Station

I couldn’t stretch it
it began furtively
the weasel of a creature
stitching disaster with a golden flare
dancing brushstrokes in the air
stepping lightly
flooding slow
a prick to welcome
boring deep within
each layer, each flaking level
it could be cruel
but I’m sure this isn’t new
I know the tracks
and paint the country with pleasure
still be the train, upon them all
useless and crumbling
but ever so mighty
bending light with each day
crowding this heaven-sent boundary
to a cradle beneath
somehow immersed in everything
so carbon me
make me realistic
drawn and painted and sung
compose me your morals
stand with posture perfect
gripping ledges
haphazard leaping
and suddenly —
you see it too

so change it all, and harbour no chain
abandon weight, for I can help you fly

   

      

Finished: 8:28 a.m., Wednesday, December 5th, 2007.

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The Impossible Point

Philosophy came early to me; I guess I always used to think a lot.  When it came time to sharpen my pencil, I’d often stare at the sharpest tip I could make, and realize how it was still rounded.  That’s when I came up with my Impossible Point idea.  Of course, it wasn’t new, and it certainly wasn’t Earth-shattering.  But it was at an early age, and without outside influence.  I just thought a lot.  I’d try to tell my friends (the ones who thought for themselves) and they would argue that no, I just wasn’t sharpening it enough.  They didn’t get it.

It was through those eyes that I realized how things aren’t always as they seem; when under a magnifying glass, everything changes.  Or, sometimes, it’s the exact opposite.  Sometimes, when looking too hard, when focusing too much on something near, you miss the main picture — you entirely miss the point.

And it’s always important to see the point….. rounded or not.

Awake

swirling
I thought I saw an icicle
stemming from a cushioned write
it’s dog eat dog tonight

clasping
sentiments historically benign
tumbling down the courteous ravine
spelling my saviour’s name unseen

tracing
necklaces with shimmery cold
a paradigm wrestles common sense
and serves the muse’s bitter defense

closing
a time with the wild
synchronizing all the notes of the break
and lulls me into a new awake

Finished: 6:42 a.m., Tuesday, November 27th, 2007.
Copyright L.M. 2007.

Distinction

I guess I was overcome
so cold, so frigid
snapping crisply
I went to control my actions
and found it closed
so I walked

I found my step
along with cranberry thoughts
and I knew I was alone
for the good and the bad
I stomped out the march
of my walk

imagine my surprise
when my eyes grazed the snow
and the indents were fresh
but they weren’t mine
someone else had come
for my walk

oh how the mind reels!
alas I’m not so alone
this arrogance of mine
just wanted to sulk
in its singularity
on my walk

so I rounded a tree
traversed back behind
crossing new paths
with each little dance
to remain with my stance
and my unparalleled walk

Copyright L.M. 2007.

Tri-coloured discovery

I did not know tri-coloured tortilla chips were actually made from different kinds of corn.  Apparently, yellow, blue, and red corn is used to make them those colours.

I just thought they were dyed!  haha, learn something new every day…..

Maple

on the underside of a leaf
it was written like a picture
slow, delicate, strokes
finding a lost path along each vein
and I read it aloud
listening to each line
tracing it in my mind
letting the song begin

and did I save you? I’m sorry
if the life crossed over
shining within you so bright
with the scent of new rain
it’s almost too much to feel
you let me breathe tonight

    

      

Copyright L.M. 2007.

Hanging On (2005)

I cannot say I’m pleased
repetition is, however, foreseeable
and I did not foresee
a failure on my part for feeling
the rudimentary error of my species
a mistake Mother Nature corrected with the others
and hoping
a moronic faux-pas in this century
if I collapse, you’ll understand
for I’ve forgotten what is new
and I’ll remember the old
all over again so it is once more fresh and disturbed

tiny speckled thoughts of random
tear me away into bliss
but sharp jabs in my side remind me
such cringing should be my guest
it heralds not impossibility
and speaks with the ancient eyes
so why do I feel so lost and helpless
when my stage continues to grow
and my crowd fights it out amongst themselves
this mantle is silent but near implosion
with albums of fear and hatred and ignorance
weighing down on the chance for sustainment
but bricks are strong
and though the weight is mighty
it keeps me afloat somehow
my worries only feelings
those rancid add-ons to our faulty line

Copyright L.M. 2007.