[Words unspoken]

applestar believers

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 04:27:44 GMT

a blink of eyes, the yellowed snapshots of the past and i remember
the satisfying crackle of white snowsteps;
a moist blanket of scarf over mouth-sigh;
a shock of frozen breath to jump-start warm lungs; and
my mother’s blue, blue eyes.

we were
curling-broom sweepers
tea-with-honey drinkers
superheroes saving the world
a hundred times before bed.

the end of the driveway was Alaska
(it was cold there, too, according to what the encyclopaedia said)
full of snow mountains to climb over and claim as ours
cracked ice by the curb ready to catch fish.

i couldn’t ice-fish, skate backwards, or even stop
but i could cross-country ski, fly down little hills,
and fall into snowbanks with a perfect ten
which, in those days, was enough to earn the gold medal in snow-bank diving.

summers were made for twilight tag
sunset races in yellow socks
the light on our faces was never the same shade
painted nails full of sparkle,
heart-to-heart, hand-in-hand evenings
secrets swallowed by cigarette smoke
and the swaying of park swings.

we mailed letters without stamps to friends down the block
(the best handful of change ever spent on a crayon-covered page);
bike ride adventures to my favourite rock cliff which was actually the grand canyon;
watermelon seed wishes in the backyard;
homemade waves in the pool became the perfect storm;
belly laughter at people who wore sandals with their socks

tree-climbing and tree-falling, monkey-shaped bruises;
the tune of that summer pop song stuck in our heads
(impossible to lose);
milking calves with an enormous baby bottle;
and acres of land we knew would never end;
silos that stretched to the blue, blue sky;
racing on tractor lawn mowers; hide and seek in the barn between the bales of hay;
thunder-clapping to an orchestra of lightning and rain;
love letters with flower petals we never meant to send.

last year, they got rid of the silos
five years before that, the cows
there’s still the acres of land though i know now they end
still i pretend
(the photographs are clear):
my bed is an island.
no, don’t send help.
in between the lines of your tattoo are heartbeats i will never hear
but i memorize each curve and dip with a tentative fingertip
and suddenly i know:
these days are endless.

Things that belong here. [1]

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 17:13:36 GMT

Poem by Kim

I have words, I swear I do...

I want to put them together and give them to you;

I want to write about the crinkle in your smile,

I want to write about how you try,

And I want to tell you, I appreciate; …the little things.

Your pretense that you don’t care, when I know you do

‘Cause I do it too,

I want you to know that I too have scars on my palms from falling

on the barb wire of lessons that taught me to be scared.

Fear palpitates like heartbeats,

When...sometimes...I see you looking at me; the way I fear to let you know

that I see you.

I do.

And I want you to know that I don’t know, but I wish I did.

I wish I knew exactly what to say, when I know you need my words,

And if I could write words now, I’d strategize and make then rhyme with YOU.

Because you are made for poems. Because I am a Poet,

And because I know I have poetry with you.

But I’ve learnt Lover. That my pen flows to the sounds of letting go,

And letting go means letting in.

I’m tired of saying goodbye.

Exchanging belongings like parting gifts,

And hanging running shoes on door knobs for my two month sprint.

I want you to know that… I want to stay.

Even if it means clinging to the safety net of hope that shines in your eyes

When the tornados of our past sweep us away,

I want to stay.

Burning Love letters of convention, till that convention becomes ashes,

Until those ashes become snowflakes, that kiss the scars on our skin,

I want to let you in and let me out,

And frolic in playgrounds with the freedom of the children...we used to be.

Will you sit with me???...by the fire side and find the courage to look for angels.

Or make angels ourselves waving our arms in the snow.

Like that poet said ‘’it takes more muscle to stay than to go’’.

And this time...

I’d like to stay.

This time I want to stay.

twenty-two minutes.

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 03:09:23 GMT

In twenty-two minutes, you can:

fall in love; cook a meal; read a chapter of a book;
have sex; take a bath; do the laundry; clean the floors;
pray; write a poem; dance to five songs; write a letter;
reconnect with a friend; water the plants; go to work;
laugh until you cry; watch a television show; breathe.

