Thursday, February 19, 2015

Saint Peter’s Basilica, Published: Mare Nostrum, Feb 2015


Open Square

Open Sky

Abbraccio from above

Squeeze through entrance

Climb stairs

Around and around the open spiral

Roof top open

To below

Narrow walls

Confuse the mind

Smaller and smaller

The walls lean in

Stop to rest 

Catch your breath

Slow the heart

Push on through

Tighter and tighter

Climb the rope

Dizzying circles

Near the top

In a dreamy haze

The city opens

Far above

Squint to see the ground

Humbled by the distance
 
 

Postcard Poem

Dove mi trove da?

Perché sono qui?

Dove posso andare da qui?

 

Io sono qui per mi

            Non è facile

Però

Colui che va aventi ed

Indica la via da seguire

Tutto Ben!

Tutto Ben!

 Translation : 

Where did I come from?

Why am I here?

Where am I going from here?

 

I am here for me

It is not easy

But

 

I follow the path I know is right

One that others will follow

 

All is well!

All is well!

 


 

Adventures with Acrophobia


Float above pulsating air

Fear arrests my feet

Musty rock dusts the hand

Light echoes along the stone

Feet hug the safe wall

 

Blue laughter paints the room

 Red sings of the joyous history

White whispers of elegance

Cautious feet shuffle across the floor

 

Moist air percolates with

Memories of a distant past


 

 

Exile


A flash of lighting bursts

Across the angry sky and

A rumble of thunder shakes

The earth and yet I

Do not fear it.

But it brings me sorrow

My home bids me

Adieu.

Or at least my once beloved home.

No that is not quite right

In my heart it

is still my home,

but I am no longer

welcome

Exiled to a home that is not my own

I do not fear the thunder

I do not find any adventure in starting anew

As I once thought I would

All I see is

The fury that shuns me away

Judge Judge


My body is unique.  The words upon my forearm remind me that everything is alright

out of respect for myself and someone I lost.  

When I am a professional environment I am forced to cover up

my identity.

Why should I have to hide who I am?

 

My body is a temple. The ring upon my finger reminds me to Choose The Right

And show respect to myself and others

When I am among other Christians I feel the need to cover my ring,

my identity.

Why should I have to hide who I am?

 

My body is               .              reminds me

When I an among strangers

respect to myself and others

my identity

                                    hide who I am

 

Aves Baccivorous


He holds on tight to the green with his feet

When he moves it moves

snap the red with his jaw.

 

The taste gives warms to his belly.

Before it was only brown that touched his feet

A flutter close by

Turn to see the one who used to feed him

 

A flick of my feet and I am free

Her closeness is confining

The separation makes that world seem smaller

 

The one who use to bring me food calls to me

Her music shows her concern.

White invades, pointed, sharp, and wet like the salty sea air

Another green they must leave and never return to.

Forgotten


Framed by a window

Light of a lamp

reveals a warm bed

made of fine wood

No longer fit for me

 

A price tag too high

My eyes spy a night

painted on a wall.

Tranquility fades

 

Every star surrounded by navy blue

Stars of lemon yellow,

Of white, and baby blue.

A rustic rundown boat distorts the scene

 

Remembered night

A tattered dress once gave anxious delight

Great anticipation for a long awaited night

Once covered arms of pale white

 

My hands hide the deep angry purple

Their size too small to conceal it all

Beauty taken

Replaced with an ugliness I never knew

 

rejected by my old world

I cannot go back

But if it weren’t for this world

There would have been no need for my rejection

 

Quickly the light vanishes

And returns

A man appears

I have no money to find rest

 

I turn to walk away

I must find warmth elsewhere.

But Pinching Hurts


 

Belief in life shares dreams in

Clouds high above the world.

To swing among the raindrops,

Or to surprise glowing sunrise

Soft and tender moment

Like climbing in open treetops.

 

Blue birds fly through the sky

Think of life’s tough decisions

cool breezes fill the air

Sharp spats leave conversation

They were saying you set out

To ruin everything we gained

 

Muddy moments quench the angered

Red faces. Glide through the pure

Clean air, jump through trees

Dream to wake up

Clouds fade away, dreams become

Vivid, well thought out moments, reality

An Uphill Climb


“I can’t even see the top,” I say.

“Nope!” My instructor confirms.

“You say that with just a little too much excitement.”

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fun.”

“For you!” I tell him. “You are used to this. We didn’t sign up for this.”

“Janette,” Sam whispers to me in disbelief.

“What,” I say. “I know it’s rude, but I am really not looking forward to this. This is supposed to be a survival class, why are we hiking?”

“I’m sure the instructor knows what he is doing.”

After less than a minute of hiking, my classmate, Tyler, says, “I need water.”

“We just started,” our instructor says.

“So!” Tyler replies.

“This is going to be a long hike,” Sam laughs.

“You have water in your pack.” The instructor reminds Tyler.

I grab a branch low on a tree to pull myself further up the side of the mountain, but I pull it right off the tree. My feet stumble. I find my footing, but the recovery isn’t pretty.

