Alliterative Haiku

Two variations on an alliterative haiku (that's haiku with alliteration)

she says I sound so \\ 
souled-up, sold on a light dream \\ 
drifting in the wind.
(tweet)

she says I sound so \\ 
souled-up, sold on the soft sand \\ 
sailing in the sun.
(tweet)

The second is more completely alliterative, but I like both. They're peaceful :)

As always, you can see more of my tweets, and follow me, on Twitter: @SoulCandyPoetry.

Tweeting a suburban wandering

I went into town recently (one of the major cities in Israel), and had many interesting experiences on my trip. I tweeted about some of them. Here's a list.

A pretty but very 'dead-faced' girl sitting on the bus:


her smoothest face / 
to hide behind, until / 
betrayed / 
it slit with lines and broke / 
into a smile.
(tweet)

... and in haiku form:

lipstick plastic pink /\
face unearthly smooth and flat /\
pretty in her shell
(tweet)

... a bus meditation:

sitting still on rumbling bus.
thoughts rolling under the roar.
wondering, wondering: a silent chasm cloaks me.
(tweet)

... on the bus was a very tired-looking old man who sat opposite me:

I saw the old man /
droop and fade /
slump and shrink /
eyes dim /
face grim. /
so tired; so old and tired.
(tweet)

... the sun hit my eyes as the bus turned and moved:

the sun skipped out from behind a tree, blinded me;
I closed my eyes, dark inside, felt collapse calling me.
(tweet)

... the sitting writer, an island in the swirling masses of humanity moving past around him:

he sat and swirled it all around;
ducked out of the race and watched it all go by;
pen in hand, open sparkling eye.
(tweet)

... and a musician trying out a guitar in a shop window:

sat young man /
behind glass shine /
strings in hand /
faraway eyes /
dance his fingers /
watchers pine /
walking by.
(tweet)

writing jam/rainy day - part 1

Making muddle of baking puddles, screaming curdles with bitter whey.
Climbing a ladder of I don't want to be here, crunching an apple, in the uncomfortable constant of whirligig roundabout change. Castles in the air, a ferris wheel with flapping legs; safety bar to hem you in, protect your head from falling out, out -- smack onto the tarred concrete, the bubbled cobbles, the unfriendly sharp-stoned flatspread, pierced deep with the mighty roots of steel.

---
I wrote this piece, and its continuation, on a heavily rainy day.

forecast bricks

forecast bricks, a-falling from the sky, this morning.

denting the grass, a raining danger.

confounding the best-laid landscapes,

cratering hedges and ticketing garden gnomes;

splashing and crashing

and crushing delicate fountainwork,

intricate garden lacery,

squashing it, slamming it,

flat.

A Way to Make You Smile

Here's some simple - but perhaps profound - words. Not mine.

I've found a way to make you,
I've found a way --
A way to make you smile

I read bad poetry
Into your machine.
I save your messages
Just to hear your voice.
You always listen carefully
To awkward rhymes.
You always say your name,
Like I wouldn't know it's you,
At your most beautiful.

Yes, this is from 'At My Most Beautiful', by the great R.E.M.
Give it a listen.

Actually I always thought it was describing a guy trying to get a reaction from his beloved, who was hooked up to medical machines, perhaps in a coma.
Reading the lyrics, I see it's not about that. It's just about leaving a message on someone's message machine.
But the simple sadness in the music is profound at any rate.

who'd have thought?

who'd have thought
    the man could teach me?

my soul-calming river-rushing moments came back to me,
and I relaxed, and let down my walls
to look beyond his smell and his shabbiness.

and then he began to sing. I coaxed myself to be calm,
to remain opened, to look beyond...
perhaps he's one of the hidden ones,
who challenge us to see greatness, if only we will look deeper,
look beyond...

he sang an ancient melody,
and it warmed my soul, as I sat there motionless,
listening, and keeping down my guard.

he sang and the holiness in what he flickered towards,
in what he aspired towards,
touched me and soothed my soul with comfort.

