No Space Stars Fall Here

Whitened face deep in the sky.
She watched me as I cried.
My tears shimmered like glass.
Shattering upon my windowsill.

She whispered to me with hope.
Her voice was that of a distant star.
She sang me into slumber.
That night I dreamed about white sand.

I stood at the edge of the world.
I looked out upon an ocean of deepest black.
The water was bursting with stars and entire galaxies.
In these dark waters I found a dancer.

Her skin was of wood, and her eyes of stone.
She was bound by a million strings.
I swam to her and cut her free.
She spun about me and became like wind.

From star to star she leaped.
Her feet knew no bounds,
And her heart shined like a sunset.
That glow made her transparent.

The dancer had nothing to hide.
She only wished to create.
I followed her among the sea of stars.
The colors of space were brilliant hues.

In a cloud of green she left me,
There stood a child, waiting expectantly.
Short brown hair, face like a doll.
She smiled at me, and giggled.

She led me further and sang along the way.
Her songs lead us bravely forward.
The air began to chill, the stars dimmed.
With a start she stopped.

She daintily pointed to a great crystal.
It was suspended in the heavens.
I approached with caution, beating heart.
It was made like a mirror, I was blind.

I could see nothing inside, and I turned back.
The child had evaporated, like water.
I turned back and stared at my image.
An eerie light came upon me.

Hues of green, pink, and deep purple,
Gently descending from nowhere.
With their arrival the crystal changed.
The hard surface began to melt.

It looked like quicksilver as it fell through space,
Disappearing deep within the depths of darkness.
Like lanterns the stars hung all about.
The colors gently blended around me.

When the crystal was dissipated,
There stood a being.
His eyes were hot ice,
His face was kind.

I knew this was the end.
The white woman beckoned me.
Her round face came into view.
I immediately returned to the World.

Her white face no longer hung in the sky.
Her brother stood smartly in her stead.
I yawned from my journey’s taxation.
I rose to my mirror.

In the reflection were eyes,
Hot ice,
Kind face,
Behind me, holding me so lovingly.

Bad Father

The lights convulsed above her.
The street light hummed in the silence.
She was nothing more than a silhouette,
In the neighborhood, dogs barked.

Her heart held no guilt, only freedom.
Her bag held her sins, and her cigarettes.
She wore a pale veil of calm.
Her fire red snarl gleamed against her skin.

Daddy wouldn’t yell.
Daddy wouldn’t swing.
Daddy was finally paying,
She dabbed at the stain on her lavender dress.

Like a tree his arms were inanimate.
He could no longer break the silence.
Only a distant echo of his last words,
Hung in the cold night air.

Fingernails scratching upon the walls.
Like a cockroach he scuttled.
Across the floor as he crawled.
Little, lying, wicked roach.

The clock’s hands were tied.
The windows stayed sealed.
The walls covered their eyes.
The door stayed fastened shut.

In that little shed where he would lock her.
She dragged him with the strength of vengeance.
Nonchalance became her blue eyes.
Her breath froze in the air as the door shut.

The key in her bag would hide.
The heels she wore kept her tall.
When the bus arrived she approached.
Two quarters, and she was away.

Memorabilia

Signs across the street from my house,
Bright yellow, lines and word, yield.
Who are these signs for?
They are, after all, outside of MY home.

I fall into a cup full of memories,
The scent of lavender tugs me back,
To a single mother, and three young boys,
And how she would lull them to sleep.

Lullabies are my favorite byes.
Sang as you fall into slumber, not waking.
In sleep dreams chase me.
They are more pleasant than reality.

A sunny warm world where you hold me,
And you and I are meant to be together.
No sex is needed, just warm intimate company.
Why do I wake to find only empty walls?

Sitting by my window I ponder these things.
Rain falls upon a carpet of fiery leaves.
The slick black pavement glistens like my eyes.
I cry like the clouds, and I empty my pain.

Don’t smile at me anymore.
It hurts to know I cannot touch you.
I ache for arms to hold me, but all I have are my own.
I wish I could learn from the trees; they are content in solitude.

Thinkers are the saddest people alive.
How could this not be so?
Only ignorance is bliss for me.
If I didn’t know you, I couldn’t love you.

Eventually this too shall pass.
The feelings will be buried deep inside of my heart.
Until, somewhere I see you in a reflection.
Then I will turn back, and remember how I miss you.

We are nothing more than a myth.
We are nothing more than a dream.
There will never be a “we”.
There will always be an “I”.

How lonely the “I” must feel.
One line and no shape.
Cursed is the “I”.
To look and never find.

Starry Eyes

He said to himself “I want to see stars”,
As he brushed crumbs from his desk,
From two day old birthday cake,
He happened to be eating with a plastic spoon.

He then found some stars,
He cut them out to fit his needs,
He taped them to the ceiling,
He can see them as he falls asleep.