Twenty years ago today, it took twenty-two minutes
for Marc LaPine to shoot down twenty-seven female engineering students
and kill fourteen at École Polytechnique in Montreal.

His legally obtained semi-automatic Ruger Mini 14 was
the weapon he chose to “fight feminism”, to separate
the women in the class from the men, and pick them off
one by one.

Fourteen women. Twenty years later, his gun of choice remains
an unrestricted hunting rifle. Long guns kill like hand guns.
Canada’s federal government is threatening to scrap the long gun registry
meanwhile one in three women killed by their husbands is shot,
eighty-eight percent with legally owned weapons and shotguns.

And let’s not forget: more than five hundred Aboriginal women
have gone missing in Canada over the last two decades
with limited, or a complete lack of, investigation.

Sexual assault, domestic violence, hate crimes, the highway of tears.
Mothers, sisters, daughters, fathers, brothers, sons: this is not a call for action
but a call for change.
It’s time.

Topic List!

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 03:20:43 GMT

Dear you,

Last year, you were absolutely amazing with providing topic ideas and I think I did them all. So I'm asking you again, a year later, if you could help me out with topic suggestions for November Journaling Month 2009 (NoJoMo). One entry a day, everyday.

Don't be shy! Please help! I'll need it to get through my third attempt!! Any ideas would be greatly appreciated.

Love,
Jax

Eighty-Six.

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 02:50:28 GMT

“As with anything we love, it is salvation.”

Eighty-five.

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 18:42:49 GMT

Hurry up. You don't have time for this.

Eighty-Four.

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 13:36:22 GMT

Sometimes I think we're really just walking around with pieces of each other.

Eighty-three.

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 20:31:02 GMT

Today, and when you said: "I am so glad I met you."

Eighty-two.

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 00:35:09 GMT

Just you wait and fucking see.

Eighty-one.

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 13:10:30 GMT

The unique ability to make myself sick with thoughts.

Eighty.

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 09:09:35 GMT

The nights seem so long when you don't sleep through them.
[suddenly sleepless]

Seventy-nine.

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 02:05:51 GMT

Now breathe out.

Seventy-eight.

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 14:41:17 GMT

Seventy-seven.

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 13:35:54 GMT

the hardest thing
the hardest thing
in this entire world
is just to be
yourself.

Seventy-six.

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 17:12:15 GMT

days like today
my feet march in protest against the pavement and ache for grass
'cause i wanna live, be
growing and soft

days like today
i feel like i could
love a million different people
in a million different ways and
still have more to give

i
am not always perfect
love
is not always kind
but when you spoke my name for the very first time
it was like
i'd never heard it before
like i'd never been called anything
before my name passed your lips
like knowing, for you,
i became brand-new

(growing and soft)

- a version of this appeared in inamorata

Seventy-five.

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 13:47:57 GMT

My shoulders will never be as broad as the ones you seek.

Seventy-four.

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 14:10:44 GMT

You are good for my soul.

Seventy-three.

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 01:37:01 GMT

Breath catches - sadness
& then
thank you for being mine for awhile.

Seventy-two.

Thu, 28 May 2009 16:54:52 GMT

The different ways to find sunshine.

Seventy-one.

Sat, 16 May 2009 18:01:57 GMT

The many ways in which we try.

Seventy.

Mon, 04 May 2009 16:28:40 GMT

Some things I remember.
Some things I forget.

Sixty-nine.

Mon, 20 Apr 2009 15:42:36 GMT

Neither victim nor villain.

Sixty-eight.

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 06:41:25 GMT

3 tequila shots
2 beers
1 decision.

[this is your reminder. do it.]

Sixty-seven.

Fri, 03 Apr 2009 12:55:20 GMT

The night I said goodbye.

Sixty-six.

Fri, 13 Mar 2009 13:16:34 GMT

I trust this.