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Showing posts from December, 2014

Some Sailor

It could have been you,
as you always said.
Be happy, you'd say,
as you gallop
across the waves
in your toy boat.

I could have drawn
your form
while you were sleeping,
keep you immortal.

There are no pictures of us
to forget or adore,
only Neptune now knows
the truth of you.

& he will one day
spring from the sea
after sundry sailors
& foul fishermen
who scrape the sea floor
with careless anchors.
Each day I sketch
the shouts and screams
of your sirens
across your
Pacific sunsets.

Immortal only
are the waters
you rode on
for the nets you cast,
the bounty you caught
never belonged
to you.

You must pay it
back to the gods
& those inland
victims of yours
at every port.

Island Asunder

As if it's not enough to watch the island go under or watch myself float away.
It's still there like some ancient ruin left by a mighty chief.
I know what it may feel like to go back to a time. People don't look or act the same: just some scattered tribe speaking an old language, broken and poor by today's standard.
It's not enough to watch myself go under hopping from isle to isle in search of the sailor, some ancient mariner

One Day, Pohnpei

I will come back to you
without men who seek
your women & waters.

I will not come back to teach
but to talk & sing with you
by your rivers & waterfalls,

take each climbing curve
on your mountainside as

I will come back on my own terms
to know the real you—not as
scientist, anthropologist,

exploiting ex-pat, parish priest,
or trans-continental company
you're used to,

but as mother & artist
with Pohnpei poems
I left behind.

Problem with Telepathy

It is not reliable—                    

So neither Are all the times We depended On space and time To pin our meanings Inside milk cartons
They go adrift And sink down And what rises and stay Are radioactive Dust particles, ingested
In disbelief Like a tsunami Or typhoon victim Shock becomes the norm
As deaf-mutes We gave up signing What is language But sketchy sign-stealing
This is the result: I see you At the corner of my eye A motion A dark shadow In fits of bad dreams With no clarity
As for telepathy? Stop answering—decoding— Speak through Phosphene air
Halt all motor imageries More than hands, feet

Fashion Design Thursday

Fashion design has been my first love way before I knew about Fine Art.  I am a conceptual thinker.   If there is an opportunity to design something, I'm there!