Eat Cake

 

It doesn’t matter anymore,

What color I am,

Or what I eat,

Or what I wear,

Or who cares.

You won’t talk to me anymore,

So I’m not wearing a bra,

And I’m going to eat cake,

Chocolate, vanilla, and lemon,

And not comb my hair

So that yesterday’s heartbreak

Will get tangled in today’s sorrow.

Caustic Dreams

When the illumined are illumed

in the shadows of darkness,

Twisted thoughts masking initial intent,

writhing, stark remains of regurgitated words

pound relentlessly in falling heart,

sharp pain spreading like fingers

across sordid language,

tossing and turning in hoping, just hoping,

hoping eating the edges of fantasy,

crossing caustic fields of a western stake out,

guns drawn shaking in gut, in mind, in doubt,

deathly bullets of love

never seemed so tragic

as forever not true,

…Not then

…not now

…not ever

Sending me reeling,

keening into the night

of your reality.

The Rock

 

It’s been a while since I’ve been there,

a patch of light to clear the mind,

a breath of air,

cold slab

stone to sit on,

hooded jackets bulging

with apples,

and emptiness.

Silence is the turning of the leaves,

bootstraps caked with mud and dung

and thin ice in the shadows of barren trees,

oak and sarsaparilla,

waiting for that stillness to begin,

quieting the beating wings

inside me.

That small place,

those dark blue skies

illuminate my need to be alive,

away from noise and thought,

a solitary walk,

alone,

ingesting my own silhouette,

to know, to bear, to feel, to welcome

nothing,

once again.

I Could Have Fed You Flowers

I could have fed you flowers

on a Sunday morn

still sleepy with the folds of night,

or gather you softly in the smell of rain,

to bring the petrichor of heavens to your lips,

let you sip the nectar of the Goddess,

a sweet luminescence of moonbeams,

an iridescent palette of the Universe,

a fragrant opulence of dreams.

I could have brought you forests in a bowl,

spoon bites of light, and limbs, and roots, and pungent earth,

Could have brought you the tranquil sea,

or the pastel sky,

or a river dancing, swirling, galloping

down a riverbed of colored stones.

But honestly,

all I ever really wanted,

was to feed you flowers on a Sunday morn.

 

still waters

be still my heart

as a mountain absorbed

in mist, in rain, in sun,

her beauty grounded

in her own knowing.

be still

as the spirit stilled the sea,

still my heart,

so I can simply be

here, present, believe

those tears that grace my face

are not mine,

or in reality,

selfishly,

about you or me,

with all the troubles in the world today,

these tears are

just a seeker’s trail,

her heartstrings journey

bound

through ancient time

til’ now,

her still waters,

living waters,

still waiting to be found.

Burgeoning Heart

 

 

 

Take this heart,

This burgeoning ache,

This swollen phobia

Of social stigma,

A morsel of sorrow,

A fragment of body,

Broken bread to be eaten,

Slowly, steadily,

like oil spreading

Its rainbow dulled by dust,

Still throbbing and beating

And breathing in frayed sunlight,

Ready for your scalpel

Of words,

Dissecting, devouring,

Consuming, releasing me

Piece by piece,

in waves.

 

Karen K L Espaniola,  Aug. 16, 2013

 

 

 

Kealakekua Bay

 

There is an oasis from the heat

Where rubbled pathway leads to shade

And withering grass turns

to damp undergrowth for comfort.

That upward winding climb of transformation,

one step at a time,

From the bottom lands of ancient death

And pinnacles of sordid history,

To the cool air of respite, hope,

And joyful laughter,

head-tipped and rippling,

shouting out into the Universe

in deep gulps,

where every moment here,

is the perfect place to be,

A mimic of eternal grace

roots, bark, leaves

on breath, on skin,

In eyes light space of solace

calling me home,

over and over again.

Where once a navigator died,

still yet, another lives.