Point

Lost in Translation - The Poem

Lost in translation
headed straight for hell
they say it's the journey
you couldn't tell
a short one
did end before ten
with no time to scat
could barely lay still
fork on the path
distrust of men, no will or commitment
small things like that
making a delivery
forget when and where
won't ask for direction
not lost, will make it there
don't tap on my window
only opens part way
don't knock on my door
long shut still today
no need for a guide
for this path I must glide
turn wrong or right
I won't see the signs
ignore them I will
for all that they say is
this way to hell
I like it that way
no symbols in my face
then claim that I saw them
say it was God's grace
learned how to store 'em
night travel suits me
taking leave of the day
auto pilot locks in
I'm making headway
feels like I'm up high
it's on with the journey
I'm flying the sky
everything is before me
the night's not for dying
I've tried sleeping all day
no scarring, not crying
no signs, still finding my way
making a delivery
forget when and where
won't ask for direction
I'll make it there

Reach

Sometimes it helps if you do a little bit more to bring
your desires within reach.

Cross me

Birthday memories

It was my brother's birthday yesterday. He's in Toronto and I'm here in Trinidad—for now. I emailed him good wishes and a birthday card. Physical cards are nice but after a while they end up in a box stored away collecting bugs and dust, unless of course you end up trashing them all because your card collection (which includes Christmas and every other holiday/occasion) has outgrown your living quarters. Years ago a friend of mine told me that she was throwing out all her cards—I thought then that I could never do that. What about all the memories? I still haven't thrown out my greeting card collection, but even though the box that houses it is rather small, I am giving it serious thought—it's not like I can take the cards with me when I leave this planet. I figure I can spread them out on the floor and take a single memorable photo to replace that box full of memories. It's not just the cards, I don't want any gifts—I am downsizing by removing all the clutter from my life and have been for the past few years. So you see it's not that I have anything against those special paper cards—I want to get rid of it all and that includes many other boxes of physical memories.

My brother mentioned that he was going to spend a quiet birthday. Good for him! Simple and peaceful. My most memorable birthday happened many years ago. There was no crazy party or if there was I don't remember. This memory was crafted by a friend who took the time to sing Happy Birthday to me in the form of a message on my answering machine. I remember getting home and checking my answering machine for messages and there it was—in all it's sensuality. This was in the style of the version that Marilyn Monroe sang to JFK back in 1962. It was better than the original and I can still hear it today—regardless of who's celebrating a birthday. I have the tape stored away in a box. The memory will never leave me, even if one day the tape does.

Frogi

I see clearly now.

This time around

it’s come around again
much like it had before
many many moons ago
I experienced for the first time
loved for the first time
learned in a different way
searched all over
seems so long ago
I wish now was then
to gracefully accept
didn’t realize how blessed I was
masked the offerings, tempted fate
often numbed myself
so many offerings
many more than you two
you are in my life
cherished, adored not admittedly
I believed you
loved you for many years
are you afraid of growing old?
I want to meet you
little old me
open me up
this time around
all the blessings
each day I must give thanks
you are compelling
smiling up and down
all around I see the smiles
I feel it all, let me feel it all

If a shadow falls...

I have been taking a lot of photos lately and need to get an external hard drive to keep up with my storage needs—400Gig should be enough for now. Seagate or Lacie? Hmmm.

Stop Time

the red eye distrusts you
blinks not once, missed its cue
allows you time to craft the truth
I predict the rain
to keep things dim
to keep the stillness, hush
sleep birds sleep
ten minutes pass, if that’s your wish
out you step holding on to a kiss
quickly leaving the night
swiftly moving through the rain
back to the nest, rain ruffled feathers
I am singing from within
the truth in the melody
came before the haste
moments before the red eye sighed

Buried

From I to thighs – this too did pass

This was written a long time ago. I am posting it today because in life it sometimes takes years (in this case from the 1990's until March 1, 2005) for certain things to pass.