I whack the tree with the twig, as if it is the trees fault.

The branch whips back into my face. There is only a little blood, but even paper cuts tend to sting more than cuts that need stitches.

The front of my forehead pinches together, I gasp and throw the branch into the woods. I dig me feet in to the soft dirt to keep climbing.

“Come on,” my instructor encourages. “You can do it.”

“You’re annoying me,” I tell him.

He says nothing and we continue hiking.

“Not responding is even more annoying,” I mutter under my breath.

My foot slips, but I grab onto a thicker branch to catch myself.

I steady myself and keep walking.

I focus on Sam’s feet as he climbs in front of me.

“If you only look at the feet in front of you,” my instructor says. “You will miss everything around you.”

My jaw clenches adding to the line in my forehead.

I bite my lip to dull the pain in my legs.

 Reluctantly I try to follow his advice.

I hear noise off too my left. I turn to look and I see a squirrel run up a tree.

All of a sudden, my instructor stops and we all catch up to him.

When the last one in the group arrives, our instructor tells us that we need to take off our packs. He points to the path ahead and we see an ice bridge. He explains that we need to slide our packs across and then crawl on our bellies until we are all the way across. Our instructor went first to show us how it is done.

Tyler goes first and then Sam.

Tyler crosses with exaggerated concentration. He is quiet and meditative. I hold my breath as I watch, but he crosses the bridge swiftly.

Sam finds his way to the ice. “It so cold,” Sam says. I slowly let the air out that I had been trying to save from Tyler’s attempt. Sam prattles on some more, using his babbling as a distraction.

“You are almost there,” our instructors says gently.

When it is my turn I feel my arms shaking. I tighten my grip around my pack to steady myself. I slide my pack across, but in my nervousness it barely makes it to the other side. Just before it reaches the rest of the group, it slides to the edge of the bridge.

Sam catches must before it falls.

Before I let my nervousness take over I sign and crouch down toward the bridge. I do not let myself hesitate. The cold offers some distraction, but not one that I welcome. My gloves pull at the edges of the ice, while my feet push away from solid ground. I pull my muscles in as much as I can to keep in the little warmth that I have and pull again.

A piece of ice snaps off from the bridge into my hand. I wrap as much of my body as I can around the bridge.

I don’t want to move.  My muscles tighten and shake.

“You are almost here,” my instructor says.

“No, I am not,” I tell him. “I just started.”

“True,” he says, “but that was the hardest part.”

“No, I am pretty sure this is the hardest part,” I tell him.

“Anything can feel like the hardest part, it is only how you treat it that defines its difficulty.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask.

“It means just pull yourself up and belly crawl over to this side.”

“But the ice broke,” I say.

“Just move one hand at a time and you can get across.”

I drop the ice clench in my hand and I reach for another spot. This spot is more stable. So my other hand feels for a spot to grab onto. Nothing breaks off the bridge so I pull myself forward holding tight with my feet.

With one hand at a time, I pull myself forward.

Finally, I hear my instructor say, “Just once more and you are here.”

I pull myself up, with assistance from everyone there.

“Now, turn around,” my instructor says.

I turn around to see just how narrow that bridge really was. But then I look down for the first time.

“I cannot see the bottom,” I say.

“Hence the reason we crawled,” he says. Then he adds, “Let’s keep going, we are almost there.”

We put our packs back on and continue in silence. 

When we get to the top, there is still a few feet to walk in the open clearing, but I already see what I was hoping to avoid from the very beginning: the long drop down. I lean back, away from the cliff, but I do not want to miss the view.

Off to my left I can already see the lake as well as in the distance, to my right I see the ocean. In between, is trees, lots of evergreen trees. I both fear and stand in awe of this view.

I wipe my face. What little blood I had is dry and healing.

I stop behind my instructor. He is only feet away from the drop off, but the more distance between me and the fall the better.

Our instructor pulls a rope from his bag.

A Harmless Prank


Beti

A soft white cotton whispers against the stark, black sky. Stars wink in the dimly lit night. Beti glides through the sky, floating with an effortless control of movement. She stops when she wants. She turns and accelerates with little thought to the complex action. The skyline rises and falls in harmony with her every movement. Her white night clothes soar through the sky, flapping in the wind like a cape. Weightlessly she begins to drift toward the Earth. Soon, the wind rushes passed her as she descended rapidly toward her landing spot. At the last minute,   her intended target disappears.

Her landing is abrupt.

Instantly, Beti jumps from her bed, landing on the floor with a thud, not fully awake. Her head turns left and right. Images of her dream flash behind her blinking eyelids.

Even more clearly than in her dream she remembers, it was not the fall that startled her. It was the sound of the twig snapping beneath her.

John

            In the dark, it is much easier to shut out the world. At least for a few hours. The sun would not rise for at least another two hours, but John was wide awake. The earlier he rises, the more push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups he could do. He had only started his routine a week ago, but he was already up to five hundred each. Five sets of one hundred. It keeps him alert when he reports to work at five in the morning.