Now at night he needs nothing,
He can lay in bed alone,
Without feeling like an island,
He can see the stars.

Now when you see him,
You’ll know his face,
Because his eyes,
Mimic his ceiling.

He no longer needs coffee,
He no longer needs sunlight,
He can be happy every day,
And he never had to leave his house.

June will go by with hot nights,
October will fall past him,
And December will tempt his heart,
But he’s not the same person.

His ceiling has eyes that look into his stars.

Soul Mate

Diamond mirror, I stand looking upward.
I never peer down, for I will see myself.
I am crushed by the thought of my reflection.
It is only a single reflection, a heavy heart.

I run from possibilities, looking for perfection.
Yes, I believe in soul mates, yes.
I know this hardened surface I live upon,
Will be the death of me if I cannot face it.

I just can’t bear looking down without seeing you.
I will break if I realize my own solitude.
A crumpled soul in a desert of a world,
Holds on to something that may never pass.

The skies will shatter before I let go.
I have the tenacity of the very last leaf in winter.
I will let go when life is ripped from my breast.
I scream out will all the voices my heart can muster.

I refuse to find myself with anyone, but you.
I will know you when I see you.
I am ready for you, and my tortured heart may burst.
The day I see you is the day I will see myself.

Miss Zoie

Stepping into that old house.
I hear the familiar tinkling,
Of glass ornaments in the window.
The window is now dust covered.
The door squeaks louder than before.
The floor groans as I enter.

I can still smell that smell.
The archaic pungency that made me high,
When I would lay upon the carpets as a child.
It still makes me heady, even now.
Who knows what could have made that scent.
I used to blame the wrinkled dust gremlins.

My eyes slowly glide across the room.
It’s not like before, it’s dead.
A dirty, rosy pink carpet, broken blinds.
These are remnants of a happy home.
The wall paper peels, and the ceiling fan rotates.
Furniture from another era stands ever still.

We are the laborers sent to dismantle this world.
I help lift a table with a peach marble top.
How many tea cups rested here?
It used to sit by a sea foam couch.
And a menagerie of odds and ends.
These all were watched by a girl and a well on the wall.

She cried when we took her car.
She marched two miles to the store alone.
She told the neighbors such a passionate thing,
“They can have my car, but they can’t take my legs!”
The children just watched Miss Zoie,
As she made her way down the street.

It hurts us to admit that she cannot be here.
It hurt us seeing tears from such a proud woman.
If only time wasn’t so greedy, and relentless;
Then maybe she could still care for herself.
None of these thoughts help as I work.
I can see her standing outside just standing.

Her legs do not tremble, and her chin is set.
Miss Zoie is more courageous than all of us.

A Glass Bottle

A life in a bottle is smashed upon the sidewalk.
The essence of freedom found so suddenly.
The life set free is forced to live,
As a parade of ants marches by.

You turned from me like a rose before winter.
Frost glazed your eyes in the shadows of a poorly lit room.
I needed not your redemption, my crime is none.
I am the murderer of a life in glass.

I do not regret setting free the pale white leaves.
In the earth they will find green.
Escaped from this chorus of wails,
This life can breathe, and know death.

In reflection I see myself as water.
My paths are my own.
I suffocate at the bottom of a lake, and I see the bottle.
It passes by me, and I know it by its true name.

Assault on a crystal world,
I bring destruction, I bring renewal.
This brittle web that surrounds us, it isn’t mighty.
Beat upon the strands, and see lies crumble.

Cities, worlds, walls, and words all make mud.
A vast swamp we fight to traverse.
When the sun dries our path we may walk.
There the glass bottle cannot exist.

I see a tree from the life I freed.
The shards of imprisonment lie at the roots.
The roots dig deep into life, and leave the artificial.
A multitude of silent birds make this their new home.

I see all things fall to tears.
By this covenant of water they are freed.
The glass that held them was only an illusion.
Unlearn everything and you shall find truth.

Kaakermi tehofi eaenhiv segndai arheit amiybi ouryi ordwi tehllai higstin segreai ademi newaika.

A Tower

In order to grow,
I throw a million pages off the roof.
They spiral in the air, they make a cloud.
My words rain down, black ink splattering.

The faces turn to ice, I fall.
Everything I fight against pulls me down.
Every other light is lit, on the street I live.
I could lie here on the pavement forever.

A woman comes, she bears gifts.
One is life, another is strength,
She cares for me when no others would.
I rise to my feet; I see my words, now frozen.

The woman gives me one last gift,
She gives me her compassion.
With this flame I free my words.
I recollect my thoughts, I recollect myself.

She has taught me how to build my towers,
Blades of grass laugh in the wind as I work.
I am constructing something very special.
Her liking will be instilled.