I wondered after he had gone -
and I barely knew what to wonder.

mindmap

mindmap, to get your thoughts out,
straighten them out, on paper:

mindmap, feel
the threads and strands begin to exist,
draw quick lines,
link words, feel
brain-ways click! and cogs engage

mindmap,
a dream is a word, and the castles of the air
are yours to build;

mindmap,
be free, break the walls
of your brain-prison, think
out of the straight and narrow ruled lines:
think big! think joined!
think everything is linked now,

blink, begin
to see things differently.

--------
Image from here.

rain

rain
tapping on the roof, so
thin away from the ceiling,
sounds
so
close to me, I even sat up
to see if it was
dripping down onto my bed.
but
-- sleep --
it
wasn't...


--------------
Image from here.

in and out of synch

the rain beat down,
and I watched the wipers,
swish and swipe,
wipe and rest, wipe and rest and return;
and they two were just slightly
out of
synch, and I waited and watched till they came together
as one. and again.

fading in and out of synchrosity,
in and out of touch;
come and go, waves lapping
and touching and missing:
water meets shore, retreats,
forth and back,
go forth and go back,
in and out of time.

-----
Image from here.

The Pain ("Killing Me Softly")

A poem about expressing what's truly inside, and how that process can be sparked by music. Inspired greatly by the song, "Killing Me Softly." For more info, see the footnoote.

And the pain
Speaks, in the space between;
where the buildings loom not, and the trees sit in the lonely silent emptiness;
where space flowers and spreads,
germinating in a cloud borne on swirling wind.

The pure pain
speaks out, vision spoken out on prophet's tongue,
played through, on fingers of the musical mathematicians,
sung out, sung out gently,
in throats of foggy-grouped singers.

The pain
Slips ballroom sideways,
in that agonizing quiet grace,
bare of the vulgar matted overgowns,
coats and wraps,
screens and veils:

The pain
tears at its onlookers's heart,
upon his eyes' fall to it, lying naked in its pooling blood,
ghastly face to be once beheld
and never forgotten:

The pain
becomes eye-flowingly beautiful
in its plain simplicity,
in the consequence of simple step after
simple step;

She dances
in simple grace;

The beautiful pain
Is too much to bear.
-----------------------

This is a song, inspired by a song, inspired by a song.
I was in someone's car today, and heard a cover of the beautiful song, "Killing Me Softly."

As Wikipedia tells it, Singer/songwriter Lori Lieberman saw Don McLean singing his composition "Empty Chairs" in concert. Afterwards, Lieberman wrote a poem titled "Killing Me Softly with His Blues", which became the basis for the song written by Norman Gimbel and Charles Fox.

I listened to Roberta Flack's (Grammy-winning) version of the song just now, and it really moved me in its simplicity; in its directly described pain and anguish. As I interpret it, the songwriter expresses the dumbfounding, bewildering, overpowering experience of having her emotions and deepest, most inner experiences suddenly laid bare by a stranger:

... And there he was, this young boy
A stranger to my eyes
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song...

She speaks of her intense discomfort at being laid emotionally bare: vulnerable and helpless, at the mercy of the "young boy" with the words that penetrated into her heart like a knife:

I felt all flushed with fever
Embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he found my letters
And read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish
But he just kept right on

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song

I really found there was a lot of pure, frank emotion expressed in this song. A lot of pain.
And that inspired me to write my poem above. Joining as a link in the chain of songs...

Don McLean ("Empty Chairs") -> Lori Lieberman ("Killing Me Softly With His Blues") -> Charles Fox & Norman Gimbel ("Killing Me Softly With His Song") [Performed by Roberta Flack] -> Me ("The Pain")

To really get my poem, I recommend you read it while you have "Killing Me Softly With His Song" play in the background. That's what I did as I wrote it.