From I to thighs

I own you
yes I do
I own your mind
I own your spirit
I own your wallet
eat me you bitch
I own him
dominatrix is a foreign word
to Me, hmmm
Me want trip, Me want clothes
Me want smaller thighs,
the high of someone gnawing on my
goodies, I'M going to have a muffin

At one

Daydreaming

Quietly seated
daydreaming
about life
about you
please stay

Time to leave

And at that moment, part of him welcomed the wait. He waited and waited—for her to call, for her approval, for her to control all his senses. The evening had almost arrived, he sat and he worked on another chapter of his life, what could be the final chapter. He had followed the path, at least the one he thought to be his, until one day he decided that he had given in to what the noise was commandeering him to do. The noise had brought him far, delivered him to the door of the weak, the greedy, the always wanting. He now knew how to say no, no more of the bombardment, no more of the watching. He was the watcher and he knew how to make the watched feel powerful, like they were the ones peering. The power was indeed good, and if controlled, benefited the enlightened. Knowledge breeds power and that is part of nature and our spirit is powered by nature. I can give you the energy necessary to rise up every day and say; “I do love.” The gift is now yours if you want it. It is not to be analyzed, nor is it to be coveted. The gift is here to be shared. From me to you. From you to them. It's been like this for decades. The time passes and it does not change. But the faces—the faces do evolve then they come around again. I say quiet is the key. It is so attainable, just sit and listen. A good listener has to be cherished even if you want to share nothing with them. But do see them listen in effortless ways. To find a way inside, you stay still, and through words, you feel. My eyes say that I am inside. You put me there; you need me there. With the surrounding world, you decide that you don’t want me there. Step outside for a moment, and see that what we want and what we need sometimes meet in battle. A winner will never rise up because some things are continuous. The circle of life. Can it end? The questions never stop. I know the answers even though I should not. They come to me often, sometimes I forget, but ignore I will no more. Accepting, can be more than what we have studied for. Endless work, yes but it is part of breathing, no more taxing. We've all grieved, in a way, let it soak in. I speak not for everyone. For some the weaving and winding will always take place. The permanent cannot be scorned, for many want to remain. Though not at all possible to me when I merely glance. Look, I see the music and understand that it is forever.
She called out to him. Of course he remembered her; she was the one that set it in motion. He wouldn't have thought that she would make it seem like she never left and that she remained a part of his life. His confidence, born out of his emotional journey with this beautiful soul, never stopped growing. Please stay was written with great hope that she would see what he saw. Yes, their worlds were different but he dreamt it possible. His dreams are different today but his thoughts remain the same. So many years ago—it has come back to him. No words this time. Just back to waiting.

Skydriving

Trinidad for drivers

I am driving a route that I travel almost every day and in the space of fifteen minutes I encounter two separate vehicles coming at me, on two different (one way) streets—I know that I'm going the right way. What are the odds of this occurring, since it hasn't happened to me before? I say the odds are getting greater every day, after all this is Trinidad. The land of undoubtedly some of the most inconsiderate and uneducated drivers on the planet. I have no doubt, that at least one of these drivers was aware that they were on a "one way" street. The lack of law enforcement and the fact that you can buy a driver's licence for roughly US$50 are just a couple of things that sets this tiny little island apart from civilization.

Freak

This photo is named "freak" due to the fact that through some
crazy freak of nature, I was provided with an abstract bearing
the likeness of General Douglas MacArthur. I'll be going now.

Little old lady

Sometimes a flower is just a flower. Me? I see a little old lady.

Sammy

he keeps his money
a few dollars
secured
inside a paper bag, in his front pocket
sanitary reasons
his teeth look nice
he is always with odor
no eyelets, on his shoes
no zipper
no back pocket, on jeans
no belt, because they have buckles
one never knows, what one can catch
from copper or brass
only a piece of string
twine, to hold up his disinfected jeans
'mad sammy' they call him
apparently, there’s no control
over the singing that he hears
inside his very private world
some may welcome the day
when they too can travel
to where the noise vanishes
from this land long forsaken
by the creators and the wanderers
there is no easy entry
still
money, deejay and pants
remain optional

Chiseled in a soft world

Warning! Erosion may occur, but it can be so refreshing.