
It was the kind of day that starts out navy then gets
periwinkle
then the pale yellow starts to heat things up.
It’s definitely the sun that does it, not me
because I’m not that kind of girl.
I’m the kind that dreams golden dreams and stokes them up
until they leave a warm almost burnished feeling
on the cheeks of those passing by.
Radiant heating.
I see their flush.
They don’t know whether to be excited, or embarrassed
or jealous,
or to pray for my saving
because that’s what they think I need.
And I do
need
saving
from their chilly thoughts.
Heaven knows I have trouble enough with my own.
So there I was
on Hollywood and Vine,
I think I was three or four at the time?
Maybe 20 maybe 40 but, in any case,
Headed for a ride on the Metro Red Line.
Burning for it.
Burning for the
freedom to do my thing,
to ride the groove train,
Burning for my shot at the sublime.

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Poem: Is This How It Is Made?

CJ - Eye See

What is in the seeing?
What background comes before?
What knowledge, hopes or cares
inform the drive
that renders the light
of recognition?
What mysterious mechanism?

 

Visionary, seer,
hoper, diviner,
propheter, dreamer,
these are the titles of those
who know the expanse between
learning and knowing.

These are intimate with the spark of insight.
Do these, in their seeing,
draw the future near?

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Poem: Enough

CJ - Red Fall

 

Enough about me.
I’ve been writing daily
about the crease of my brow
the taste on my tongue
the thinning leather on the bottoms of my shoes.

Enough about the sounds I hear,
The colors I wear, the places I go,
The weird weather that fills my thoughts.

It’s been thirteen days
Of my point of view.
I’m tired of mine
there’s nothing new.

Enough about me…
How are you?

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Poem: Ode to Frank

Quietly now,
With hush and silent brow,
Let not a single flicker of recognition
Show that you know
What’s ahead.

Stealthily turn the vessel;
One hand a’shake,
The hidden hand on rudder,
Turn the boat away
Towards darker waters.

None but us see your plan.
And, none but us know what’s at stake.
But, all you’ve put in play
Will come to light
And then we’ll find
Your mastery
Or bluster.

Firmly, then,
Without a doubt,
Release the pause.
We’ll live without
Our chaos
Or your certain domination.

 

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