She has taught me so much.
She wove me a radiant scarf with her own hands.
I wear it to keep me warm, I feel her soft fingers.
They caress my face, I can hear her.
“An endless world lies at your feet, make it your own.”

With these words I begin to build my tower.
It is a work in progress, but a beautiful thing will come of it.
I will see the entire world when it is finished.
And when I do, I’ll have her there to hold.

What's an Ohmu?

<--- Two Ohmu holding up Nausicaa.






So, I figured my readers might wonder what an Ohmu is. To fully understand what an Ohmu is one must watch Studio Ghibli's Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. It's an amazing movie that has inspired me, and changed my life. Although it is animated it has depth many movies can't achieve.

Back to the point, an Ohmu is a giant insect that attacks people who are violent, or harm the Earth. They are an unstoppable force and when angered they are impossible to stop. I won't ruin the movie by giving away an secrets, but the Ohmu play a huge part. It may seem strange that I choose such a bizarre creature to name my blog after, but the Ohmu is a symbol to me of the world around me. The Ohmu symbolizes everything alive on the planet, and all ancient things. They are silent and communicate through feeling, so by saying an Ohmu speaks is like creating a bridge between the natural and human. I hope to live up to my name by putting out work that is powerful, insightful, unstoppable, and a protector of life. I want to uphold the different pillars of existence this life has to offer and to uncloud people's eyes from hatred and ignorance. I also want to dig out all the beautiful and uplifting things in the world and give them a place to roam here. I hope I can accomplish all this and just like the Ohmu I want to preserve the goodness in the world. I hope this was a satisfactory explanation for anyone who was unsure before about my blog's naming.

Dragonfly

I wasn’t expecting company,
When a dragonfly stopped upon my foot.
I did not dare move my new friend,
For in a second we had become inseparable.

Its wings were beaten and battered,
I sympathized, for so have mine been.
I put down the letter I had been reading,
Corporate America loves me more than my extended family.

I leaned over to speak with it,
It’s been so long since I last spoke to a dragonfly.
They would whisper to me during my youth,
In the various yards I grew up in.

The dragonfly didn’t have much to say,
It seemed to suffer from a learned helplessness.
For, with each breath of the wind,
It simply shuddered.

I reached down and extended a finger.
Ever so lightly it grasped on.
I lifted my hand to the sky,
The little creature spread his wings.

Though he had been aggrieved,
His wings still remembered flight.
If woodwinds could become voices,
So would the dragonfly speak thanks.

That day the clouds were miles of smiles,
I watched my little friend disappear into the white.
It seemed as though I had lost a dear friend.
How funny a simple encounter can be.

I sometimes think maybe it tricked me.
Perhaps I held not a dragonfly at all.
Perhaps it was a little angel,
And with nothing more than a finger,
I helped it rise back to heaven.
A finger can be the mast on the strongest ship.

My Boat

I stand on the pier alone, but for my ghosts.
The fog creeps upon my fettered feet.
I am shackled to my past.
I await passage into my future.

At the water’s edge my reflection goes ahead.
I am assured we will reunite when I am again whole.
Whispering ghosts call me back to the shore.
A corner I have yet to turn beckons in the sea.

With no luggage I await my passage.
Then, a great boat appears on the horizon.
With golden cherubs carved into the wood.
White sails like the teeth of a smiling star.

As if by some force of fate it speeds towards me.
The wind smiles upon it always.
I know this boat will always move forward.
I step cautiously, and with each step pain springs forth.

As I continue the pain grows less, and less.
Little black ghosts cling to my shoes.
They wail as I brush them onto the solid wood.
The gangplank lowers with confetti and whimsical music.

I board with an expectant heart.
Like one who has been hurt I cringe at my welcome.
I flinch at the happy visages that approach.
But slowly, like syrup, my heart is filled with perception.

As it begins to spill over I know I am free.
I turn back to the shore to see statues.
Everybody I have been stand as stone sentinels.
They will guard me from ever returning to who I was.

A silver cat smiles at me gaily and beckons me.
I approach with hope, and tears of joy.
It tickles my ear as it softly whispers to me.
“Welcome to the fastest voyage to heaven.”

I smile, and nod knowing I am coming home.
But, before I can leave I want all my loved ones to come.
The angel at the helm shakes her head sadly.
I can only send letters of my journey.

I understand that nobody will ever be on this ship, but me.
It is made from my will and my mind.
I can accept this, for if I can sail the seas so can all.
I take the hand of my brother’s ghost and he smiles lovingly back.

I depart now from this place.
My demons line the shore screaming hatred.
I can’t hear them over the revelry that surrounds me.
The one legged lamp, and the green umbrella sit at my sides.

This is an incredible journey I have embarked upon.
May the winds be fair, and may the seas be kind.
Even through the storms I know I am only moving on.
At the end I will know the shining gates, so says the silver cat.

I believe him.