            “You don’t have to do this,” John recalls his mother telling him.

            “We are not having this conversation,” John told his mother.

            “This is not your responsibility,” She pleaded.

            “It makes more sense for you to stay home and take care of the rest of us,” he said, his teeth tightening.

            “Ninety-eight…ninety-nine…one hundred,” John counts, defusing the tension. His feet hit the floor and he hears a twig snap outside.

He pauses for a moment, but remembers, “The dog next door…one more thing I need to take care of.”

“One…two…three.” He closes his eyes and a loud siren breaks his concentration. 

Janis

            Tiny fingers gently shake Janice’s shoulder.

            “Hungee,” Rose says in a loud whisper.

            “Shhh,” Janice says, glancing to make sure the lump on the other side of the bed had not moved. “Can I hold you first? I need a minute to wake up?”

            “Okay,” Rosy says climbing into bed with her mother. “Did daddy wake up last night?”

            “Yes,” Janice says, trying not to recall the violent seizures her husband endured late in the night.

            “Dus it hoot ‘im?”

            “I don’t know, Rosy.”

            "Ah yoo scawd wen e shakes?”

            “Sometimes.”

            “Wat was dat?”

            “Probably the neighbor’s dog, again.”

            “O, wat was dat?”

            “That sounded like Beti jumping out of bed. She must have had a bad dream.”          

            “Ah yoo stiw tierd?”

            Janices smiles in the dark and pulls Rosy closer.

“Let’s go get you something to eat.”

A single blast of a siren opens Janice’s eyes.

“Wat was dat?”

“Now that we should go investigate.”

Hyrum

            Hyrum glances around briefly, but not a single light is on.

A fling of white dances across the still dark night. He places his feet with care. The tissue hits the ground softly and he tosses it again. He winds it in and out of the branches, up over the house, and through the bushes. Once the part of the house and most of the yard have turned white, walking because more difficult. At the snap of a twig, Hyrum holds his breath.

There is no movement from within. No lights are turned on, so he continues. Etiquette dictates that Hyrum’s revenge must be worse than John’s. The more tissue the better.

The tree at the front of the yard has gone mostly unscathed. Hyrum starts at the bottom of the tree and begins to wrap the tree like a mummy.

A loud light flashes followed by a piercing siren startling Hyrum. Fear replaces adrenaline. His feet turn to run, but reminds himself that only the guilty run. He sees the police officer steady themselves to catch a runner.

Hyrum chooses instead to stand his ground.

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

“Yes, I would say there is a problem.”

“This is my friend’s house,” Hyrum says.

“Then why the guilty face?”

“Umm…I don’t want his sister to find out I got caught.”

The officer’s shoulders rise and fall, but his face is still stern.

“But it is his house…,” Hyrum says.

“Do you have permission to be here?”

Umm, who gets permission to TP a house? Hyrum thinks. “I plan on helping him clean up the mess…John helped me…a little.

“Why weren’t you at my house last week?”  Hyrum thinks. Frozen toilet paper is not easy to clean up.

“I need to wake your friends up.”

“Please, Sir...she is going to be mad at me….”

Unable to argue, Hyrum eyes meet the ground. Ashamed.

The officer knocks at the door.

Awkwardly, they avert their eyes.

Hyrum sighs when he sees Janice open the door and not Beti.

Rosy tugs at Janice’s bathrobe.

“Good morning, Officer. Hyrum,” Janice says.

“Shinee!”

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Janice asks.

“This young gentleman claims to know you.”

“Yes. He is a friend of our family.”

“I caught him TPing your yard.”

“And the problem is?”

The edges of Hyrum’s mouth twitch.

“Are you kidding me?” Beti yells.

Hyrum steps back and lowers his face.

He no longer smiling.

“Uh…Hi.”

Just behind the door, John laughs.

            “Thanks for the help, man.”

            “Anytime. Awesome job, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“You thought this was a good idea?” She is still yelling.

“John did it last week.”

Even more laughter behind the door.

“You think that’s how you get my attention? What happen to flowers, chivalry, or helping an old lady cross the street?

“What do old ladies have to do with this?”

“This is just stupid,” she continues. “Cowardly,” she adds.

“Wow, you’re just going to call me a coward in front everyone? This is cowardly?” He says gesturing not only to the TP mess on the lawn, but the police officer standing at his side. “Great now I am yelling.” Hyrum is unsure if he is yelling because he is embarrassed or because John is laughing.  Maybe Both. “You can stop laughing, John?”

“Nope. You just made my day. You should TP my house more often.”

“Seriously,” Hyrum says returning to his conversation with Beti.  “All I did was TP your house. Why is that such a big deal?”

“Exactly, next time, maybe you could think of something a little more romantic to get my attention?”

“Romantic? What for? I got your attention didn’t I?” She steps forward, held back only by her mother

Hyrum takes another step back

“Ma’am, do you want to press charges?”

“No,” she says abruptly, glaring at her daughter as if to say, of course I don’t.